I started writing a Christmas poem a few moments ago.
For my sister. It's all she asked for.
What kind of teenager only wants a poem?
Not me at sixteen. I wanted more
Drum stuff. I wanted to go out on dates.
I wanted to go to college. I wanted to mess
up and make mistakes. I had so many questions.
What are your questions? Where are the answers?
The big secret (that isn't a secret at all) is that there is no plan.
You get to choose the answers when you are ready.
Just like I have chosen not to rhyme or meter this poem.
I have been storming my brain to find
the right moment of my sixteen year old history to rewind,
but I've come up with nothing but dust in my mind.
nothing too poetic, nothing sublime.
Instead lets imagine a christmas in ten years
where we'll still all be together bring holiday "cheers!"
You will be twenty six and I will be thirty two
this same house and the same people we always knew.
We open gifts and eat breakfast, the same as today
we smile and hug and laugh, the same old way
See the thing about christmas is
that even when all is done
we will all still be happy
with each other, everyone.
Imagine that day in twenty eighteen,
where you say nothing and I know what you mean.
Exactly ten years from now. We will still be the same.
Six years apart in age, with everything to gain.
You will be done with college
and be in the real world.
I will be grown up for sure,
maybe with a little boy or girl.
So now that the poem is over,
and our trip into the future is done.
Your gift, I have given for Christmas,
I pray, "Bless us Every One."
Monday, December 24, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Thanksgiving Dinner
We have two men.
Both are young.
Both working.
but forget one, because he is foreground.
Let's talk about Man B.
He woke up at 6 am to start cooking.
he has everything timed out just right.
and cooks seraphically.
The potatoes simmer as the quiche bubbles
and cheese soup pops, cornbread and buttered
green beans. It's noon. He sweats.
The Hams and Turkey dribble and hiss.
At 4 o'clock, the warm food waiting heatlamp's grace
glints the twenty shining plates
and gravy boats swim center table.
All of the food weights on the marble top to be eaten.
He sits at the head looking down eighteen empty spaces
to see the other head, with nothing but plates clean places.
Making modest selection of Sweet Potato pie and Zucchini quiche
with all the meats meeting gravy boat's docking fleets.
Wine from the soup leftover in his glass. The grace
of the table where the food won't last. He dodges the ghosts of future's
christmas present and past. He licks the plate clean and drinks all of his glass.
Winding down before the children go play in the grass.
But there are no children. Nothing but a sink,
full of pots and dishes. "How about another drink,
to wash down these wishes."
Words that reverberate on table and chairs.
He dances with nothing and no one, no heirs.
A young man, but old; he loses his hairs.
To poker games against himself.
Just silly gambling, with no money and no one.
But they are real. Real games.
enough to bet some hair over.
These two men. gambling alone together.
over nothing.
One finished his work, and ate alone.
the other might have the ghosts come back
to eat his meal and read his words.
but they are still nothing but ghosts.
and he cooks alone. Waiting for the cheese soup bubble to pop.
Both are young.
Both working.
but forget one, because he is foreground.
Let's talk about Man B.
He woke up at 6 am to start cooking.
he has everything timed out just right.
and cooks seraphically.
The potatoes simmer as the quiche bubbles
and cheese soup pops, cornbread and buttered
green beans. It's noon. He sweats.
The Hams and Turkey dribble and hiss.
At 4 o'clock, the warm food waiting heatlamp's grace
glints the twenty shining plates
and gravy boats swim center table.
All of the food weights on the marble top to be eaten.
He sits at the head looking down eighteen empty spaces
to see the other head, with nothing but plates clean places.
Making modest selection of Sweet Potato pie and Zucchini quiche
with all the meats meeting gravy boat's docking fleets.
Wine from the soup leftover in his glass. The grace
of the table where the food won't last. He dodges the ghosts of future's
christmas present and past. He licks the plate clean and drinks all of his glass.
Winding down before the children go play in the grass.
But there are no children. Nothing but a sink,
full of pots and dishes. "How about another drink,
to wash down these wishes."
Words that reverberate on table and chairs.
He dances with nothing and no one, no heirs.
A young man, but old; he loses his hairs.
To poker games against himself.
Just silly gambling, with no money and no one.
But they are real. Real games.
enough to bet some hair over.
These two men. gambling alone together.
over nothing.
One finished his work, and ate alone.
the other might have the ghosts come back
to eat his meal and read his words.
but they are still nothing but ghosts.
and he cooks alone. Waiting for the cheese soup bubble to pop.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Deals on Electronics
You have two gay men
wearing suits that shine
and shimmer walking from
a bus full of students
I knew that they kicked them out of the bus
not the driver but the
passengers
on the way to a formal dance
I see them leaving and I just know
so I walk in the bus
and I give the guy an earfull
who made them leave
He tells me about his uncle and father and how he
hates them. How he is black and they are
white. How he hates them.
These men aren't perverts, they are just men.
I say "Thought becomes your words,
words become your actions,
action become your habits,
habits become character."
He sulks on the floor
and I see cut scenes to his
uncle and father in my mind.
But why can't we all dance I ask.
I wake at 11:38am
and walk and sit
and turn on the wizzing machine
and look at how much external harddrives cost
wearing suits that shine
and shimmer walking from
a bus full of students
I knew that they kicked them out of the bus
not the driver but the
passengers
on the way to a formal dance
I see them leaving and I just know
so I walk in the bus
and I give the guy an earfull
who made them leave
He tells me about his uncle and father and how he
hates them. How he is black and they are
white. How he hates them.
These men aren't perverts, they are just men.
I say "Thought becomes your words,
words become your actions,
action become your habits,
habits become character."
He sulks on the floor
and I see cut scenes to his
uncle and father in my mind.
But why can't we all dance I ask.
I wake at 11:38am
and walk and sit
and turn on the wizzing machine
and look at how much external harddrives cost
Sunday, December 16, 2007
cute dog; small cage
we have a Condition
you and I
we are small little things
spinning in circles
from left to right
over our right shoulder
we feel the shadow behind us
when we read or when we write
but we do not
not do not
keep still
we spin over and over
in our wake/sleep
toss/turn
gloss/learn
floss/earn
now the mind
it churns
from left to right
in happiness and fright
a binary tracked flight
I roll my eyes
from left to right
re re reading
the page
I am picking at the plastic siding
I am clawing at the walls
I sniff and creek and push and pick
The wholes are getting small
wake my brother, wake my friend
and see what you can learn
the cage gets me sleepless turning
breathing the dust from my urn.
you and I
we are small little things
spinning in circles
from left to right
over our right shoulder
we feel the shadow behind us
when we read or when we write
but we do not
not do not
keep still
we spin over and over
in our wake/sleep
toss/turn
gloss/learn
floss/earn
now the mind
it churns
from left to right
in happiness and fright
a binary tracked flight
I roll my eyes
from left to right
re re reading
the page
I am picking at the plastic siding
I am clawing at the walls
I sniff and creek and push and pick
The wholes are getting small
wake my brother, wake my friend
and see what you can learn
the cage gets me sleepless turning
breathing the dust from my urn.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Honor Roll
I'm on a roll tonight.
the fire is hot, so I strike.
But I'm writing not striking
to fill up the kite.
the air,
so soft
and the smell
like wet as-fault
slip on it and break
the tension in the softness
of the air
the gutter smiles
the weeds bloom and smolder
and the manhole cover
is clean for once,
Listening to it's own voice.
"I desperatly wanted to grow up
to be like those covers in Mexico
that look like the Rebel Alliance symbol
from Star Wars. Man, I loved Star Wars
in high school, why didn't I get to do that.
Now I'm a freakin government employee, for christ
sake."
Oh you shine today
Manhole cover
and know that your grandkids will
love what you have done!
the fire is hot, so I strike.
But I'm writing not striking
to fill up the kite.
the air,
so soft
and the smell
like wet as-fault
slip on it and break
the tension in the softness
of the air
the gutter smiles
the weeds bloom and smolder
and the manhole cover
is clean for once,
Listening to it's own voice.
"I desperatly wanted to grow up
to be like those covers in Mexico
that look like the Rebel Alliance symbol
from Star Wars. Man, I loved Star Wars
in high school, why didn't I get to do that.
Now I'm a freakin government employee, for christ
sake."
Oh you shine today
Manhole cover
and know that your grandkids will
love what you have done!
Rain
slipultatlickspak
pla
plimpbalicklist ta
schepl
tick
taspitacta
.
taturicks
cricketas
..
pumblchockstea
.
dadapalents
pla
plimpbalicklist ta
schepl
tick
taspitacta
.
taturicks
cricketas
..
pumblchockstea
.
dadapalents
we got the lights
Flash Flash
Blink Blink
We got the lights
Flash Blink
Flash Blink
Stars in the nights
Flash Flash Blink
Blink
white, blue and Red
Flash
Blink Flash Blink
Bring out your dead
[America, the Canon for shooting flaming newspapers over the worlds head, where they can make out some of the text, but the burning ash falls in place of knowledge. We have made some mistakes, America and I. You called our bluff, and we didn't have the cards, so we are trying to draw in the right hand, with a crayon, America and I. We will soon be outside being held at the arms, leaning forward, spitting blood, punched in the mouth. We have been talking too much, and we will be caught without the cards. and the world is depending on these cards, which we used to think was a game, but now everyone is getting punched. I am even getting punched. Look what you have done, America and I, look at yourself. What have you done to me, America and I, this is all your fault. You silly creature, you powerful puppet with no master, you bastard. America and I, you bastard.]
