Poetry / Outlaw Poetry Chapbook: Cycles 1-2
“Beyond the Pencil”
What skin?
what bone?
I AM these writes;
Bled on bleached beech engraving
--this ink to that think--baseless
thoughts turn these axis spinning,
And away I go
flying off that rocker,
lost in all that was never captured
in the shade of granite no. 2.
“Opening the Enlightened Eye”
“You” must die
As must “I” too
For only in concious mind’s demise
do our selfing thoughts expand
into the globe of world larger.
And all that is Ego,
Ergo, lost
exposes the stripped core
unto all the brilliant sights
“We” never saw before.
“A$ IF:”
money was forged from desire
how many millions could we capture
a pocket? a fistfull?
a clip-full for that
heart-bled, drip-drop crop
sweat pours for, tears
fall for—that witch binds us all
to this:
Insatiable Madness.
“Man Anachronistic”
When I was young eyes
staring skywards
never did I imagine this age
when eyes could only glance
those shining stars turned forgotten
delusion, amidst
the compulsively cleansing mind,
praying everyday falling
to a shaded sun, eclipsing.
“Grinding in Neverland U.S.A.”
American Dreams
Funded by American schemes
birthed by sublime scenes
Tempered by the iron spine
—the iron mind, which
Never kills these dreams of
wanting,
haunting my mind
with that fire fueling desire
to achieve all that
these shores promised me
in the fantastic times called youth.
“Storm Front”
(Dedicated to that final instant, before the clouds let loose their tears.)
I love you bad sky
lightning season thought gorgeous dream
winter gardens could never vision
—rain to live by.
Squirrels gather springs corpse
watching cold cloud eclipse
flower month bloom; snow dances
celebrating the hibernate holiday between
green moons.
“There comes the after dawn,”
West ended East
“Make it always summer beneath
each renewed sun.”
—Animal language we speak too universally.
“The Innovator”
God never worshipped as
A master of creation
Walks savage path unblazed!
Neverland babe
Married to wonder, consorting
the elders wisdoms as
illumination fades into the dusken times.
True artist
Canvasing with colors uncaptured
by rainbows,
Deaf-composing the note unheard.
That schiz-flip genius is forever
enemy of tradition’s ebon flow,
--like atomic Albert--
when design is done, waiting placid
for that corroding, worldy theft.
Mother of righteousness;
Father to bastard evils,
single polished stone
cast down to canal
the tidal tides floodling
with every revolution of the times.
You know me not.
I.
These days escaping
stillness is the noise we try
to capture inside.
II.
These days spent living
the turning times undreamt
fails the vision granted.
III.
“Life is but a dream”
a passing scene, glory days
and nightmares unforgotten.
IV.
Looking back upon
those worried days spent building
laughing at my dread.
V.
The hardest faces
protect the softest of hearts
armor is nothing without flesh.
VI.
Let enlightenment fill
as the pressure builds
keeps today’s brains from bursting.
VII.
For silence is never
while nature has words to sing
our soul songs back.
“H’Ku “
“Mother’s Ways”
They say mother is “the word for god
On the mouths of all babes.”
Wondering now how those cradled prayers
Landed in the lap of your wise kisses
Always there, to comfort us back
From the edges of a world unforgiving.
Forgiven
Our forgotten trespasses against all soft
volunteered words and smiles untainted
--young eyes never perceiving--
the depth of an embrace which always
held up these years and tears.
Luv you creation,
Still feel you as the sole beneath
these walking feet.
FOR MOMS
“Tree Stump”
This is paper
for the tests I never took
the thoughts that died
the answers I never had,
Wrongs
I never could write.
One wonders: how
dead are the roots, which grew
to spawn these great nothings?
“LADY IN MAKING”
Sometimes a lady cannot wait
to spring forth from a girl
to let her face captivate all
beauty’s grace in wait,
and let her realized smile loose
upon the world.
Sometimes it is that girl
who cannot wait to sprout
from baby seed, into lady proper,
her wobble legs kept crossed
dimpled chin kept tilt
gemstone eyes flowed over with
the gleam that promise prospers.
“GET GONE”
(To the fearful and the brave and the numb)
From thee to you,
all so-called poets true”
Let go and get gone.
Forget those words
that tongue shapes
speak thy mind’s eye
enunciate what’s wraith.
Like painting in such colors
uncaptured in rainbows
or composing the note
heard by deaf ears.
Poet get gone;
this box is all business,
keep witness to the nebulous
nothing, birthing wishes’dreams.
And dream.
Get gone, bid goodbye,
to what thought was
and what think is;
Say hello,
(though nothing shows)
to all that can be.
Shed yourself and discover all else, in wait amongst the vast unknown.
