See ya later, '11.

It is the end of 2011. I wonder how many people are joining gyms and starting up blogs again.



It is uncharacteristically warm for the end of December in St Louis. Windy but a bicycle ride would be oh so nice.


It is a season of reflection.


I am looking for something that tingles warm like sun rays on skin.


Create, create, create!



Audre Lorde is someone who I turn to on a day like this.



Movement Song

Audre Lorde


I have studied the tight curls on the back of your neck
moving away from me
beyond anger or failure
your face in the evening schools of longing
through mornings of wish and ripen
we were always saying goodbye
in the blood in the bone over coffee
before dashing for elevators going
in opposite directions
without goodbyes.

Do not remember me as a bridge nor a roof
as the maker of legends
nor as a trap
door to that world
where black and white clericals
hang on the edge of beauty in five oclock elevators
twitching their shoulders to avoid other flesh
and now
there is someone to speak for them
moving away from me into tomorrows
morning of wish and ripen
your goodbye is a promise of lightning
in the last angels hand
unwelcome and warning
the sands have run out against us
we were rewarded by journeys
away from each other
into desire
into mornings alone
where excuse and endurance mingle
conceiving decision.
Do not remember me
as disaster
nor as the keeper of secrets
I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars
watching
you move slowly out of my bed
saying we cannot waste time
only ourselves.


Audre Lorde, “Movement Song” from From a Land Where Other People Live. Copyright © 1973 by Audre Lorde. Reprinted with the permission of the Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency


Source: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171289

And Then

My mind thinks in rhymes
likes lyrics
weaves words

Sorts soot from silver

Free-dom
Free-dom
Sings
Ring bell ring
But, eerily

Free-dom
Free-dom
From things

Some things cannot be recycled.

I Remember

Joe Brainard. I Remember
book.
check it out
google it
library loan it
read it
do it

Joe Brainard.
slim volume of vast insight
initiative is another name for it
remembering
Gibran said there is freedom in forgetting
but to remember...



Remember life without children
life before McDonalds, Television, cars, cell phones, email
life in toddler clothes
life at your first kiss
life on 9/11
life on your wedding day or commitment ceremony
life during the worst fight you've had
life when work is just too much
life when you slept in

I Remember...

untitled 2

old gold molds
watch it unfold to a crumble
in the bumble bee tumble
through the rumbling of rubble
busy breaking into bits
fizzy falling into fits

the dream was
a buzz on a high mountain
powerful wings
stinging to keep the top
you should have seen them all
drop like flies
having tried the climb
to share the air
'
in the end, a
how dare
you

listen/1

getting high
makes time fly
twenty years shy
away from memory
blink, blink

i just saw my daughter graduate
mom, i'm so proud of you
she says

the whole family is over
on sunday, all day
they stay like they can't
remember how to leave

in and out of treatments
even with 5 years clean
went back to the streets
using, using

until
i wanted to change
myself

untitled & unknown # (or for soljhrs everywhere)

in time you will find the rewind
button has met every vhs
in time you will unwind
the two arms around numbers
of clocks and
knock on rooftops where raindrops fall
breathe and breathe and feel
it all
will be okay

if it is not now

if it is not
be it fate's stronghold
and your own slate
you resist to wipe clean
step up and into your power
with your bones, your brains, your toes

dream and don't give up!
dream and don't give up!
dream and don't give up!

not to be forgotten

"You a knucklehead. I'm so mad at you! How could you not tell me you played the pinao for 10 years!?"

---.---

And now cell phone's are frying our brains.
And young men are doing the hustle.

And a sun is shining on a day on earth
and a word is given to call each thing by name.
These words puzzle piece in
and fall out like teeth.

--- . ---

sweet n low

egg day
tap tap crack it open

let it run
until heat and hand decide
you got to know your own mind

or
get lost in the scramble

untitled 5.1

on a rainy sunday afternoon
i went to the store and bought
gallon paint buckets of many colors
i brought them home, carrying one
in each hand
up up up the stairs to my room
opening one by one, stirring as needed
with both hands i
threw one by one
up up up onto the wall

it was in letting go
that i felt it

all this time i had thought
if i...
do this...
say this..
do this...
say this...
be open to this...

but what a futile external road

who has ever
controlled the outcomes
of their actions

i throw the paint
but i don't know exactly what it will look like
how much will make it up
how it will stick, splatter and fall

i only know that i threw it up there
and decided, what's next?





