Abandoned notebook
for safe place in basement
Tornado warning

Marty Taught Me (From the Tarot)

The Hermit,
inverted,
reads isolation, most often
personal
Interpreted as needed rumination,
deep introspection to, hopefully,
a semblance of enlightenment

And as we creep from our terrariums (right KG?)
These humanariums, this innerverse of avoiding the horribles
Of plague
I wonder if this card is telling on us
Or warning us
Again

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Absorption of all light
Of every visible energy particle
Of all portions of the spectrum
Like a signal to an antenna
Like vitamin D to soil and bark
Like builders to work on monuments
Like scholars to an archive
Like prophets to canon
Like dusk on Manifest Destiny
and midnight over America
Turning barbarians’ wack linguistics to motivation
or, at least, pride
Like sunlight to melanin
Like…since Pangea
They can not outshine
that which absorbs all visible energy
All portions of the spectrum

What It Is

HipHop music
carries folk tune and dance
Has the same echo
as Negro spirituals
Bears the sin of
crossroads blues
Sweats and wails
like Saturday night jazz
Cries for truth like Sunday
storefront gospel
Begs sincere like soul
with rock and roll abandon

…And…

Dresses differently
Speaks in authoritative code
Paint broad-spectrum
or not at all
Erase old self
and build a new monument
to your moment
Baptise them in style
as you dance paise to every
god
of spin
and lyric
and hook
and cut
And bring that muthafunkin
beat back

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Just imagine reacting, almost daily, to…

A few steps out of the door
and twilight
You run into a wall but turn… left and stumble forward
Into dim light. Because it’s light.
Kind of
And it gets comfortable for…
A block or a mile or a week
And you have a smile and water
When the goddamned ground stars buckling
And it’s pouring
with vultures circling
And a childhood bully robs your house and
Sells all of your shit for drugs
But you keep walking as if you
will get all of your shit back
(You will NEVER get any of your shit back)
And there is a corner and another dim mile
And a hole in your shoe
And you are late for…what the fuck ever

This is the emotional absurdity
Of living with racism

Murals

1.
Through transit windows
burst blood, sweat, and paint of those
just making a name
with a circus-act canvas
turn concrete to gallery

2.
No city permit
As we implement our own
“urban renewal”
with a neighborhood blessing
on buildings they just condemn

3.
“Vandalism” is
their only way of saying
they cannot decode
the secret of our freedom
from behind crumbling walls

4.
Most museums are
stolen artifacts sheltered
in glass, concrete, steel
We simply ripped the roof off
and don’t charge admission

Gods Smirking

Spend your money
on tithe and lecture
on ink and paper

Debate a billion convinced
with philosophy and ritual
and best-sellers

The best way to mess with
their fragile heads is
to exist in nature
while daring the sanctuary
to tear down itself

Reoccurrence

Running so fast that you feel
shoes slipping off
Look down to see
no ground beneath you
Close eyes tight and hear
wind tunnel as you trip on the void
Taking gravity’s orders
and tumble through the tree tops
only knocking loose enough fruit for the village
As your theme music plays
And the crowd of dandelions goes wild

With my crappy mood
ginally finally out of its shell,
it is breakfast time

The day before…

[Due to time constraints, this post is raw and unedited. All typos, free. 😀 ]

So, I am a big fan of literary games. From Scrabble to poetry slam, I have enjoyed friendly competition as well as self-challenges for decades and 24-hour writer-thons, 30 poems in 30 days, the challenge of new performance work written collaboratively; all of it gets me wired but always with a purpose.

I am wrapping my 3rd collection of poems but also exploring topics for new projects. The way that I have prepped in the past remains largely the same: with short verse and micropoems every other day for a week or so, but also editing recent work left aside to settle in my brain for a few weeks or months just to get the ideas moving around again.

I have not moved into “cheat-mode”; only in the last day have I began making mental notes of topics and styles to tackle. If anyone needs any encouragement, you are the encouragement. If you get one decent piece out of it, you wrote this weekend and probably went hard at it.

I have completed a half; I have build my own based on haiku and micropoetry and wrote 102 haiku, senryu, tanka and one limerick [happened to be St Pat’s Day]; multiple times have I done 30 poems in 30 days (twice 60 for 60; once 90 for 90) and work from those sessions/sprees went on to be published and/or recorded. Mostly just enjoy the wave and the endorphins or creativity.