Friday, July 30, 2010

Freedom Outside A Reserved Society [Repost for Poets United]




Freedom Outside a Reserved Society

I held you in my arms; the sun was rising in the morning sky, so quiet
            And Peaceful, completely relaxing.
We spoke of love unforgotten and showed our passion in the dead of night. So many
            Memories of words and actions, they played over and over in my head like a film
            In a theater and only one viewer.
You were asleep as I watched your body’s monotonous breathing,
Up and down, up and down…
I wonder what it was you were dreaming that kept your subconscious from relinquishing
            It’s control for an extensive period of time.
I now know what people mean when they say that their loved ones are like an angel when
            They sleep. With the light that forced its way into the room I would have seen
            Your halo, though many people have haloes. I once knew a man with a halo of
            Flies, disturbing person he was. I can see your halo, full of light and life, full of
            Warmth and love.
There goes my mind, drifting as usual, I swear it will drift to a point where I can’t catch
            Up.
Unfortunately this morning will not stay this peaceful for long, for you my love shall
            Wake and become business as usual, slowly sinking into your second life.
            Our love shall have slipped your mind and I will become just another bother
            In your other persona’s life.
I often wonder (there I go again) if this is worth the time; all this work keeping
            Our feelings a complete secret, shunned from the outside world.
“I am high up in this world, and the world is old fashioned. They’ll never understand
            This life. It’s just better this way…”
Like a faithful lover I keep my silence though I’ve despised it since the beginning
            And it has soured my view on this religious-based and archaic world.
You’ll walk out the door living your second life (or am I your second life, I can never
            Tell anymore) and I will wait for your call whenever that may be, though next
            Time I might not answer.
Next time I might take a chance on freedom.
It hurts to think of it, but it hurts worse to live in secrecy, never letting the world know
            Who it is you really are, to be chained down by the restrictions of a reserved
            Society.
The world will never understand, but it is not the right of the world to know
            Just exactly how I live my life.
I’m sorry my love, but chaos is calling me to its new life,
            And I must be free…

Friday, July 23, 2010

Notes from a Cardboard Sky




Notes from a Cardboard Sky


To angelic creatures.

If ever were a hurricane,
lighter than air and driven
into temples filled with oceans
of people, it would be honored
as God. They would bow, while
men and women dressed for
communion services, and they
would beg, fight and die.

While celebrations burst out
into heavens, amongst seas of
lilies and lemon trees, they would
lift up their hands, respecting new
marriages, new lives, and new souls
set free into the spiritual world.

These are our requiems,
our epic history, laid out
for blind convenience, as we
ascend beyond the clouds.
This is what it feels to die,
only infinitely more-so on
the body, for it feels what
the soul refuses to feel.

            —Weasel

One Single Impression Prompt: Angels: http://onesingleimpression.blogspot.com/

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Street City Blues Featuring Howl by Allen Ginsberg (Big Tent Poetry)



http://www.wussu.com/poems/agh.htm

The poem I chose, was Allen Ginsberg's Howl. It's rather fun to read. About a year ago, I had a big writer's block, lasting about 5 months. Nothing was really hitting me, so I did what I always do when I get into huge slumps like that. I read. I found this massive book of poetry by Allen Ginsberg, and I read through it. His work opened a whole other world of poetry for me, and it had broken my writers block. I must say that I enjoy most of his work, and that this one stood out the most. His poem is posted at the link above, and the youtube video is a reciting of pieces of the poem. John Turturro recites Ginsberg's Howl in this video.

The poem I wrote for the prompt, is more of an attempt to mimic Ginsberg's style. I can't remember if I've taken any direct quotes, but if I have, please tell me, and I will make that noticeable. I've been working on this poem for nearly half of the year, and when I finally finished it, it was 10 parts. I then proceeded to edit, cutting it severely into 4 parts, and now, after one last editing process, it sits on this blog in 3 parts. It's a lot of hacking, but I think these three parts are the key components to my poem. I hope you all enjoy what you read here. Comments are always welcome.

Street City Blues

I.

Spider monkeys on the railroad tracks pushed into the walls of the mind, plagued by
            Madness and hacked away by the blades of love.
Who marched through sunless deserts picking up the vague-less and the vague.
Who walked upon moonless nights in graveyards filled with angered bodies bitching and
            Moaning, cries of the dead!
Who looked upon Planet Jupiter with naked vision and found a lifeless formation filled
            With definition.
Who has seen a penniless world promoting laws against the rights of the people.
To the general public, pull the mask away from your face and behold your world!

II.

Walking through rancid Earth watching the mindless, the mindful, and the mind-fucked
            Destroy Street City Blues of limelight and shade the shadows of a glowing
            Parasitic sky.
Who played sweet jazz-like music on his trombone on the street earning his pay from
            Day to day to day…
Who witness stabbings and murder and even God himself demolish the senses of society.
For days the soul just wanted to strip nude and run out howling towards that heavenly
            Hellish cloudy blue/grey sky.
Instead, he ate his turkey sandwich and watched the word do it for him.

III.

