Finally earned my Santa Cruz creds
after decades
My first wetsuit
O'Niel in pretty purple and pink
across my ******* and I look like I'm
wearing rubber muscles like actors playing
action heroes but I feel like I am water proof
at last, have come of age finally
A member of the tribe of cold water human fish
as I swim on in the slanted winter light

He was an oak in a vast forest.
A sapling stunted by a storm.
Twisted, but not broken.
He stretched his branches far into the heavens.
Bursts of leaves filling places in the canopy others couldn't.
Reaching for the light.

But there was poison in the groundwater.
His roots withered at the base and it couldn't bear the rest.
He tumbled down to join anew.
The vibrant violets; a gorgeous hue.

Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."

Secret lotteries will be held
Things will be decided

Underneath hanging prisons
atmospheric pressure adapts to gravitys constraints

This is who shall die
It was decided fairly

Tom
Sharon
Niel
And Garret

They will be informed
and procedings will commence imediately

Death hung on nails in the wood
Darkness cowered from the depths of hell
Frequency streams electrified infinity
Planets exploded then re-appeared in an instant
Warriors and monsters drank each others blood

Tom
You first

Grey

Sharon
Grey

Niel and Garret
You go together

Grey Grey

Repositioned particles bare no resemblance to their
former selves after an instant of infinity

The rest are safe now

The corporate sports shop has erased the swim section with snow sports
and I can't find those jagged ear plugs I like there
must go back local to where I got half a wet suit
made by O'Niel, the inventor from my home town
and I remember a friend who was a great skier and even
better ski ***, and he hung out with Tommy Moe in Wyoming and
he almost put his eye out going down a Black Diamond ***** ******
and maybe that's brave, but I don't think so really because true bravery in
my mind is rarely physical, and most commonly, but perhaps rarely mental
as I see the Christmas shoppers like every year doing the same things and dysfunctional
families everywhere pretending to get along when they'd rather **** each other
understanding why, like Freud first tried to show us, in his strange 19th century way
has led to a situation where everyone could understand why, what really drives them
and so few do, because it is scary and expensive and long term and frustrating and you have to go back
over and over and realize you are doing the same **** thing over and over and it's worse than
school when you were a kid, when it was just over and over and a teacher blaring at you until
you finally got it and moved on, because that can really happen.  You can get it and move
on and you won't need the salve of the alcohol or the forty big screen TVs or endless ballgames
watched as if they held some kind of key to a special universe and if just one more game, like one more quarter in that slot machine, and what you are really running away from is yourself and your pain.
And I am different, it is true, because that inner journey to understanding is essential to me and
psychology is amazing, how the mind tries to protect us from ourselves by creating more distraction
when we all have that Black Diamond ***** to go down and it is scary and frustrating
and we may fall but in the end we will understand.  And that is the most important thing.

I often find myself in dreams;
in beautiful or haunting scenarios.
Cold and sparkling places filled with the most magnificent sunlight,
rays shoot between pillars and dye entire courtyards calidoscope cream colored majesty,
flowers burst spontaniously on walls, I breathe crystal clouds into the brisk air around me.
The wonder before my eyes bring me to my knee's
and my throat is run dry with exhaultations of pleasure.
Dark forests surround me,
with wet leaves that stick to the ground, the trees, my feet;
unnamed and unrecognized creatures screech in the trees;
my eyes dart back and forth to find a safe place to hide;
sweat runs down my hollowed cheeks;
my jaw locks my tongue between a painful cage of grinding teeth.
I can never succeed in finding anywhere comforting,
as quick and panicd as I fly.
Like a drugged rat in a circular maze my every sense is alive with panic.
The air smells rank, thick with decomposure and earth.
I know it, but the smell itself evades me.
Such unreal and haunting scenarios.
I feel life itself has become unbelievable.
Every clock I read scrambbles itself,
numbers twisting and contorting uncontrollably
like the strange uncomfortable shapes I bend myself into upon waking.
They are just as tired as I am.
They try to evade there duties and posts,
before I can figure out when the **** I am.
Then of course nothing is forever.
Time is only relative.
Infinity is just a sideways 8;
just like god is only real with a capital G.
The walls know these things just as well as I do,
afraid of there mortality they aviod being used,
and when I lean againt them for support they become unwilling,
dissolving against my touch and leaving me to fall perplexed to the other side.
To the unknown things that await me there.
In transition I picture them,
("them" even are an abstract
fuzzy features barely recognizable as human
but still formed enough to inspire fear, or love)
smiling or licking there lips,
forks and knives and plates at the ready,
to tear me open as I land.
I feel fuzzy as I glide or crumble through the wall,
pieces of me wanting to interact with its substance,
but no one of them is strong enough to hold me in or up against it,
and so I complete my way through at last.
My fears and pictures of the other side are null now.
They scurry and dissapate like cockroaches at the flip of a switch;
like drunken minors at the sudden sweep of a spotlight;
like the leaves of a dieing tree in a wind storm;
like the morals of an insane man;
like couples at last call.
I land with a soft thud on the snowy ground outside.
Even with all of this being so unreal, it couldnt be a dream.
Who would dream such mundane things?
Who pictures themselves as such a grotesk figure;
when the world awaits them,
and they could embody every image or hero they ever admired.
Who would create a place like this.
I suppose I would.
With a smug sense of irony I dust the snow or ashes off of myself as I stand
and wander off into the uneventul landscape before me,
but uneventful isn't appropriate to decribe this place.
It doesn't fit.
Just like entertaining doesn't quite fit a clown.
I walk like I'm on the moon
and with each building step and effort I float a little higher
like niel armstrong conquouring that awe inspiring ball in the sky.
I bounce light footed and bewildered through the desolate landscape
untill finnally I level off and soar up,
up above the buildings.
Forward,
forward through the wind and the trees.
Over,
over the slopes and the hills and the clouds.
Into,
into the stratosphere, and beyond the earth to where there is no air for me to breathe.
But I can breathe
and I gulp down sweet nothing with willful and unexplored ignorance.
Freefloating through space I find myself next to that american hero's immortalized steps
finally centered and landed on the surface of that cold rock.
People fear this orb as magical, or controlling
but i stand on it, and feel nothing.
I look down at my home
  at my planet;
   at all of the people I could ever know;
     at every experience I could ever hold dear;
at all of existence.
And my throat tightens up
my heart pounds like a fightened bird
trying to escape from the cage of ribs its trapped in.
I feel myself drifting off
becoming light again
falling asleep
or waking up in a cold sweat
wrapped lonely in my blankets;
but who dreams of these kinds of things?