Blink Blink
We got the lights
Flash Blink
Flash Blink
Stars in the nights
Flash Flash Blink
Blink
white, blue and Red
Flash
Blink Flash Blink
Bring out your dead
[America, the Canon for shooting flaming newspapers over the worlds head, where they can make out some of the text, but the burning ash falls in place of knowledge. We have made some mistakes, America and I. You called our bluff, and we didn't have the cards, so we are trying to draw in the right hand, with a crayon, America and I. We will soon be outside being held at the arms, leaning forward, spitting blood, punched in the mouth. We have been talking too much, and we will be caught without the cards. and the world is depending on these cards, which we used to think was a game, but now everyone is getting punched. I am even getting punched. Look what you have done, America and I, look at yourself. What have you done to me, America and I, this is all your fault. You silly creature, you powerful puppet with no master, you bastard. America and I, you bastard.]
Who is my audience?
the rain on the Spain Plain
brings a drab little mac habit
that can't be broken spells
I can tell, can opener thought limits
though I can quit it. I knwo my problem
doesn;t come from progress run.
Sun, earth, mother, birth, woot
from cause to detect
from clue to effect
i suppose my spinning hardrive wheels
bring
chills. Now child of the woot mother with the
broken spell, tell me the limited open thought
the getaway stop and haunt.
stop.
when I write stop.
you stop. when I read stop.
I stop.
brings a drab little mac habit
that can't be broken spells
I can tell, can opener thought limits
though I can quit it. I knwo my problem
doesn;t come from progress run.
Sun, earth, mother, birth, woot
from cause to detect
from clue to effect
i suppose my spinning hardrive wheels
bring
chills. Now child of the woot mother with the
broken spell, tell me the limited open thought
the getaway stop and haunt.
stop.
when I write stop.
you stop. when I read stop.
I stop.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Silence
shhhh. It's quiet.
in this space of learning
where nothing moves
and books decay to dust
with dust and decay
cold and hushed
and shushed
and quiet.
the creaking spines
the knowing shelves
that flick the filthy specks
off the mind.
walk in breathe walk out
walk in
breathe
walkout
take out your card and officially walk out
walk out and hold your breathe
walking in
and breathing
and out of breathe
creaks and cracks and white soot
the dry scalp cracks and reveals
the red and jello and living
that nothing in this space is
not beating, not breathing
silence
in this space of learning
where nothing moves
and books decay to dust
with dust and decay
cold and hushed
and shushed
and quiet.
the creaking spines
the knowing shelves
that flick the filthy specks
off the mind.
walk in breathe walk out
walk in
breathe
walkout
take out your card and officially walk out
walk out and hold your breathe
walking in
and breathing
and out of breathe
creaks and cracks and white soot
the dry scalp cracks and reveals
the red and jello and living
that nothing in this space is
not beating, not breathing
silence
explode
to the rhythms and rhymes of the turpentines
I have a feeling that I am sealing
and I know nothing but something that's everything
put me down upon my knees
lord let me go from yea hands
Im in trouble
singing.... you are.
now I have nver used so many periods or elipses in a poem
as I just had before
and I hope the police of poetry will knock at more door
amd I speaking or are you reading
have i made a mistake
I will never be spectacular because i don't let myself
I don't get my work done early and I don't go over the top
but I'm smart
and some how I'm an American
I'm the second hardest working and the second smartest.
I think i will be the second chair for the rest of my life
I think I will;l be wishing I could be you forever
I know that I won't reach my potential ever.
i will never pit out food work, because I don't push myself
i doubt. I can't compare.
i just want to be the best at something. Like my dad.
Imagine being the child of an Olympian.
what does that leave you?
when you have the fat pushing over your jeans
where can I go.
to the class room.
to another country.
to the grave.
home.
whats so wrong with being me.
I don't think I have a choice but to be a part of the massproduction.
I am the production
I am produced. why are you?
who is the producer. I am a franchise.
i am fading out.
I have a feeling that I am sealing
and I know nothing but something that's everything
put me down upon my knees
lord let me go from yea hands
Im in trouble
singing.... you are.
now I have nver used so many periods or elipses in a poem
as I just had before
and I hope the police of poetry will knock at more door
amd I speaking or are you reading
have i made a mistake
I will never be spectacular because i don't let myself
I don't get my work done early and I don't go over the top
but I'm smart
and some how I'm an American
I'm the second hardest working and the second smartest.
I think i will be the second chair for the rest of my life
I think I will;l be wishing I could be you forever
I know that I won't reach my potential ever.
i will never pit out food work, because I don't push myself
i doubt. I can't compare.
i just want to be the best at something. Like my dad.
Imagine being the child of an Olympian.
what does that leave you?
when you have the fat pushing over your jeans
where can I go.
to the class room.
to another country.
to the grave.
home.
whats so wrong with being me.
I don't think I have a choice but to be a part of the massproduction.
I am the production
I am produced. why are you?
who is the producer. I am a franchise.
i am fading out.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
From my Sister, From my Friend
I don't know why
your poems make me cry,
but they do.
It's not because I'm sad
because I'm not.
I feel like when I read them,
I can see what you really think,
who you really are.
And it's beautiful.
your poems make me cry,
but they do.
It's not because I'm sad
because I'm not.
I feel like when I read them,
I can see what you really think,
who you really are.
And it's beautiful.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
To my Sister, To my Friend
When you can't sleep
the words start to creep
and hands creek and win
I write floridly to
forecast the Whitman's of
the past
the Walt that is
not the school
not the vault
not to droll
over
a group of books that would make better brushfires
than bedtime readers
and a group of sheep that would make better friends
than lonesome breeders
so ladies. listen closely.
bring forth the brushfire
that I see in your eyes
and light all the novels
and fill up the skys
with the smoke of hope that
runs and billows
from your eyes
seize it, let us sing these cries,
"this is my moment,
I won't look away.
I have found my future,
it is starting today."
Now girl,
look in that mirror and
see what you can be;
a woman with fire in her eyes
and a heart like the sea.
the words start to creep
and hands creek and win
I write floridly to
forecast the Whitman's of
the past
the Walt that is
not the school
not the vault
not to droll
over
a group of books that would make better brushfires
than bedtime readers
and a group of sheep that would make better friends
than lonesome breeders
so ladies. listen closely.
bring forth the brushfire
that I see in your eyes
and light all the novels
and fill up the skys
with the smoke of hope that
runs and billows
from your eyes
seize it, let us sing these cries,
"this is my moment,
I won't look away.
I have found my future,
it is starting today."
Now girl,
look in that mirror and
see what you can be;
a woman with fire in her eyes
and a heart like the sea.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Oh My Goodness
lets talk about free
will. What is it?
do you know?
I might think it's an illusion
some say it's the best gift
that humanity has created
I am not creative.
why do I need to be free?
who has the authority?
tell me are we all free
are we?
the questions are fashioned
to be answered or even to be questioned
is my mission
to search for truth
because only the end will give it all
to us.
all of what we seek.
what do we seek?
Love. In the end. Is Love.
will. What is it?
do you know?
I might think it's an illusion
some say it's the best gift
that humanity has created
I am not creative.
why do I need to be free?
who has the authority?
tell me are we all free
are we?
the questions are fashioned
to be answered or even to be questioned
is my mission
to search for truth
because only the end will give it all
to us.
all of what we seek.
what do we seek?
Love. In the end. Is Love.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Mary
We used to be young
we were so smiley
we used to have fun
we were so happy
I was at home
cuz i had a best friend
I wasn't alone
beside my best friend
Mary, I should have kissed you
when I had the chance
"Mary, can I kiss you?"
I waited as we danced
Your face might not
have been the thing I miss the most
if I had a photo of your face
instead of the song of a ghost
Mary, I should have married you
when I had the chance
Mary, I really need you
my one true love and romance
I visit you almost everyday
your the thing I wish I could save
my bed is so cold at night
I live out my days at wait for the grave
Mary, I really need you
you were everything to me
Mary, I need to see you
at least come see me in my dreams.
(I cried at the end of writing this.)
we were so smiley
we used to have fun
we were so happy
I was at home
cuz i had a best friend
I wasn't alone
beside my best friend
Mary, I should have kissed you
when I had the chance
"Mary, can I kiss you?"
I waited as we danced
Your face might not
have been the thing I miss the most
if I had a photo of your face
instead of the song of a ghost
Mary, I should have married you
when I had the chance
Mary, I really need you
my one true love and romance
I visit you almost everyday
your the thing I wish I could save
my bed is so cold at night
I live out my days at wait for the grave
Mary, I really need you
you were everything to me
Mary, I need to see you
at least come see me in my dreams.
(I cried at the end of writing this.)
Sunday, November 11, 2007
I am at the center of the rabbit hole. smiling.