--- . ---

"the greatest journey is the one within"

dots/2

10 out of 10 men incarcerated. 10 new beginnings today.
today individuals convicted of any drug felony are not eligible for food stamps
no work + no food in a round about way = recidivism: working back on the streets in the underground economy
arrested because of the color of skin at that place and time
attempted arrest, at least, oh you're not... who we are looking for

calculations of non-white males in elementary and middle school add up to prison space estimates in 2020...

would you hire a man convicted of a felon?
would you hire a woman convicted of a felon?

working part time at mcdonalds for minimum wage after x amount of time making x amount of money in another trade
chemist, banker, broker
focused, role-oriented

the cars, the clothes, the comforts, the life from ladue to ...

i have to have hope for new beginnings and the hope feeling felt then
and that a lot of people work hard together to keep that hope alive

dots/1

don't read what i am writing
yeah, i am talking to you

it's a make you look kind of trick
like you're trying to fill up your gas tank
real quick
but suddenly you see digital numbers tick
58.49
no
followed by a series of no's

what are you going to do now?
not get in your car and drive?
not sleep in the bed you made

i suppose if someone will pick you
up
and leave your full tank
and keep your empty wallet
crying in your back pocket self
to the next place
then,
what have you got?

two riddles rattling on someone else's road
no solution just empty excuses
bail outs and misuses of time and words

shut your mouth if you cant hear the birds
chirping, singing in branches in the trees
between new green leaves

let your skin taste a new season
and exhale relief
nothing ever stays the same

how many mornings have i woken up
to furniture rearranged
empty bottles of pain laid out
in dried up puddles of yesterday
now a floor film residue and

my choice to step in it and carry
it with me more

how many days and i won't even notice
until a couple long quiet nights incite
a riot
a made you look
make you look
are you looking
in the mirror
is what you see, here, getting nearer

closer, in your face, louder

made you look.

get in the car
where to from here?

Rilke

You See I Want a Lot
by Ranier Maria Rilke


You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.

So many are alive who don’t seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move in the world
as though untouched.

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

You are not dead yet, it’s not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
that reveals itself quietly there.

untitled

i fell asleep and
walked a lamplit street of dreams
opened my mailbox and heard sirens
exhaling out
round confines of cold metal
releasing a tortured need
to the state of emergency

from sound to thought
registered wonder, ch-chings
distanced a bell rings
a man, woman, his leg, her heart?

too many unknowns
fiction write with pen and paper
not between the ears

a little breeze through the cracked window

a bleeding heart is an open one

don't lean on the bark
of these words
and wait for the sap to drip out

"there are many kinds of open"

---


sometimes we absorb all the dings and stings we cannot stop
that we forget all the wings and zings we can start.


---


a yesterday ghost body raps on today's door:
trespasser fiend
no who-body gave you
entry permission
viewing admission
to vomit judgments
on my flower welcome mat
purchased yesterday.
leave your loathing
and no-good nothing
residue and charcoal breath
to smoke and mirror
somebody else


---


i was born
encouraged to believe like
a human is to breathe.

(one in and one out at a time,
on an infinite and unknown repeat)

March 20

St. Louis, Central time, 10:24 but even that is 10 minutes ahead.

Wainrights on youtube song length clips and then remembering Marge Piercy "To Have Without Holding" for anyone who has loved, who loves, who wants to love.

Things are different after a crash.

It is an, all of a sudden, focus on the damage the need the remains. Who can be saved what can be salvaged. It is 11:40 central time. Time does keep ticking fast. Without something to invoke perspective life can be an increasingly narrowing blur of "me, me, me, me, my, I, mine, my, me, me, me."