“TURMOIL TIMES”
I love that cycle birth:
Change with
spring
blooming never fully.
Greenest
garden dancing on winter rain,
Do you live?
Or must our summers fall
like night winds collecting?
“HAND”
The opposable thumb
Makes all things possible,
middle finger keeps the devils at bay,
index points the way to ring
(wedding me to my only visions of forever,)
while pinky finger remembers
a me without scars.
“THE EVOLVING SERIES OF ME”
Can’t inhabit this skin too long
not even in brilliance.
Got to relish the taste of
the many foods being offered
Along faith’s Sunday-buffet line.
Misspelled your name with deed done?
Slash a vein and laugh ironic,
lonely amidst the mob. JUST
REMEMBER TO LIVE!
Cuz if tommorow be Bocuse b’yor,
(the judgement of saints would-be,)
best to tell the chef you sampled
many courses down his line.
“And this was the me I loved the longest:”
—pride we face too universally.
“J.O.B. (Just Outta Basic)”
Again today I’m going
To put on this American mask
That performance face
On 8 hours, 5 out of 7, or more
Dying, trying to get mine, to get by.
I do what they tell, accept what I have to,
tethered to forever circles,
with nowhere back again already,
staring back at a face that wasn’t
always a strangers grin.
“SCOPE”
Stay off the radar cuz I see you
Now, beneath my sights,
See you--saw you--and stabbed
My pen’s ink, your blood letting,
staining the paper with our vigil.
“Now this is a war.” Two times U said.
”So it is then.”
Was my only whisper to the restless masses.
“Rappin’”
soft,
like our hard music
sounding through the chambers
of this silent house
birthing that light,
promise poetry in the dark.
“Suicide Reason”
Today I doubt
I can proudly claim tomorrow,
In prediction of troubles to come.
Keep that spirit high, weary shoulders
Razored writs are for the far and lagging;
20yrs is late waking
(and when the hell did the rainbow fade?)
Was it ever even?
That gorgeous mirage envisioned sublime?
Or is salvation only a martyr’s grace?
Is the crimson trail of a pierced heart,
the only way left amidst
these pains to set us free?
“ONE MAN STAND”
Blackest words carved on dead-tree skins
foretell the past; no future
for tomorrow.
Today seems just as lost
as the yesterday wanderer
--yesteryear’s confidant--
Final hour’s avid praiser, praising
That house of gracious faith, less scorned.
Toted burdens recycled on wound re-afflicted
With tainted bleed, scabs crusted
Like armor sheathing the steady cadence
Of a heartbeat on the march.
“GREATNESS”
Nobody really wants it all;
Still-born to the gaping precipice,
these solitary heights summating
a single paragraph—history’s epitaph
To the self-preserving will.
This brand of distinguish divides
the abysmal chasm leading unto the
Shores of new, knew not.
“HERE IS THERE”
Pt. 1
Far off skin—where are you?
You link us to go god
so that even I may bleed,
a Jesus without grace.
Pt.2
Never what the cynics see,
glimpsed phantom imagined non—
existent here.
Pt. 3
“Divined essence” is
inspiration of inner blindness,
core-self eclipsed
until passing lights lead
ways from haze to question:
Was that thought
The one I never dared
to keep, The One?
“SELECTIVE POLITICS”
I knew then, what my
opinion was.
And now I don’t. No,
Anything ‘bout this or that,
Tit for tat, scratched backs,
Fat cats, topped in hats
Escapes my 20/20 eye
by deflection
(I ended thought);
our soverign drug is great,
when fallout’s scathes are not.
Welcome to the pharmacy.
Lose me, Leave me,
stranded in your 2 dimensions.
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I really liked “A$ IF” how you discribed it as a maddness. I didn’t know what you were talking about in the first one, though. A$ If was favorite. I think these have great publishing potential.
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Welcome to the pharmacy.
Lose me, Leave me,
stranded in your 2 dimensions
I dont get it, but I see these types of poems everywhere and this is just like those, so, good job!
I can’t even pick a favorite, I like all of them! :) You really capture the essence of what the American youth is like and how they think, which you said was your goal in your comments. I especially like the way, in your last poem, “Selective Politics” you are chiding the government and politicians for being the way they are without seeming angsty and just angry. That’s hard to do, and you really attacked it and got right down to it. Nice job. Keep Writing!
I love most of them, some could be better, but my favorite had to be Suicide reason. The raw emotional baggage was incredible. The tone was quite a bit different than in others such as Get Gone. The mood in this work is a bit more remenising than the sad and lost hope in suicide reason. Overall, I love the way you keep the context precisely to one point in particular in each seperate work.
I liked this, i thought it was very well done. Keep wup the good work!
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