I should have gone to the pool today
to live and flip in the air
between the lockerroom and the water
between the ground and the stars
I should have gone to the shower today
to baptize my angry hair
and worry less about being greezy
and more about my heart
I should have gone to the church today
to clean and climb from my care
finding nothing but everything
finding a space between bars
I should have gone to the sky today
to live and flip in the air
between the mind and the body
between the ground and the stars
to live and flip in the air
between the lockerroom and the water
between the ground and the stars
I should have gone to the shower today
to baptize my angry hair
and worry less about being greezy
and more about my heart
I should have gone to the church today
to clean and climb from my care
finding nothing but everything
finding a space between bars
I should have gone to the sky today
to live and flip in the air
between the mind and the body
between the ground and the stars
Thursday, November 8, 2007
asdfasdfasdfasdfasdf
jug jug me think
of quietsly drink
and pinks around the finks
and sink of diamond blinks
oh way the weigh of orcas oceans
the ounces of solidtude we see in the sea
the jumping freely we find in free willy
the culture we strain in the drain of the sea
and me and only me will find what this means
for I have nothing but cream in the dream
and clean the seem of the couchs coochin
the kings cross of coughing lutgin
dominos with fall in a chain reaction
i have opened up a place where nothing novel or novel nothings will excape the crappppp
crap
fall fall the fancy feast of facts and peace
of truth and hororrororoorororororrorrorororoorororooororrorroroorororro
a
asdfasdfasdfasdfasdf
jkl;jkl;jkl;a;sldkfja;sldkfja;sldkfj
pasdf
aasdf
tasdf
tasdf
easdf
rasdf
nasdf
jump jump jasdf
jump jump jason
JUMP!
of quietsly drink
and pinks around the finks
and sink of diamond blinks
oh way the weigh of orcas oceans
the ounces of solidtude we see in the sea
the jumping freely we find in free willy
the culture we strain in the drain of the sea
and me and only me will find what this means
for I have nothing but cream in the dream
and clean the seem of the couchs coochin
the kings cross of coughing lutgin
dominos with fall in a chain reaction
i have opened up a place where nothing novel or novel nothings will excape the crappppp
crap
fall fall the fancy feast of facts and peace
of truth and hororrororoorororororrorrorororoorororooororrorroroorororro
a
asdfasdfasdfasdfasdf
jkl;jkl;jkl;a;sldkfja;sldkfja;sldkfj
pasdf
aasdf
tasdf
tasdf
easdf
rasdf
nasdf
jump jump jasdf
jump jump jason
JUMP!
Monday, November 5, 2007
My Aim is True
I see a bird in
my sights. I stay
awake and sit out the
nights.
I red-eye and caffeine
all of the flights.
I'm nothing but make-up,
sequins and tights.
and rain drops keep fallin on my head
and I couldn't be the right because
soon I will be dead. nothings left for me, cuz
I won't be livin while the rain drops are waiting.
nothings worryin me.
I know just where I stand. a boy stuck in the boy of a man.
I'll teach myself to live. I take and I will give.
I leak out knowledge like a sieve.
Facing what consumes you is the only way to be free.
release all those poisonous fears. I am Buddhist.
Days months and Ears.
I am Mickey Mouse. I am Bo Derek. I am Ben Franklin
with my Franklin stove. I am a mouse with a key in a kite.
I am a blonde bombshell immortally on the beach with beads
thinking about my next line... of coke.
I am a classic. Where ever there is fun there is always me.
I am a naylor and I am thread. I am quiet and I am dead.
When you read this or you hear it, it might be from my mouth or it might be from my tomb. Either way. I spoke it aloud while I wrote it alone in the hour a day after the end of day light savings. I wrote it on a mattress on the floor with a stiff back and an empty hope that someday, someone who I don't know will identify with me and this and my exisistance as an ant will become invisible and I will again become human and not just a name and not just a nothing. In one hundred years, no one you know will be alive and all of our actions will be in third and forth reassertions of digested dust. That will sit in the liver of the mind and be processed as waste. I wish I knew the dead writers who wrote like this that stand beside me as I write. I wish I heard the voice of the upraised and the un-praised and the unrecognized student or shopkeeper or journalist or teacher who spent a lifetime working to be something bigger than this life and will never achieve it! I am them. They are me. We will never meet because we have nothing to go by. All of there work is dust in my wasted mind. all they gave and all of there everything is gone. I AM GONE. i AM GONE i am gone. I am gone.
I sit with a frown and a heavy brow but no matter what. no matter what. After this is done. I will go to sleep and dream every dream for those men, for now. for. now. I am still breathing.
my sights. I stay
awake and sit out the
nights.
I red-eye and caffeine
all of the flights.
I'm nothing but make-up,
sequins and tights.
and rain drops keep fallin on my head
and I couldn't be the right because
soon I will be dead. nothings left for me, cuz
I won't be livin while the rain drops are waiting.
nothings worryin me.
I know just where I stand. a boy stuck in the boy of a man.
I'll teach myself to live. I take and I will give.
I leak out knowledge like a sieve.
Facing what consumes you is the only way to be free.
release all those poisonous fears. I am Buddhist.
Days months and Ears.
I am Mickey Mouse. I am Bo Derek. I am Ben Franklin
with my Franklin stove. I am a mouse with a key in a kite.
I am a blonde bombshell immortally on the beach with beads
thinking about my next line... of coke.
I am a classic. Where ever there is fun there is always me.
I am a naylor and I am thread. I am quiet and I am dead.
When you read this or you hear it, it might be from my mouth or it might be from my tomb. Either way. I spoke it aloud while I wrote it alone in the hour a day after the end of day light savings. I wrote it on a mattress on the floor with a stiff back and an empty hope that someday, someone who I don't know will identify with me and this and my exisistance as an ant will become invisible and I will again become human and not just a name and not just a nothing. In one hundred years, no one you know will be alive and all of our actions will be in third and forth reassertions of digested dust. That will sit in the liver of the mind and be processed as waste. I wish I knew the dead writers who wrote like this that stand beside me as I write. I wish I heard the voice of the upraised and the un-praised and the unrecognized student or shopkeeper or journalist or teacher who spent a lifetime working to be something bigger than this life and will never achieve it! I am them. They are me. We will never meet because we have nothing to go by. All of there work is dust in my wasted mind. all they gave and all of there everything is gone. I AM GONE. i AM GONE i am gone. I am gone.
I sit with a frown and a heavy brow but no matter what. no matter what. After this is done. I will go to sleep and dream every dream for those men, for now. for. now. I am still breathing.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Cool
Aurora Borealis
Put your hand down on the ice
and stand on all fours.
There is a creaking and cracking on the frozen ground
and the cold of the floors
now this hardwood apartment
turns into a scene
where everything is powdered white
and nothing is green
the outdoors come inward and
inside goes out
with the pond and the stream and trees
frozen stout
the winds go Northward
with the chill of the pines
and the bookshelves
are icicles hanging
like chimes
Staircase becomes willows
the couch becomes grass
the lights become stars
brilliant comets pass
When crouching on water
as solid as glass
we all trust in Nature
and God and say "Yes,
I'm in wonder,
on water, I stand.
Defying all Nature,
I'm holding your hand.
and as I stand upright,
in this mystic scene,
and you say nothing
and I know what you mean.
I'm speechless
sublime
it's ineffable too.
to have the world paint this clearing
then sign it by You."
With the last sound, I'm whisked
back to the woodfloor.
My apartment creeks coldy
when I shut the door.
But I look out the window
and see the North Star
where Comets blaze bright
singing,"I am not far."
Put your hand down on the ice
and stand on all fours.
There is a creaking and cracking on the frozen ground
and the cold of the floors
now this hardwood apartment
turns into a scene
where everything is powdered white
and nothing is green
the outdoors come inward and
inside goes out
with the pond and the stream and trees
frozen stout
the winds go Northward
with the chill of the pines
and the bookshelves
are icicles hanging
like chimes
Staircase becomes willows
the couch becomes grass
the lights become stars
brilliant comets pass
When crouching on water
as solid as glass
we all trust in Nature
and God and say "Yes,
I'm in wonder,
on water, I stand.
Defying all Nature,
I'm holding your hand.
and as I stand upright,
in this mystic scene,
and you say nothing
and I know what you mean.
I'm speechless
sublime
it's ineffable too.
to have the world paint this clearing
then sign it by You."
With the last sound, I'm whisked
back to the woodfloor.
My apartment creeks coldy
when I shut the door.
