Oh my God are you okay?
You’re writing poetry everyday?
“Geez, oh Pete’s are you alright?”
Write rhymes of reason every night?
What prostrations come from you?
This urgent burst for what is true?
Self-indulgent acts of pride?
Surely you think of suicide?
How can you waste your time, my dear?
With flights of fancy, sex and fear!
Think of yourself as a poet, son?
Give me example of just one?
Who’s as loud as your TV?
My god, boy—they don’t even read!
People you now “represent”?
Locked in a prison of judgement…
Who are you to decide what is present?
Category: 2019
SuperCar
Oil over metal
Fuel into fire
Inertia soon released
Smoke off tires
Green lights blink
Foot off clutch
Pedal to metal
Checkered flag rush
Open up throttle
Chaos in control
Chasing white line
Racing’s in your soul!
“Start your engines!”
@Macs
We sit and eat
And stare at
The paintings
On the wall
Across the
Street.
They don’t
Really represent
What they
Look like.
Proportions
Off, eyes
Too small
For large
Black heads
Dog and cat,
Couch of
Snake and fish,
Blue iguana.
Staring contest
w/ the cartoon
Crew across
The wall
From them.
GoodShepard
Animal clinic.
“The Doctor Is in.”
Beautiful Day
Beautiful day
Ruined
By schedules
Subjective
Of course
The day
Perfectly happy
To be perfect
Not bothered by my
Objective
“Off course, re-routing”
No Ideas but in Things
Poetry is a prison
Capturing
Things
Onto
Pages
Leaving
Every thing
On the
Shelf
||| || ||||
Poetry is a privilege
Turning
Things
Into
Words
||| /||| |
Poetry is a gift
Giving
Things
To
The People
Saving
Things
By
The People
Remembering
Things
Of
The People
Town Crier
Record 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧
surroundings
Report on the
mundane;
Everyone write a poem
Even if it’s
Insane!
Tell me
All about it
Paint the picture
True
Shout out
For your
City.
Just
Let it flow from you.
Chicken Feed
The Birds are
on the move
Snatching up the
Last mating
Bugs of Summer
Slow
Oblivious
Fattening up for
Winter’s rest
Or supper.
Head for the Exits
Anytime I Go
Anywhere, I know
Exits and barricades.
I have to know
Where we are to go
If you’re on a rampage.
Your second privilege becoming our existential threat.
What do I tell my children?
“There there little one, don’t you cry.
There’s ‘thoughts and prayers’ for us when we die.”
“Now, now, there there, don’t you despair.
Run for the exit, it’s over there.”
Piedra Lumbre
It’s easy to see
Why Georgia O’Keefe
Landed in Abiquiu.
All these cowboy clouds
and sunshine smiles
So much painting to do.
Rosie red arches
And sulfur burning
With Yellowing tongues
Rising, Lashing out
Lapping up lapis
Skies, with brushes swung
Heavy oil to evoke
American dream.
A land growing lost
To the lush beauty
She acquired on
blank sheets of canvas.
”Stone of lumination.”
We’re Done
“This is it!
We’re done.”
Morning shadows
Got the Sun
Edges browning
still green leaves
“Autumn’s coming”
Says, the trees.