To the ends of the Earth, to the Heavens, to the Hells, to the sacred abyss of the mind.
Where waters dry and leave empty oceans.
Where skies turn red and thicken atmosphere suffocating life.
Out of these horrific visions the soul desires another life to love.
Break the boundaries of the mind and enter into the reality of life.
There are whispers between the screams, distorted by Earth’s fierce winds – Nature –
            The maddening Siren’s Song – call back from beyond false realms to worlds
            Unknown to the soul.
Pull the blindfold from your eyes and look upon the brand new world laid out for your
            Convenience.
The laws have been broken, boundaries removed, life is completely cageless.
 The journey is fading away and ending.
            The soul is free.
            This is not to be confused with organized freedom. This freedom is outside the
                        Systematic – True Freedom, Chaotic Freedom.
The chains are broken, and the new world awaits!
-Weasel


http://bigtentpoetry.org/2010/07/monday-promptjuly-19/


This week’s prompt

This week is my birthday week, and one of the things I’m hoping to do to celebrate is to host a living room salon in which some IRL poetry friends read their favorite poems. So I thought we could do something with favorite poems here, too.
What is your favorite poem? What about it makes it your favorite? Does it contain an image that rocks your poetry world? Does it provide a realization that changes you? Do you admire its poetic devices (metaphor, alliteration, repetition, form, etc.)?
Whatever it is you like about your favorite poem, try to use that in a poem of your own.
(Remember, when you post to your blog — or here — do not paste the entire text of someone else’s poem. Try to find the text online to link to, if you would like. It’s not necessary to quote the text of the poem; we’re most interested in a description of what attracts you to your favorite poem. And if you borrow something significant from the poem — like a line or an image — be sure to give credit by saying “a poem after ______” or “with a line from ________.”)

Friday, July 16, 2010

Solidity of Class



Solidity of Class


diamonds are forever
so pompous, self-centered, and foolish
diamonds never think of the lives they ruin
the blood soaked earth never crosses their minds
they live in their fantasy world
in their circles of attention, always in control
always getting what it wants

but the outer limits tell the world
a new tale of existence
a new horror, a prize winning journalism story
and it goes like this

a man presented himself in front of the gaudy gems
dirty, broken, beaten, polluting the atmosphere with his smell
his hands are behind his back, and his lifeless eyes stare at the floor
sweat drizzled from his over-worked body, and he stepped forward
the gems gave him less than five minutes to speak, but no words were spoken
he just lifted his arms, revealing no hands, only bandaged nubs, the he spoke
“this is my sacrifice for you”
the gems, never lifted an eyebrow in horror
with a stern face they spoke,
“you’re hands are not good enough for me, you are not of my class”
and the man was swept away
back into his environment of broken houses, and burning days

the world sheds no tears, for the weary, broken lives it carries

________________________________________________________________________________

Today’s Prompt is plain and simple, Diamonds. What does that word or object make you think of? Does it remind you of romance or perseverance? Do you think of how silly it is to place a value on rock or the troubles in Africa for mining them? Maybe it gives you visions of Marilyn Monroe prancing about or your wedding day. Whatever the word may inspire you to write I’m fairly certain you will all come up with wonderful poetry gems. Pun Intended.




Saturday, July 10, 2010

Kiss is Kill, Kill is Love, and Love is Horrific


Kiss is Kill, Kill is Love, and Love is Horrific

Angered bodies
of both the living
and
the
dead have invaded the
area of home demolishing
the senses and creating mind polluted child zombies.

Why must we pray screaming?
            Because the higher powers are deaf.
            Their phone service has been cut off, no signal bars
because of they have the new iPhone 4 or 5 or whatever number its on
now.
The idea of death has been redefined.
            Obviously, if the dead can walk, then what is death?

There’s so much peace work to be done.
            And still the quota isn’t met yet.
            If the peace symbol wasn’t so coked up we might have a chance.
            Give it adrenaline! It’ll work overtime!

True love is a bullshit statement that is waiting
            on the street corner in front of a do-nut shop with a diamond ring.
            Has to be diamond and nothing less! And their better be some do-nuts too!

Kiss is kill, and kill is love, and love is horrific.

I’m not homeless, but I’m fucking broke.
            If I stand on a street corner, will I get money or is that considered taxable income.

I had a dollar in my account and the bank charged me
            twenty-five dollars for that one dollar. I called them up demanding it back.
            They laughed and I said I love you. Remember: Kiss is kill, kill is love,
                        love is horrific.

If I were a cartoon I’d anvil the world. Might be fun.

I went to a concert inside a movie theater. It was the
            only show where you could yell, “down if fucking front!”
                        and not get your ass kicked.
I am also happy to report that there were no flaming lighters to
            Create and inferno during slow songs!

I talked to a Buddhist monk the other day. I asked him
What if
            the world
                        were like
                                    a staircase
                        trembling down
            until it meets back
at the origin of life.

He responded, “The spoon is on the floor, and dawn is a napkin.”
It was the best conversation I could ever have with a person. I think I really
            understood him and his overall message. The world is the Armored Saint of
                        Bad romances, broken and confused by the religious beliefs
                                    of its own creation. If only it rained.