But I look out the window
and see the North Star
where Comets blaze bright
singing,"I am not far."
mecha
slept the felt pen with cloth.
the hair of the back of a sloth
runs against the grain of evolutions tough
with a mung and a cough
faces of bland mayonnaises decieve you
as people and places create to retreve who
you think you are
your reflected beautiful self
you purcahse and collect to
sit on the shelf.
you hate me don't you
because of what I have
you think I'm snot-nosed and worthless and
and and
I can't I won't I don't have a clue
you silly and worhtless girl
you think I'm so spoiled and thehn what are you
you mightnot know what I know about you
I know your afraid and I figured out why
you think you can take all these things when you die
but now you are wrong, they are just in your eye and you don't have what I have
you don't have what I have
I have this. I have this moment and this person who is reading these words. you won't get this you silly silly girl. you won't get these readers adoring you. don't you adore me? Don't you adore me!
the hair of the back of a sloth
runs against the grain of evolutions tough
with a mung and a cough
faces of bland mayonnaises decieve you
as people and places create to retreve who
you think you are
your reflected beautiful self
you purcahse and collect to
sit on the shelf.
you hate me don't you
because of what I have
you think I'm snot-nosed and worthless and
and and
I can't I won't I don't have a clue
you silly and worhtless girl
you think I'm so spoiled and thehn what are you
you mightnot know what I know about you
I know your afraid and I figured out why
you think you can take all these things when you die
but now you are wrong, they are just in your eye and you don't have what I have
you don't have what I have
I have this. I have this moment and this person who is reading these words. you won't get this you silly silly girl. you won't get these readers adoring you. don't you adore me? Don't you adore me!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
BOOM
the 1992 earth quaked
with my feet
touching its face
I am laced with a different understanding
am I the chosen one
am I demanding
the respect that you need
until the thought must bleed
and bllek ou the wrreke of the lady
and in the trees the world will be shady.
I sit with my family in the desert with the fruit trees outside looking like scarecrows. I am seven years old. I am smiling. I am clean.
I have little gapped teeth. I have the world I have always wanted. I have candy and flowers and women. my aunt. my mom. my grandma.
they sing in harmony these women. finding out ways to make me smile.
they are tall. they are caring they are beautiful. they are everything and nothing.
standing with their hands clasped and their mouths open, singing a chord of pure joy. Frozen in time as the camera moves across their faces diaganoly.
I can imagine the pool and the 50's furniture and the beauty of the mountains in the valley of the desert. I am hopeful I am free and I'm what want to be. I need the dough of my mind with these thoughts and won't cry.
I won't cry.
with my feet
touching its face
I am laced with a different understanding
am I the chosen one
am I demanding
the respect that you need
until the thought must bleed
and bllek ou the wrreke of the lady
and in the trees the world will be shady.
I sit with my family in the desert with the fruit trees outside looking like scarecrows. I am seven years old. I am smiling. I am clean.
I have little gapped teeth. I have the world I have always wanted. I have candy and flowers and women. my aunt. my mom. my grandma.
they sing in harmony these women. finding out ways to make me smile.
they are tall. they are caring they are beautiful. they are everything and nothing.
standing with their hands clasped and their mouths open, singing a chord of pure joy. Frozen in time as the camera moves across their faces diaganoly.
I can imagine the pool and the 50's furniture and the beauty of the mountains in the valley of the desert. I am hopeful I am free and I'm what want to be. I need the dough of my mind with these thoughts and won't cry.
I won't cry.
Pray for Rain
I'm holding my hands out and waiting for
the ash of the cross
to fill them.
I'm looking at the sun move
orange across the sky
and dye the road red
and I speak out to cry:
"Lord, bring your blessing,
Push away these fears,
the treetops are burning,
drown me with tears.
You are my father,
I am your son,
I am your child,
let us be one"
and the sky responds:
"Mock me not, for I am control;
The sun and the moon and the stars in my role,
You think you can hear me?
Look deep in your soul.
Breathe in the ash and you will be whole."
the sky then smiled
as I took in a breathe.
chested clenched as I
sputtered
and layed to my death.
Now my body is grounded
and I am above
staring down at the fire,
I have found love.
the ash of the cross
to fill them.
I'm looking at the sun move
orange across the sky
and dye the road red
and I speak out to cry:
"Lord, bring your blessing,
Push away these fears,
the treetops are burning,
drown me with tears.
You are my father,
I am your son,
I am your child,
let us be one"
and the sky responds:
"Mock me not, for I am control;
The sun and the moon and the stars in my role,
You think you can hear me?
Look deep in your soul.
Breathe in the ash and you will be whole."
the sky then smiled
as I took in a breathe.
chested clenched as I
sputtered
and layed to my death.
Now my body is grounded
and I am above
staring down at the fire,
I have found love.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
I'm on a unconsciouses tip
Flipout the rested hairs
from the nexts back.
the microphone won;t stnad in the ay
so jump today! in a bail of hay, i say.
the grey and averance of the morn wo't stop nothingness
for I have seen the glory of a absent minded professor
and they profess what you need and want
and I won;t smell the differents of the samness anymore
my nose is full and done
skip the stone on the surface and let it dive deep down down down
into he mindseyes places
don't look up and at the imdeiate take your time looking ionward
I will keep messing uwhen the world around me is my focus.
I will only make mistakes when I think I will. I will only look uo at the screen when I tink I sshould.
I don't care. the puirple dinosaur has nothinng to do with vision. I'm so surrounfed bu the outside world that I have nothing esle to five, I need to get into myseldf. I need to tape Devlin, I need to let go. let go. let go. shapes and phrases have Washington to do with childhood. in a corrosions of the doors I have'[t opened before. I stood at the door.
and then broke the world and broke the spell and now I'm back in reality. back in hell.
lets keep this going with one more try. I won't look up or open my eyes. the hardest task I find in life is discipline. my father has it. my mother has it. I am the tickling. I am the monster. I am the fat fuck ,. I am unadulterated, I am a fiend. I am nothing.
that worked.
from the nexts back.
the microphone won;t stnad in the ay
so jump today! in a bail of hay, i say.
the grey and averance of the morn wo't stop nothingness
for I have seen the glory of a absent minded professor
and they profess what you need and want
and I won;t smell the differents of the samness anymore
my nose is full and done
skip the stone on the surface and let it dive deep down down down
into he mindseyes places
don't look up and at the imdeiate take your time looking ionward
I will keep messing uwhen the world around me is my focus.
I will only make mistakes when I think I will. I will only look uo at the screen when I tink I sshould.
I don't care. the puirple dinosaur has nothinng to do with vision. I'm so surrounfed bu the outside world that I have nothing esle to five, I need to get into myseldf. I need to tape Devlin, I need to let go. let go. let go. shapes and phrases have Washington to do with childhood. in a corrosions of the doors I have'[t opened before. I stood at the door.
and then broke the world and broke the spell and now I'm back in reality. back in hell.
lets keep this going with one more try. I won't look up or open my eyes. the hardest task I find in life is discipline. my father has it. my mother has it. I am the tickling. I am the monster. I am the fat fuck ,. I am unadulterated, I am a fiend. I am nothing.
that worked.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Tell me are you free?
I have the key
and sing the shouts out
from the subliminilala
to the sublime
from the criminal to the
crying coughs of a whiming willows
wasted barks like a dog.
the transparent minds eye flys freely focused on
the abstracted anger of mulitutdes.
focres of natical trades
find winds of plague
at push the fresh contagious
away.
gritting out the graphic past
for nothing to something,
the stars will find a way to shine when the world
is full of trunpentine
I hold my breathe before i submerge
into to the subconcously sound ways
of my mind. the figures that appear see
the find a way to the surface.
now the butterfly won;t mind that i touch it's wings
when I'm inclined to search and look for the dna
of an answered phrase. is this staying in the realm of understanding , is this
you invatatoin.
have i left
will i stay
a few sense
short
of the change to
pay.
blessing from beneath
a diamond universe of teeth
and the pink that turns the river
brings tingles to the liver
for I am drunk with the thought
that I will be alone and caught
with my pnats down below my head
sooner than you think. we will all be...
and sing the shouts out
from the subliminilala
to the sublime
from the criminal to the
crying coughs of a whiming willows
wasted barks like a dog.
the transparent minds eye flys freely focused on
the abstracted anger of mulitutdes.
focres of natical trades
find winds of plague
at push the fresh contagious
away.
gritting out the graphic past
for nothing to something,
the stars will find a way to shine when the world
is full of trunpentine
I hold my breathe before i submerge
into to the subconcously sound ways
of my mind. the figures that appear see
the find a way to the surface.
now the butterfly won;t mind that i touch it's wings
when I'm inclined to search and look for the dna
of an answered phrase. is this staying in the realm of understanding , is this
you invatatoin.
have i left
will i stay
a few sense
short
of the change to
pay.
blessing from beneath
a diamond universe of teeth
and the pink that turns the river
brings tingles to the liver
for I am drunk with the thought
that I will be alone and caught
with my pnats down below my head
sooner than you think. we will all be...
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Some Day You too Will Die
This is dwindling.
the roots are craving water
and I have none to give
in a desert of digital seas
The fruits are dust
and when I pick them
like I am now,
they crumble into ineffability.
The blacks and whites,
the absolutes are
just as imaginary
as the soul
and a quenchless sea
of digital gray will
never let us see
the ones and zeros.
When descent from beauty
and art on this page catalyzes
emotion. Look in yourself,
and see the digested dust
I have fed you.
the roots are craving water
and I have none to give
in a desert of digital seas
The fruits are dust
and when I pick them
like I am now,
they crumble into ineffability.
The blacks and whites,
the absolutes are
just as imaginary
as the soul
and a quenchless sea
of digital gray will
never let us see
the ones and zeros.
When descent from beauty
and art on this page catalyzes
emotion. Look in yourself,
and see the digested dust
I have fed you.