How can it be that it does not require a trajedy, a travesty, a trauma to make one think twice. To find the gratitude. To find more than the lesson but to put it into practice and feel the growth.

like nothing

young youthful energy
lunge up stairs
speed computer type
read write flip pages no sweat
turn a key, open
a warm home
a car engine running
wheels turning
gasoline burning
working money making
saving
baking treats for parties
making amends
hugging friends
vacation days and dollars spend
walking around a park
in circles before dark
listening to the warnings
reading the news
mind open
put put put piece piece piece
in in in
go go go
careful, stop, slow
can't you hear those keys jangling
information will let you into
this room
on this day
wear this outfit
smile, say this
continue on,
blink as if it is normal


close your eyes if the rat race is too fast pace
and
let it just
whoosh
by
like
it's
no thing

free in the sun and the breeze

2/20

when breathing is
like tight rope walking
frightening, even with practice
could it get more intense?
between high rises.
look down if you dare
it's one of those things where
you just have to keep it moving.


6-9:20am
it is happening now
it started when you woke up, showered
spilled coffee on the counter
had to fill an empty gas tank
then, catch more traffic in your mental net
turn that corner and step into work
as tight lipped and tense as a fiend without a fix


9:07am
hmmph.
look at all those young people
tattooed arms, pierced faces
pants falling down
hanging out
wearing flip of a sandal for a foot flop


4:57pm
where is 5 o'clock, computer is off
you walk down the hallway, and push
exit doors to freedom
Ah, the first breath of outdoor air
Relief swings for a minute
and halts as you unlock the car.
A sure standstill
by the time the news streams until you're uncomfortable.
It does not matter, this chaos.
You cannot change anything.

'what cd do i have in here?

hey, what's this guy cutting in front of me?

why can't i just get home?
i'm hungry what is there that's good to eat?
probably, not even leftovers. God.'

5:08pm
Again? look at all those young people
smoking cigarettes,
they look like fags
disgusting, you can't even look at that patio.

Highway, highway
here is the entrance, thank God.
(exasperated sigh)
'Got to see if i can work from home'
get out of this dirty city, traffic and trash
choking the streets between sidewalks.

(phone ringing)
Hello? Yeah, I'm on my way
just got on the--
No, can't you pick up something from the store?
Go out? No, I had that for lunch yesterday.
I don't know, can't you figure it out?
It's work, rush hour,... can't you just think of something?
Ok, bye.

5:30pm
Patience the size of breath
shorter than an ant
smaller than a pepper corn

Exasperated or sucking air
compensate with extremes

But, who's ever lunged between high rises?
Who has ever looked down and not panicked?


Epilogue
(One breath at a time
One step a time
repeat for mindset, for today
and however long you choose.)

2/18

sunshine helps

i’m taking my brain for a walk, without a leash
in the park

i’m threading my heart on the fish hook

i’m taking off my feet and placing them in the closet
and then setting my teeth on the mantle

come to my home if you want to see my toothless grin
how i am in my own hula hoop

not ruled by should but by a content I am...

opening the blinds to let light pour in
buckets and streams of unwired, natural volume

i open my old mouth
and gulp rays in a matter of blinks

neon glow backbone
laughter orbits from here
quiet
only stars burning light pockets
in the sky

let me stuff my dreams
inside all of them
unitl they hang out
the way dollar bills, and
grocery lists do

like dusting the top shelf
it's a reach
but it's not too far
it's safe
not to give to another human heart
the stuff of dreams
packed into pockets
safer by mars than...
you know

reflections

Last night I had a dream I met Bill and Hillary Clinton. Bill had to step out and take a call. Hillary and I talked about power. In the end, on the stairs down out to their/a car, she asked if I had any cigarettes. No, I did not.

Yesterday I did meet Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Lacy Clay.

I walk around in capital city and feel both big and small.
Grounded from the stories and lives, streets of St. Louis where I've "come from"- I don't want to take any easy road out. Anyone can write a letter, can speak-- anyone can be open to learn, to engage in the democratic process. It is all so possible, and I do think the advocacy* effort makes a difference in creating awareness and pushing change, like an orange wheel barrow- farther down the road.

What do I want? I want to be an organizer.