Most breeze through the Boardwalk Big Dipper Bling
Ocean Street Sleeze, and a walk on Cowell Beach and say
I've seen it all, that's Santa Cruz, as they cruise off on highway 1
or crash into the barriers or 17 but that's not all, at all
I love Santa Cruz on a bright sunny day in May as I
gorge on the Indian vegetarian buffet, available all day, by the way
And check out the O'Niel sidewalk sale, and then past the sweaty crowds in front
of the Cineplex and the sign in the window display at Camouflage that reminds:
May is National ******* Month, are you doing your part?
and at Pergolesi a homemade sign says "friends don't let friends drink Starbucks"
and there are two art house cinemas within 200 yards of each other
and there are lesbians holding hands and homeless people breathing the fresh air
with their shelter pets and I feel free
like anything can happen here, even me

Separation Point

as I slam down another frosty one or two
trying to forget trying not to think about you
it's like the old Carly Simon song you're so vain
of course its about him you just said so very plain

by saying the words I'm trying not to think
makes it obvious that I am on the very brink
of wondering where my next move should go
the feelings cannot be denied I think you know

all the good intentions not withstanding now
there is no questions of why only ones of how
god now I'm listening to an annoying guitar lead
by Niel Young please stop now I really really plead

my nerves are on edge in case you can't tell
ran out of smoke days ago now Im in hell
and now it seems I have this hairless chest
I'm fumbling around making myself an obnoxious pest

where did I go wrong or has it always been this way
maybe I just didn't notice or refused you might say
to except the limitations of this dreary normal life
should have joined the colonial army and played the fife

just what is my point this thought might have occurred
I would explain it to you but I just can't think of the word
pour me another barkeep keep the golden nectar flowing
aw don't tell me that you think I really should be going

I know babe it's time for you to move yourself along
I wanna sing farewell to you but I can't remember the song
dam I sure wish I had me a bowl or two or a joint
I'm so afraid that I have reached the separation point

Gomer LePoet...

Neil Armstrong
Niel A.
Alien...

Did we send him to the moon, or back to the moon?

A Life

Let's follow each other.
On Twitter.
Let's follow each other.

What can you handle?
What's your Twitter handle?

Let's follow each other.
My brother.
My sister.
Let's say one thing or another.

The season has changed.
We are here.
Dry Season is here.

In our midst I feel its presence.
The weather is nice.
It makes sense.
Dry Season comes with ice.

Guessing around the hills in solitude,
I realized the droughtiness of the soil.
I cleansed my body with olive oil.
I overheard the songs of a lovely bird from a high altitude.

Away from the constellation of the stars,
I saw the moon standing in jubilation.
My childhood memory came to visit me when I was reciting my morning meditation.
“Oh!, I said, let me go meet a planet called Mars.”

What a life!
Where is Niel Armstrong?
He traveled to the sky; he was strong.
Where is...?
He did that.
Where is...?
He did this.

Beautiful and ephemeral.
Is life.
Live it today: it is your era.
Such is life!

Adamu Danjuma