Friday, September 14, 2007
seven
Someday, my life will go on without you,
i said, someday, the world will spin without you
and the wonder of a flame
might burn out
burn out
we chroach like tigers in the weeds
and at the sign of life, we retreat.
godlessly retreat.
but until that that day will come
i said until that day will come
we won't find a way
out.
now i wonder what the way will be
to see the doorway, to find the key
to twist and open, look at me
look what I am, look at the
only son you've ever had,
the boy who will become your dad.
(an echoing heart will make you mad
in the doldrums passageway)
but until that day will come
i said until that day will come
I will wonder...
blum blum blum blahblahblah blum blum.
i said, someday, the world will spin without you
and the wonder of a flame
might burn out
burn out
we chroach like tigers in the weeds
and at the sign of life, we retreat.
godlessly retreat.
but until that that day will come
i said until that day will come
we won't find a way
out.
now i wonder what the way will be
to see the doorway, to find the key
to twist and open, look at me
look what I am, look at the
only son you've ever had,
the boy who will become your dad.
(an echoing heart will make you mad
in the doldrums passageway)
but until that day will come
i said until that day will come
I will wonder...
blum blum blum blahblahblah blum blum.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Total Lunar Eclipse
I got in a fight
with the delay of computer's
typing speeds
in attempt to stay up extra late
to watch the eclipse.
I crack my back
and put down an onion bagel to
keep my eyes up for you.
now it's one thirty and
my book slides off my
knee to crash and slip into water
bottled capped worry
The moon is the brightest and fullest
right before it is eclipsed because
the earth is reacieving the most direct light from it
like shining a flash light into your face off a mirror
have you ever done that? looked straight into it,
because call me a lunatic, but i start to see shit.
you know, like the spinning lights
and crooked leaves that should be square
and the staircases almost symmetrical enough to skip stair
running down taking stairs by twos
in total darkness and you get to the last set
but there is only one left and
you can't see it, and you run your foot into the ground
and fall ass over tit
with your chin like a bomb hitting the ground
spraying like a sprinkler.
I mean, and you could see all that goddamn blood if the
moon wasn't covered up by your existence.
If the stupid Earth wasn't in the way, we would
get to look all tough in the first place,
you would, I mean. Well, you know, you probly would
have seen the fricken stair too.
if the moon was out.
Total Eclipse of the Moon
CARLSBAD, CALIFORNIA
o ' o '
W117 20, N33 10
Pacific Daylight Time
Moon's
Azimuth Altitude
h m o o
Moonrise 2007 Aug 27 19:07 104.7 ----
Moon enters penumbra 2007 Aug 28 00:52.2 182.4 45.5
Moon enters umbra 2007 Aug 28 01:50.9 201.9 43.2
Moon enters totality 2007 Aug 28 02:52.0 219.4 37.0
Middle of eclipse 2007 Aug 28 03:37.3 230.0 30.7
Moon leaves totality 2007 Aug 28 04:22.7 239.0 23.3
Moon leaves umbra 2007 Aug 28 05:23.8 249.2 12.3
Moon leaves penumbra 2007 Aug 28 06:22.5 257.6 1.4
with the delay of computer's
typing speeds
in attempt to stay up extra late
to watch the eclipse.
I crack my back
and put down an onion bagel to
keep my eyes up for you.
now it's one thirty and
my book slides off my
knee to crash and slip into water
bottled capped worry
The moon is the brightest and fullest
right before it is eclipsed because
the earth is reacieving the most direct light from it
like shining a flash light into your face off a mirror
have you ever done that? looked straight into it,
because call me a lunatic, but i start to see shit.
you know, like the spinning lights
and crooked leaves that should be square
and the staircases almost symmetrical enough to skip stair
running down taking stairs by twos
in total darkness and you get to the last set
but there is only one left and
you can't see it, and you run your foot into the ground
and fall ass over tit
with your chin like a bomb hitting the ground
spraying like a sprinkler.
I mean, and you could see all that goddamn blood if the
moon wasn't covered up by your existence.
If the stupid Earth wasn't in the way, we would
get to look all tough in the first place,
you would, I mean. Well, you know, you probly would
have seen the fricken stair too.
if the moon was out.
Total Eclipse of the Moon
CARLSBAD, CALIFORNIA
o ' o '
W117 20, N33 10
Pacific Daylight Time
Moon's
Azimuth Altitude
h m o o
Moonrise 2007 Aug 27 19:07 104.7 ----
Moon enters penumbra 2007 Aug 28 00:52.2 182.4 45.5
Moon enters umbra 2007 Aug 28 01:50.9 201.9 43.2
Moon enters totality 2007 Aug 28 02:52.0 219.4 37.0
Middle of eclipse 2007 Aug 28 03:37.3 230.0 30.7
Moon leaves totality 2007 Aug 28 04:22.7 239.0 23.3
Moon leaves umbra 2007 Aug 28 05:23.8 249.2 12.3
Moon leaves penumbra 2007 Aug 28 06:22.5 257.6 1.4
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Revelation
i seem to find the voice
of God in my head late at
night in this room.
tonight it told me that
life is much too short
to live it for yourself.
Because whether you see
light or darkness
at the end, we won't
get to do it again
so don't focus on the product
because then it will all go in
the process.
so who cares whats at
the end, just as long
as you have done your best
and you believe it
then that's all that counts.
of God in my head late at
night in this room.
tonight it told me that
life is much too short
to live it for yourself.
Because whether you see
light or darkness
at the end, we won't
get to do it again
so don't focus on the product
because then it will all go in
the process.
so who cares whats at
the end, just as long
as you have done your best
and you believe it
then that's all that counts.
My Last Trip to Edinburgh
It's the afternoon
and the white feather comforter
in the crown-molded guest room
on your fourth floor flat
lays quiet
like a nineteenth century
oriental duchess
waiting to bathe.
she gazes up at the bird
skating trails in the gray above.
Quails don't often look like daffodils,
but in 1886 anything is possible.
"technology is hard for people my
age to grasp, you see Jason."
I ring my hands together to get
the feeling of Highland mud off,
but there is nothing there;
just a boy/man waiting for a way to
time-travel back to the way love was.
I want to sleep in two separate rooms,
I want to comb my hair with a brush,
I am a man who can decide his own way,
I know what it takes to get married,
I am grown, I am honorable, I am Proper,
I am English. in Scotland.
I am an alcoholic.
just because I'm old enough to grow a beard, doesn't mean I'm a man.
I am not a man. I'm not even a male. I'm just a sad-faced person, who wants to live forever. I just want to be everything all at once and I always want to keep it all.
I won't have this place again. Not like this. Not with you.
goodbye Small Asian girl who sits nude waiting.
Goodbye strong man who sings and screams
good bye grandma.
good bye.
and the white feather comforter
in the crown-molded guest room
on your fourth floor flat
lays quiet
like a nineteenth century
oriental duchess
waiting to bathe.
she gazes up at the bird
skating trails in the gray above.
Quails don't often look like daffodils,
but in 1886 anything is possible.
"technology is hard for people my
age to grasp, you see Jason."
I ring my hands together to get
the feeling of Highland mud off,
but there is nothing there;
just a boy/man waiting for a way to
time-travel back to the way love was.
I want to sleep in two separate rooms,
I want to comb my hair with a brush,
I am a man who can decide his own way,
I know what it takes to get married,
I am grown, I am honorable, I am Proper,
I am English. in Scotland.
I am an alcoholic.
just because I'm old enough to grow a beard, doesn't mean I'm a man.
I am not a man. I'm not even a male. I'm just a sad-faced person, who wants to live forever. I just want to be everything all at once and I always want to keep it all.
I won't have this place again. Not like this. Not with you.
goodbye Small Asian girl who sits nude waiting.
Goodbye strong man who sings and screams
good bye grandma.
good bye.
Friday, July 20, 2007
AT WORK
A Moth Stuck In my Throat
There is a Moth Stuck
in my Wind Pipe
dancing, and squirming and
clawing for life
with her little feet
There is a Moth caught
in a coughing rage
jammed like a hockey
goalie against the flesh
dry heaving cage
and as I bruise my ribs
on the whitewood fence
we are working together
to stay alive
so you can fly
and as I birth you out
of my dry throat prison,
and you launch from my mouth
with blood, you lay lifeless
with an umbilical cord of misfortune wrapped...
There is a Moth Stuck
in my Wind Pipe
dancing, and squirming and
clawing for life
with her little feet
There is a Moth caught
in a coughing rage
jammed like a hockey
goalie against the flesh
dry heaving cage
and as I bruise my ribs
on the whitewood fence
we are working together
to stay alive
so you can fly
and as I birth you out
of my dry throat prison,
and you launch from my mouth
with blood, you lay lifeless
with an umbilical cord of misfortune wrapped...
Thursday, June 28, 2007
10:50 pm
Swaying on the porch
of Hotel California
with the powerlines and the
palm trees, singing of
Adelaide. The two have never met,
but they would be twins, born
on other sides of the planet
from the same mother. Would young Adelaide
turn into teenage Cali, with her blonde
hair and her brown skin once fair?
Would they know the roots of the same palm trees or would they
get cheated on again? Because I am swaying
on her coast, my hands deep in father time, waiting to marry
the two sirens.
waiting for the stories to come true.
waiting like the smirking king on the throne of gold
who is only on gold in stories. and really sleep on
the street under the powerlines.
