COUNTERFEIT
The two towers signify monopoly.
The capitalistic system signifies war.
Skyscrapers, vessels, ignore the value of transcendence.
The emancipated bound to competitive democracy as media/fashion/information take stock of Man/God/Progress.
An unprincipled monstrosity enlightening the moralistic position shifting to exploit us. A capital system taking/shoving/pulling to impose rules..
Power, too!
We are seeking the restoration of real as it escapes us.
We are fleeing charm and meaning.
We are confusing the counterfeit with the real…
And so… Artifice is at the core of reality. Abstract and non-figurative. Art itself is dead because
(but not limited to)
an impregnated aesthetic. Inseparable from its own confused structure mistook for its own image.
Reality will no longer take the time to take on the appearances of reality.
It will only capture the dream even before it takes the form of a dream.
Schizophrenic vertigo, in repetition, repress nothing.
Metonymy has absorbed the universe, cooling its digitality, winning us over with simulation as reality wins over pleasure.
Would you still be there?
When I groan in pain
Or jump in ecstasy!
And crib for anything and everything
Would you still be there?
When I sleep for hours
And shop till I drop
Kiss you hard, till you are breathless
Would you still be there?
When I talk spirituality
And bore you with my childhood stories
But hug you tight at night
Would you still be there?
When I complain about the color of the walls
And crack on the ceiling
But pull your cheeks lovingly
Would you still be there?
Complete
Over the moon she fell
Pulling dust and stars
Shimmer filled her wounds
Mending all the scars
Trail of light, she leads
Those that follow true
Casting shadow now
Painting velvet hue
The night, it whispered softly
The night, it spoke out loud
Twinkle of the moonlight
Paled in Iris shroud
Her laughter like a chime,
It sings, leads you away
Filling in the void
Of what she couldn’t say
Grounded Earth, connecting
Sealing space and time
Surging Force together
That, t’was always mine
Mingled breath once broken
Condensed, again as one
Finish missing pieces
Completing song unsung
What now brown cow?
It was time to read our lines, and the tipsy one went first.
And when she was through the class gave round applause,
While I scratched my head in wonderment and confusion.
Her poem was all rhyme and hickory dickory dock and goo.
The teacher gushed, “How profound!” her eyes wide wet,
As if she’d seen Jesus kiss Mary right on the publican steps.
But looking around me, eyes stared starry, dazed, stunned,
While I scratched my head in wonderment and confusion.
Her poem was all rhyme and hickory dickory dock and goo.
Who could manage this? Couldn’t they see it right through?
She’s smoking (don’t know what) and mirroring us hypnotic,
While our leader bubbled frantic praise so not to miss a drop.
And when she was through the class gave round applause,
For she too was awesome and fearless and saying her truth.
But to me, the joke was too cruel, the penalty unfit the crime.
Unwittingly, I wandered through the doors of alt poetry 101.
nothing to see here
I woke
with spittle on my tongue
a fire in my belly
a prayer in my pocket
but not a lot of hope
I trudged
through a day meant for Sabbath
but loaded up with the firewood that stokes
a fire in my belly
until the burn is a burn that burns
you
I managed
to swallow the words
with spittle on my tongue
that would sooth your burns
or at least comfort you a little,
that spittle
I slept
still holding all my money and
a prayer in my pocket
saving those hopes
for another day
for another you
Outsourcing Love
Outsourcing goods and work;
Can we outsource love?
I ask those who daily suffer indignities,
Who are sold into sex trafficking.
Outsourcing data and services;
Can we outsource love?
I ask those who day by day have no choice,
Who are sold for money to do despicable acts.
Outsourcing Nannies to give love to other children
Can we outsource love?
I ask those who often are paid unfairly,
Who undergo oppression.
Outsourcing, outsourcing!
Can we outsource love?
Or change this system,
Or just remain silent…
(Hour Four – Maritza M. Mejia)
2017 Poetry Marathon, Hour Four: Close your eyes
Stop
Close your eyes
and go to sleep
When you
close your eyes
do you dream?
Try not to
close your eyes
without dreaming
Now
close your eyes
What do you see?
(5 August 2017)
Newcomer to the poetry marathon
Although I have earned a living through writing for more than 20 years, this is the first time I have participated in a group writing venture like this one. The prospect excites me!
Most of my written work has been for newspapers, magazines and curriculum; I haven’t written poetry consistently since my college years. I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of creative energy I have now, and to improving my creative writing skills for the future.
My 16-year-old daughter plans to join me in the half-marathon, too. I encouraged my older daughter, a creative writing major entering her sophomore year in college, to sign up, but she is particularly stubborn about not doing anything that comes with a recommendation from her mother. (Sigh.) Maybe next year!
As soon as I finish writing a Little League baseball story for the newspaper and editing the August newsletter for my church tomorrow, I plan to devote myself to exercising my poetry muscles and preparing for the half-marathon.
The newspaper I work for has recently been bought by a large media company, and the stress levels have been high as everyone waits to see who will keep their jobs and what our new working conditions will look like. This half-marathon represents a welcome respite from those concerns and an opportunity to just “put pen to paper,” or fingers to keys, more likely.
Happy writing, everyone!
noticed
Becouse thats the time to breathin
You can create a wall for rapunzel,
You can let her in for long.
But she will find a way to go,
Where the mother she belong.
She go outside and she win,
Becouse thats the time to breathin.