Wednesday, August 26, 2009

August 25th, 2009

Alright, as I mentioned last night, we're going to start posting the poems read at the weekly slams. Hopefully, everyone will take it upon themselves to carry-out this practice. We'll see how it works at first. If need be, I'll just bring a tape-recorder and do all the work.

Also, I'd like everyone to know that Jamey's absence last night had nothing to do with absent-mindedness or ill-will. Moments after the reading was over, Jamey called me and provided a suitable excuse.

He extends his apologies and truly regrets not being able to attend.

Trust me, I stayed up with the guy on the front porch drinking wine and beer until 4.

Moving on: For the time being--just post your poems as comments. I'll start us off.


  1. A Poem to My Brothers

    I saw my brothers tearing each-other apart
    with word printed paper
    through thousands of
    torn torn torn
    then plastered on signs speaking hate
    once love
    warped now
    another time
    as it passes
    another tongue

    "God loves all his children,
    except faggots, jews, arabs, and atheists."

    If that's the case, why did he make them?

    someone said, "These scriptures preach peace"

    Well, that message is in pieces.

    someone said, "Do you know where you're spending eternity?

    in the dirt, in the dirt,
    in the Earth where I came from.

    someone asked, "Why're you here, why wear that sign?"

    To show you, despite this hate, I love without Reservation.

    someone asked, "God tells me who to love--what about you?"

    Love is a feeling,
    not a direction.
    Love is a verb,
    not a noun.
    It starts with sight and burns inside;
    not torn from verses
    but tasted
    on every word spoken to another
    my brothers,
    can't you see?

    Love isn't about salvation or
    personal gratification.

    and it needs no God's green light,
    wouldn't exist if it did.

    I need no sign to speak this message
    Oh brothers of mine,
    To you!

    To you who are blind; I will guide you, for I am blind, too.
    To you who are asleep; I'm with you til noon.
    To you who won't wake; I'll dream of you dreaming.
    To those who can't sleep; I will sing lullabys
    To those who are lost; Let passion be your compass
    To you who cry all night; I have tissue

    To those afraid to speak; I will ring my voice out for you
    To those haunted by the past; It's passed, but don't forget
    To those who've forgotten; I'm with you--I wish I wasn't.
    To the musicians--to the Poets; I am a venue

    To the beggars, To the Choosers; To those who've been both and neither

    I am with you!

    To those who got wet in the storm
    To those who don't know about the storm at all
    To those who jumped in the river
    To those who were pulled in

    I am with you
    in the clouds,
    in confusion,
    in your uncertaintyin the chlorinated backyard pools of suburbia,
    in run-down houses on dangerous city-streets
    on the beach, in prison,
    or isolated places

    I am with you!
    I have towels, I will dry us two
    and lay with you on grass,
    or concrete.

    Let the light tan what's left after the
    sunset rubdown of years spent trying to
    there are those
    who are with us
    despite where we've been,

    and I am with them--
    let us in.

    Why're you so quiet?

    just because my mouth doesn't open
    doesn't mean my tongues not goin'
    it's just bleeding from all the biting
    mostly what I'm thinking
    is never what I'm saying

    There's no time to waste on
    pleasantries and ingratiation, 'cause
    24 hour news informs the state of this nation

    Fuck Procrastination!
    What I want is too important to wait
    What I need
    All I need is what I want

    Doesn't even have to be real
    just put a mask on similarity
    and sell it, sell it, sell it, sell
    if it's illegal, then put me in a cell

    Desire is worth 20 to life
    and I never fucking agreed to face trial

    It's not as if there was ever a choice.
    Smoking weed shouldn't make me
    a bad person
    Screaming "FUCK THE POLICE" shouldn't
    send me to prison

    but it does to a thousand other "me's" a day


    GOD'S DAMNED us all to a country under GOD
    under their interpretation of GOD
    their interpretation of what GOD thinks
    is right and wrong.

    The things I do that are actually bad
    are never what's against the law,
    in fact
    it's usually what they want.

    for my disgust,
    the drugs

    for being quiet
    for going along for so long,

    don't you dare

    for something your
    said is wrong!

  2. I borrow single words/ from Dylan to Trevor to Thomas.
    Only single words/ though lonely stolen/
    do not belittle the thief!
    the gift is in your hand.

    We thought it was a drive by shooting
    But it was only McDonalds.. McDonalds.. McDonalds
    Drive through the Trevored Lane, in Super-Size the burger appears
    The Golden Arch.. The Grand Abyss; give us space that we may tumble.

    In War and Peace there is none!
    As mothers leap from burning window
    Ancient bombers fall, fall.. flame into the night!
    Up Johnson Up! We search again but there is none.

    What’s his name??? this baby in the bubble or the babble in the bottle? Look!! The hand is there, dismiss the Trevored word!
    In the wink of accordion love Pump the Iron Lung that we may find him. SQUEEZE THIS SEARCH!!!.. can you lend a hand?
    This most dire need, this winking need for love.. love.. for love.

    SO I TELL HER.. Just Touch It.. touch his winky, winky winky.
    And then she screamed; in Lexicon Gallup I could not catch her..
    and saw myself as old, and it was wrong, wrong these faded pages drifting in winkey wind.
    The cheeks of her ass going over the horizon and it was wrong!

    So I poked my Wife and said: Can you help? She poked me back and said No!. No!. No One can help this man, but watch awhile…
    as Lepricons.. wait in winkey love.. to poke the trevored word...
    and sure enough, the clown lay strangled.. by Lepricon hands..
    was it Ronald?.. or some other clown, as Trevor idles by..licking the chops of madness. Can you help?

    And sure enough.. he pulls out another.. can you help?
    He pulls down his pants!!.. can he help it?
    Can you feel the need?.. the Rolling Balls of need?
    Can you see the end? The May Pole.. you say!?!

    We marched in May and now its June, another child grown old, running round the pole to dance with maidens
    some with words and some in gesture
    but whirling.. all!.. on tightening rope..
    round and round they all begin with O.. O.. O..

    Pull back your hat, see what you have done!
    In rushing streams Dismantle the night!
    I am here! Stand in still water, and it is you!
    Roll my balls around the window
    and it is June! June! oh June!

    It was then he saw the window..
    Golden girl.. stared.. as if to a third eye..
    She pulls back the burger, saying: “Is that a panty liner on your head?” She lowers her gaze, to where gaze always goes
    To vanish, as windows close.. in reflexion
    of the arch.. once again… Please pull forward…

    Nations of hope and dream sputter away.. in low gear…
    and then.. to a stop.
    He pulls the liner, ever slowly to his eye..
    In darkness, the Trevored voice returns.. this time in Brogue:
    “Were I to come on her face, or Leprican Lace..
    Twood not wipe way the tears of my Father”.
    And in winkey blinkey love the eye closes
    to snuggle.. round the moment.. of dawn.