10:57 pm
disjointed.
of Hotel California
with the powerlines and the
palm trees, singing of
Adelaide. The two have never met,
but they would be twins, born
on other sides of the planet
from the same mother. Would young Adelaide
turn into teenage Cali, with her blonde
hair and her brown skin once fair?
Would they know the roots of the same palm trees or would they
get cheated on again? Because I am swaying
on her coast, my hands deep in father time, waiting to marry
the two sirens.
waiting for the stories to come true.
waiting like the smirking king on the throne of gold
who is only on gold in stories. and really sleep on
the street under the powerlines.
10:57 pm
disjointed.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
When I look outside
When I look outside
I must retreat
for the way i feel
the plastic under my
feet. and the lungs that fill
with quivering smog
will replicate smoke rings
on a log.
I need help to
see my brothers
compete in lonely games
and lies of defeat.
I want to claim a word of smiles
but what war do you face that fills the Niles
banks with the consistent churning of subsistence.
the stocks fall with drama. they are just
controlled by human opinions... they are not the weather but the
notions of the weather.
when we think we are the earth and we talk like we are the earth
what role does she have, what will she become?
When I look outside, I see schools made up
and faces educated to the modes of the nano-second.
i don't want anything to change. I just don't want to talk about it.
I must retreat
for the way i feel
the plastic under my
feet. and the lungs that fill
with quivering smog
will replicate smoke rings
on a log.
I need help to
see my brothers
compete in lonely games
and lies of defeat.
I want to claim a word of smiles
but what war do you face that fills the Niles
banks with the consistent churning of subsistence.
the stocks fall with drama. they are just
controlled by human opinions... they are not the weather but the
notions of the weather.
when we think we are the earth and we talk like we are the earth
what role does she have, what will she become?
When I look outside, I see schools made up
and faces educated to the modes of the nano-second.
i don't want anything to change. I just don't want to talk about it.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Card Tricks
Bleep the Sheep in Five Spare Minutes
Lets blog
like no one has ever
blogged B4
Let's embrace our
culture. It's Miller Time!
Let's all be Rock Stars and
artists who paint
the walls the same color
and marvel out our work
"Do you think I can go on Tour?"
"I know you could sell it on EBay"
"That's not porn THATS ART!"
who is stopping this de/construction?
who knows what is important anymore
let's be clear. I'm planting the seeds.
and so are you... reading this on your computer.
Your so Stupid!
Lets blog
like no one has ever
blogged B4
Let's embrace our
culture. It's Miller Time!
Let's all be Rock Stars and
artists who paint
the walls the same color
and marvel out our work
"Do you think I can go on Tour?"
"I know you could sell it on EBay"
"That's not porn THATS ART!"
who is stopping this de/construction?
who knows what is important anymore
let's be clear. I'm planting the seeds.
and so are you... reading this on your computer.
Your so Stupid!
Friday, June 8, 2007
These are a few of my Favorite things
I don't care about Money
I don't care about fame.
I don't want your fast car,
I don't need your name.
I don't want to be accepted,
I don't want to be pre-approved.
I don't want anything I can't make or do,
I don't want to be a fool.
I want to feel the slow release of human warmth around me,
with the friends and family and care that we all need.
I want a community of smiles and honesty, in rhythm and harmony.
I want to know that you know that we are connected and I want to feel that connection.
I want to give blood.
I want to give everything.
I want to feel my spirit radiate inside.
I want to fly.
I want to learn.
I want to enjoy it all and smile for above.
I want to be careless and worry-gone.
I want to sit on the porch with my lemonade at dusk and my land in front and my guitar in my hand and I want to sing with my neighbors, about the joys of having nothing.
I want to breathe a full breath and have my shoulders melt.
I want to burn my tv.
I want to destroy my culture.
I want to sit and think about everything good in the world.
I want to think my own thoughts, my own original thoughts.
I want to buy things made by good people for the most money I can give them.
I want to explode with good deeds.
I want to give art back to the artists with my signature.
I want to feel like a child again.
I just want to live.
I want, I want I want IwantIwant!
gimmegimmegimme. I want some more.
fucking jason
I don't care about fame.
I don't want your fast car,
I don't need your name.
I don't want to be accepted,
I don't want to be pre-approved.
I don't want anything I can't make or do,
I don't want to be a fool.
I want to feel the slow release of human warmth around me,
with the friends and family and care that we all need.
I want a community of smiles and honesty, in rhythm and harmony.
I want to know that you know that we are connected and I want to feel that connection.
I want to give blood.
I want to give everything.
I want to feel my spirit radiate inside.
I want to fly.
I want to learn.
I want to enjoy it all and smile for above.
I want to be careless and worry-gone.
I want to sit on the porch with my lemonade at dusk and my land in front and my guitar in my hand and I want to sing with my neighbors, about the joys of having nothing.
I want to breathe a full breath and have my shoulders melt.
I want to burn my tv.
I want to destroy my culture.
I want to sit and think about everything good in the world.
I want to think my own thoughts, my own original thoughts.
I want to buy things made by good people for the most money I can give them.
I want to explode with good deeds.
I want to give art back to the artists with my signature.
I want to feel like a child again.
I just want to live.
I want, I want I want IwantIwant!
gimmegimmegimme. I want some more.
fucking jason
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
"Watch out for the ceiling fan"
run your finger fast
along the curve of
the infant's back
and he kicks out
his feeted pajamas
and neck
and smiles
and coos
his gums
and lungs
lift off
the ground
in joy
he swims
like a new born dropped
into a pool
froggy froggy froggy
through the air.
"Wow, he's getting so big."
along the curve of
the infant's back
and he kicks out
his feeted pajamas
and neck
and smiles
and coos
his gums
and lungs
lift off
the ground
in joy
he swims
like a new born dropped
into a pool
froggy froggy froggy
through the air.
"Wow, he's getting so big."
for My Father's Birthday
written on May 24th (the night before I graduated from Whittier College).
Part 3
Fingers Flying for Fifty-Five phrases
Father’s eyes sparking
Son’s fifty-five praises
A birthday chant from two different places.
An English rant with two brother’s faces
To London’s surprise,
The Man’s still alive.
He dances and sings
and runs and beams
with hurdles and steeples
and puddles it seems,
breaking records on all of the races.
Part 4
An Ocean breeze, the island way,
Christens his brow with wind off the bay,
And mixes with baptizing sun in May,
A boy was born to the world this way
And off in the distance the sound of reggae
Sings a chorus.
Though he’s not returned, to his dismay,
His Trinidad soul will always stay.
Part 5
What better gift than a son
Using his culminated edification and culture
Of ornate patois and excreta,
To plume and celebrate
Paternal encomium.
How delicate is his rhyme!
How eloquent are his prose?
“What Mastery!” The man declares.
I say, “What Brilliance!”
“What a silly shit-headed little fuck who thinks big words make him smart!”
Part 3
Fingers Flying for Fifty-Five phrases
Father’s eyes sparking
Son’s fifty-five praises
A birthday chant from two different places.
An English rant with two brother’s faces
To London’s surprise,
The Man’s still alive.
He dances and sings
and runs and beams
with hurdles and steeples
and puddles it seems,
breaking records on all of the races.
Part 4
An Ocean breeze, the island way,
Christens his brow with wind off the bay,
And mixes with baptizing sun in May,
A boy was born to the world this way
And off in the distance the sound of reggae
Sings a chorus.
Though he’s not returned, to his dismay,
His Trinidad soul will always stay.
Part 5
What better gift than a son
Using his culminated edification and culture
Of ornate patois and excreta,
To plume and celebrate
Paternal encomium.
How delicate is his rhyme!
How eloquent are his prose?
“What Mastery!” The man declares.
I say, “What Brilliance!”
“What a silly shit-headed little fuck who thinks big words make him smart!”
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
For My Father's Brithday (part 2)
I imagine you young so often
And what our words would be like
If your voice would be hard or soft and
we would joke of two dudes and a dyke
I think of myself as old and
Watching my heart and my hair
Go gray, I feel like Holden
Singing out days in despair
And what our words would be like
If your voice would be hard or soft and
we would joke of two dudes and a dyke
I think of myself as old and
Watching my heart and my hair
Go gray, I feel like Holden
Singing out days in despair
symantics
Nostalgia
As a child, on a ranch in
Imperial valley, my grandmother
told me to pick any watermelon
from the back of the pick uptruck.
I climbed the wood siding
and found the right one
imperfect sphere head
and it was mine, mine.
I waved to my grandmother
and pushed the red/green melon
over the side and
watched as it broke like
Humpty but I was the king
and I jumped down
and pulled out the heart where
there are no seeds
and i ate it all
in one bite
like love and lust in one.
i was covered in red
As a child, on a ranch in
Imperial valley, my grandmother
told me to pick any watermelon
from the back of the pick uptruck.
I climbed the wood siding
and found the right one
imperfect sphere head
and it was mine, mine.
I waved to my grandmother
and pushed the red/green melon
over the side and
watched as it broke like
Humpty but I was the king
and I jumped down
and pulled out the heart where
there are no seeds
and i ate it all
in one bite
like love and lust in one.
i was covered in red
Friday, May 11, 2007
I have nothing to say
Interesting
I should be asleep,
but it doesn't work that way,
ive got great big lungs
and nothing to say
I should talk about
Morning sun in May
Ive got thousands of mornings
but nothing to say
I will stand up
and shout and free and climb
and be profound and jump around
in your head but I, but I
I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say
to a church-going lesbian
who waits around
and paralyzes himself
and lays on the ground
and pins himself down
restless and still
healthy and ill
with no free will
my God
how will I pay
for the sins of this day
for my the error of my way
when to God I scream and chant and sing
"I've got nothing to say"
3x
I should be asleep,
but it doesn't work that way,
ive got great big lungs
and nothing to say
I should talk about
Morning sun in May
Ive got thousands of mornings
but nothing to say
I will stand up
and shout and free and climb
and be profound and jump around
in your head but I, but I
I've got nothing to say
I've got nothing to say
to a church-going lesbian
who waits around
and paralyzes himself
and lays on the ground
and pins himself down
restless and still
healthy and ill
with no free will
my God
how will I pay
for the sins of this day
for my the error of my way
when to God I scream and chant and sing
"I've got nothing to say"
3x
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Poet Exemplar Description of Me by Anonymous
In less than two years, Jason Jenkins has gone from zero to sixty in regards to campus leadership. He first came on to the leadership scene as a member-at-large with COR during Spring 2006. He quickly assumed the position of Vice President for Fall 2006. He now serves as the Media Council representative on COR. In Media Council, Jason is a member-at-large, which acts as a checks and balances system for the organizations within MC. It is his job to look at the media from an outsides point of view and offer opinions and suggestions. Apart from his work with COR, Jason has co-founded the Music Business Club, which has already hosted three events on campus. For a brand new organization, that is quite a feat!
Inspiring individual who always gives it his best, plus he loves poetry
Inspiring individual who always gives it his best, plus he loves poetry
For My Father's Birthday (part 1)
Fifty five words for fifty five years.
A father a friend holding fifty five mirrors
With many faces and fifty five cheers
A birthday cake with fifty five flairs
Of fifty five dancers in twenty two pairs
And one left sitting around fifty four chairs
That one last candle betraying fifty five dares
Burning alone.
A father a friend holding fifty five mirrors
With many faces and fifty five cheers
A birthday cake with fifty five flairs
Of fifty five dancers in twenty two pairs
And one left sitting around fifty four chairs
That one last candle betraying fifty five dares
Burning alone.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
years and years
Hope
I'm very very afraid
of taping into the inverted river
of emotion that dances in the
clouds above my head.
I'm hurting from the muscles
fighting the currents,
my river flows much faster and
rougher than the rest of the worlds
the kite of hope will get broken
with every thought and every
rapid rushing twist
i don't have a damn thing or way
to control it. My heart won't stop the running
and my head is warming from behind
the blood fills up to worship that
current... that fucking place, that doesn't let me have control.
let me have control. let me have control Lord.
I'm very very afraid
of taping into the inverted river
of emotion that dances in the
clouds above my head.
I'm hurting from the muscles
fighting the currents,
my river flows much faster and
rougher than the rest of the worlds
the kite of hope will get broken
with every thought and every
rapid rushing twist
i don't have a damn thing or way
to control it. My heart won't stop the running
and my head is warming from behind
the blood fills up to worship that
current... that fucking place, that doesn't let me have control.
let me have control. let me have control Lord.
Friday, May 4, 2007
Rapture
Rape
we read that it happens
with friends. mostly friends.
but not you, not me.
why this, grabbing of such
a white bird, with a red glove,
in such an empty cage. Why
this pushing aside, the puuuushing
aside. This gripping, tripping, tucking, shucking
smearing, breathe of a whisper that isn't
shared. it's your. you took it.
you took this, you fucker.
you fucker
you fucker
i am just a man trying to do my best in this world, trying to find
her voice, trying to put her on again. like a record or a suit.
she is calm today, her voice is that.
but she might scream if i don't ask the right questions.
how can i tell her painted story.... can i tell it right?
we read that it happens
with friends. mostly friends.
but not you, not me.
why this, grabbing of such
a white bird, with a red glove,
in such an empty cage. Why
this pushing aside, the puuuushing
aside. This gripping, tripping, tucking, shucking
smearing, breathe of a whisper that isn't
shared. it's your. you took it.
you took this, you fucker.
you fucker
you fucker
i am just a man trying to do my best in this world, trying to find
her voice, trying to put her on again. like a record or a suit.
she is calm today, her voice is that.
but she might scream if i don't ask the right questions.
how can i tell her painted story.... can i tell it right?
Figuring it out
Sex
I have figured out
why I love sex
it has nothing to do with
me. you get into it.
thats why i do it.
you get into it.
i watch you.
and you get into it.
and you love it.
and i love it.
alone.
I have figured out
why I love sex
it has nothing to do with
me. you get into it.
thats why i do it.
you get into it.
i watch you.
and you get into it.
and you love it.
and i love it.
alone.
Monday, April 30, 2007
imagine all the people
lullaby
i've got my blacktop feet
and my long fingernails
my american gut
and an imaginary tail.
you've got your waverly bridge
and your kings cross
and your London eye
and an answer lost
a british song with an american beat
a vinegar sauce with an apple pie sweet
sing it loud, and don't mind the sheet
music's sound to tap your feet
the cheese sauce
the cheese sauce oozing
the cheeeese saaaauuuccee oooozing
on
my
toes
will drip and trip out freeeeesh
from
your
nose.
skip ship stip the flip about the rose
the metric hectic gamma rays ebbs and fucking flows
style like this is like Pinocchio's nose
my thought and fear rise and make it grows
verse and meter are peter piper's prose
put them down and bury them in rows
wait death what death... bring ravens and crows
raining and wailing a ship with woes
rows to a Quick-stop hip hop drop
like a pig I clean up the slop
but wait isn't a pig a cop?
when or where will this motherfucker stop?
he slips back into rhyme and climbs to the top
wait I might spit some more, you better get a mop
like a jockey on a horse with his riding crop
he beat and races
beats and races
beats and
races
races
i've got my blacktop feet
and my long fingernails
my american gut
and an imaginary tail.
you've got your waverly bridge
and your kings cross
and your London eye
and an answer lost
a british song with an american beat
a vinegar sauce with an apple pie sweet
sing it loud, and don't mind the sheet
music's sound to tap your feet
the cheese sauce
the cheese sauce oozing
the cheeeese saaaauuuccee oooozing
on
my
toes
will drip and trip out freeeeesh
from
your
nose.
skip ship stip the flip about the rose
the metric hectic gamma rays ebbs and fucking flows
style like this is like Pinocchio's nose
my thought and fear rise and make it grows
verse and meter are peter piper's prose
put them down and bury them in rows
wait death what death... bring ravens and crows
raining and wailing a ship with woes
rows to a Quick-stop hip hop drop
like a pig I clean up the slop
but wait isn't a pig a cop?
when or where will this motherfucker stop?
he slips back into rhyme and climbs to the top
wait I might spit some more, you better get a mop
like a jockey on a horse with his riding crop
he beat and races
beats and races
beats and
races
races
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Wings and Mountains
I wrote this on September 23rd 2005. I was really excited about it then.... this is all I got.
In a little village, on the edge of the Andes, where the mountains met the sea, lived a young Shepard named Vessan, who tended to his flock on every new day. Vessan lived alone, but was never lonely, for he always called to his flock; and at night he had his friends in the heavens. When night would fall, Vessan would lay with his mountain sheep out on the grass hills close to the sea, where he could still breath in the water, and had a clear view of the stars.
“When you look up at the stars, know that we are connected to every person who has lived and those while will live forever. All the answers you will ever need are in the heavens at night. My father told me this, and his father told him and, when you are a father, you will tell your son. Know that all your problems can be solved with the tales of the sky.”
Vessan’s father would sit awake with him for most of the night narrating stories of battles and tragedy; of love and friendship. As a child, Vessan would beg him to tell them over and over, and show him how the stars told the story, so that he could always see them. After time, Vessan knew all the tales better than his father and he would speak them to himself while his father would say them, with the same voice in his head and the same jokes, even the same endings. Now that he’d grown up and started a flock of his own, he could look at the stars after the sunset and hear his fathers voice and see his tales of victory and misfortune.
The tale that he loved the most, and would beg his father to tell was of the four stars in the south, the tale of the “Wings and Mountains.” Vessan loved this tale because it gave him a feeling of goodness about how everything worked the way it did, why dreams seem so much like life and why life seems so much like a dream. When he closed his eyes and saw the four stars in the sky, it gave him comfort. He knew that one day, the four points would come back down to us, just like the end of a dream, where life begins and imagination ends.
One morning, Vessan took his flock of mountain sheep up into the higher hills to find fresh water. He loved to walk with his sheep, as a leader and guide. As the morning turned to strong sun, Vessan remembered they would near, but today, no sun was in the sky, and the clouds were turning blacker with every step. Without the sun, Vessan knew no reference for the distance he had walked, but he could fell that he had walked much too long. With a crack came rain, and with this loud sound, all his sheep dispersed; for they too could sense the fear in the air. Looking around, he watched his livelihood run away, running for their lives. Frantically, he leapt after one of his flock, but their white coat became slick with the rain, giving Vessan nothing to hang onto. Sitting on a rock, trying to understand, Vessan began to cry, rain covering his back, and tears on his face.
Lighting and thunder met in front of his eyes in one motion, striking a tree and igniting it. Instantly, a figure flew from the tree onto the ground, toppling end over end and thumping severely against the ground. Vessan had no idea that anyone was watching, or had been in the tree. No matter, curiosity over took his sadness as to how a man could be struck by lightning. Ask Vessan examined, the unconscious creature, he noticed that he wasn’t a man at all, but the body of a man with limbs extending from back that were scorched black and smelt of burning. The creature was unconscious; it was easy for Vessan to see that the he was badly injured for the fall, and from the burns of the lightning. Vessan slung the creature over his shoulder and took the first step on the half-day journey home.
Just before nightfall, he could see the hills that sweep to the edge of the sea, and he knew that he was almost home. Around this time, the creature began to babble unconsciously; in tongues that Vessan had never heard. He kept repeating “Adcerveho Ehgoh Seedis Kwartis.” By the time they arrived at Vessan’s home, the stars had been up for some time. Vessan lay the creature down in the fenced in area of the hut, where he kept ill sheep from escaping. Sleep swept over them quickly.
In a little village, on the edge of the Andes, where the mountains met the sea, lived a young Shepard named Vessan, who tended to his flock on every new day. Vessan lived alone, but was never lonely, for he always called to his flock; and at night he had his friends in the heavens. When night would fall, Vessan would lay with his mountain sheep out on the grass hills close to the sea, where he could still breath in the water, and had a clear view of the stars.
“When you look up at the stars, know that we are connected to every person who has lived and those while will live forever. All the answers you will ever need are in the heavens at night. My father told me this, and his father told him and, when you are a father, you will tell your son. Know that all your problems can be solved with the tales of the sky.”
Vessan’s father would sit awake with him for most of the night narrating stories of battles and tragedy; of love and friendship. As a child, Vessan would beg him to tell them over and over, and show him how the stars told the story, so that he could always see them. After time, Vessan knew all the tales better than his father and he would speak them to himself while his father would say them, with the same voice in his head and the same jokes, even the same endings. Now that he’d grown up and started a flock of his own, he could look at the stars after the sunset and hear his fathers voice and see his tales of victory and misfortune.
The tale that he loved the most, and would beg his father to tell was of the four stars in the south, the tale of the “Wings and Mountains.” Vessan loved this tale because it gave him a feeling of goodness about how everything worked the way it did, why dreams seem so much like life and why life seems so much like a dream. When he closed his eyes and saw the four stars in the sky, it gave him comfort. He knew that one day, the four points would come back down to us, just like the end of a dream, where life begins and imagination ends.
One morning, Vessan took his flock of mountain sheep up into the higher hills to find fresh water. He loved to walk with his sheep, as a leader and guide. As the morning turned to strong sun, Vessan remembered they would near, but today, no sun was in the sky, and the clouds were turning blacker with every step. Without the sun, Vessan knew no reference for the distance he had walked, but he could fell that he had walked much too long. With a crack came rain, and with this loud sound, all his sheep dispersed; for they too could sense the fear in the air. Looking around, he watched his livelihood run away, running for their lives. Frantically, he leapt after one of his flock, but their white coat became slick with the rain, giving Vessan nothing to hang onto. Sitting on a rock, trying to understand, Vessan began to cry, rain covering his back, and tears on his face.
Lighting and thunder met in front of his eyes in one motion, striking a tree and igniting it. Instantly, a figure flew from the tree onto the ground, toppling end over end and thumping severely against the ground. Vessan had no idea that anyone was watching, or had been in the tree. No matter, curiosity over took his sadness as to how a man could be struck by lightning. Ask Vessan examined, the unconscious creature, he noticed that he wasn’t a man at all, but the body of a man with limbs extending from back that were scorched black and smelt of burning. The creature was unconscious; it was easy for Vessan to see that the he was badly injured for the fall, and from the burns of the lightning. Vessan slung the creature over his shoulder and took the first step on the half-day journey home.
Just before nightfall, he could see the hills that sweep to the edge of the sea, and he knew that he was almost home. Around this time, the creature began to babble unconsciously; in tongues that Vessan had never heard. He kept repeating “Adcerveho Ehgoh Seedis Kwartis.” By the time they arrived at Vessan’s home, the stars had been up for some time. Vessan lay the creature down in the fenced in area of the hut, where he kept ill sheep from escaping. Sleep swept over them quickly.
Baby-Steps will find the floor
Volcano and the Oak
faced with what consumes
leaves caught carefully on magma
destroyed and rebuilt
Fingernails and Neurosis
humans can't fling shit
(winds of time will not permit)
toward clocks hands and feet
Black Ash and Pearl Dust
Honey and Milk suckle
fondling tit with big teeth
rubber banjo plays
faced with what consumes
leaves caught carefully on magma
destroyed and rebuilt
Fingernails and Neurosis
humans can't fling shit
(winds of time will not permit)
toward clocks hands and feet
Black Ash and Pearl Dust
Honey and Milk suckle
fondling tit with big teeth
rubber banjo plays
Friday, April 27, 2007
Sleepathon
Jason: Dude, what are you doing online?
Jason in ten years: Why aren't you sleeping?
Jason: Why aren't you?
Jason in ten years: Isn't it too early in this conversation for a pause with question?
Jason: What?
Jason in ten years: Don't you think you are writing this poorly, adding questions so early?
Jason: What the hell are you talking about?
Jason in ten years: I mean, you are asking too many questions up front. You need to start by showing how excited you are to actually get to talk to me, because you want to know what you will be like in ten years.
Jason: Why should I write it that way?
Jason in ten years: Because that is what the readers are expecting.
Jason: Dude, you have no fucking clue what you are talking about.
Jason in ten years: Yes, I do. I write, man. I'm a writer. You are just a snot-nosed college kid, who can't fall asleep at 5 am.
Jason: What? Fuck you, at least I'm young. I mean younger than you at least.
Jason in ten years: God, you are so typical. Just grow up. Who do you think you are writing this shit anyway?
Jason: What kind of question is that? You aren't supposed to ask me that. You are supposed to tell me about the future and give me insights or something. Isn't how this goes?
Jason in ten years: No way. I wrote this crap so long ago.... what did I say.... mmmm. If I remember correctly, I got really sick of talking to me now and getting told how to write by my current self, that I got bored and went to sleep. God, my A.D.D. was so fucken bad back then. How did I ever sleep?
Jason: I don't even know why we are talking. I'm pretty over this. I mean. you haven't told me shit about anything.
Jason in ten years: Well what do you want to know about the future?
Jason: How to end this crappy thing.
Jason in ten years: Just end it. say bye. I mean you don't even have to.
Jason: I don't even have to.
Jason in ten years: Why aren't you sleeping?
Jason: Why aren't you?
Jason in ten years: Isn't it too early in this conversation for a pause with question?
Jason: What?
Jason in ten years: Don't you think you are writing this poorly, adding questions so early?
Jason: What the hell are you talking about?
Jason in ten years: I mean, you are asking too many questions up front. You need to start by showing how excited you are to actually get to talk to me, because you want to know what you will be like in ten years.
Jason: Why should I write it that way?
Jason in ten years: Because that is what the readers are expecting.
Jason: Dude, you have no fucking clue what you are talking about.
Jason in ten years: Yes, I do. I write, man. I'm a writer. You are just a snot-nosed college kid, who can't fall asleep at 5 am.
Jason: What? Fuck you, at least I'm young. I mean younger than you at least.
Jason in ten years: God, you are so typical. Just grow up. Who do you think you are writing this shit anyway?
Jason: What kind of question is that? You aren't supposed to ask me that. You are supposed to tell me about the future and give me insights or something. Isn't how this goes?
Jason in ten years: No way. I wrote this crap so long ago.... what did I say.... mmmm. If I remember correctly, I got really sick of talking to me now and getting told how to write by my current self, that I got bored and went to sleep. God, my A.D.D. was so fucken bad back then. How did I ever sleep?
Jason: I don't even know why we are talking. I'm pretty over this. I mean. you haven't told me shit about anything.
Jason in ten years: Well what do you want to know about the future?
Jason: How to end this crappy thing.
Jason in ten years: Just end it. say bye. I mean you don't even have to.
Jason: I don't even have to.
Departure into the Sea of the Present
Diabetes
The corridor of conscience
crumbles in platelets
and pallets the needle
with thread.
The fickle findings
of frigid fingers
fuck the fat cells
dead
and I will eat
my donut, glazed
ripping and shredding
the head
of disease and self-
loathing, too tight in my
clothing, sweating out
sheets in bed.
The corridor of conscience
crumbles in platelets
and pallets the needle
with thread.
The fickle findings
of frigid fingers
fuck the fat cells
dead
and I will eat
my donut, glazed
ripping and shredding
the head
of disease and self-
loathing, too tight in my
clothing, sweating out
sheets in bed.
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