*advocare ‘summon, call to one's aid

uno ahnyo

one day, i
reached out my arms
like to hug an ancient tree trunk
hands far apart
right side of my face pressed
to the gnarly bark

i remember
never wanting to let go
of holding onto something
so deeply rooted*

even when she created a tornado
to sweep her up
to get wrapped up and away

my little heart told my little hands
keep- holding- on

one year later
it is a new day
my hands reach up to the sky
free, grateful
and feeling
sun light freckling my face




*in hindsight, it was me
who wanted her roots to sink deeper
what was there and what wasn't -
well i fooled myself for awhile
until it was too clear too ignore
how easy it is for the shallow to be uprooted-

it just is/2

to dive before the word jump
i can only hope for the best
moving at train speed
a lightning bolt,
a heart pounding colt pace
what's not to love about beginnings
fresh newness
a warm day breaks, springtime
part surprise, part hope saturated anticipation

it just is

heart's in the driver seat, swerving
recklessly indecisive
flying under yellow lights turning red
taking chances, tapping on the fault line
with a round rock in hand
gutsy, stupid, brave
depending on purpose

jumping, ratcheting, striking, racing
moving so fast, blur life

listen to the past
before opening the mouth to say too much too loud too fast too soon
to you

it just is/1

it's a feeling thing.
it's a you know it when you know it
sense it as it enters a room like breezes,
sits in the air like smells
nudges comments out the mouth
or
a look over at the next person and
without a word,
just a "i know" smile
it's a feeling thing

can't, don't, won't
be with someone if there is no
inspiration
no temptation to pass time
by the side of a like-wise creative mind

who are these people with hearts
beating so loudly for their life
to follow their purpose and do "something" right
to fight and prove, to make it with good news
when be-ing hasn't been enough

it's a feeling thing
harmonized voices, pleasing sounds
it just feels right

for so many who do not understand
the unique little pieces
not only the details, but how and which ones
piece them together like a quilt
to wrap around on the cold nights

i cannot explain why
maybe who
but really, it's just a feeling thing.

us/them

they said the sun would shine
they said this would be mine
they said HERE and at THIS time

us/them

and then
we fell asleep under the moon
hoping promises would come soon
they said
they promised

we believed
we cut open our chests
let them take our bloody pulse

they sewed us up
we woke up
to find a missing piece not inside

a valve,
they took what they needed
to tally, divide, percentage-ize
us
too many me's on this side

us/them

we believed
they said the sun would shine
but its night time in winter and

and our words like stars
do not leave bright marks in the sky

only scars on our hearts

in dreams i remember love
in love, i remember to dream
in memory i love to dream

degaje

poetry plucks at the harp strings of life
and of the bass
poetry pulls at the puppet strings of life
and the stage curtains

---

today on the metro
slouched back
knees out like a table
too big for a room
i sat in a boxcar with windows
we tore through tunnels, wet cement faces
clammy, creating great life-curiosity
what relief to be
up and out in daylight, like coming up for air

the box car with windows commits
it is here that
i bumped into expectation
standing, reading the paper
of your imagination
cordurouy pants, a beret
expectation said they had just
woken up with someone
and mother would be disappointed

i said, even the train car needs
oil, wrenches, breaks,
conductors on call
to fill in, to fix to work in the shadows
even when blue skies
were to be expected

Recovery- To Take Back

It is only fitting, seasonally traditional, that I would jump back on the blog-wagon on/around January 1 of the new 2011 year. As we say in St. Louis (and as you probably have said in your respective cities, suburbs and residences), "it is what it is."

This has been half self-initiated. Not to begin the new year self-deprecating, but I do owe a thanks to those who have asked, "where are your poems" or "I've checked your blog and you haven't written". I do not have one or two reasons to excuse or create full understanding. There is a vulnerability here in this open cyber space, where regenerating, reloading, recreating has a limit that DNE (does not exist).

Like resolutions, like proposed solutions, Americans value effort, thought, (sometimes). A for Effort. Like dieting, goals can often be unattainable in how extreme and "cold turkey" they typically are. The emphasis, like Lent, is on what am I giving up. Alternatively, I ask, what am I adding? How is what I am doing contributing to growth? How do I define growth, what is healthy and positive for myself, with my relationships and my environment. Well, as most of you (whoever you are), I do tend to be flowery, poetic in speech and prose. I am interested in concrete this year. Not the cold, hard sidewalk stuff. But, concrete ideas and change. Not entirely sure what that is quite yet (there goes that vague poetic thread). It's all just part of the multitudes. And, if I ever want to get out of something, I'll just pull a Rilke: No feeling is final.

As in, this (whatever this is), is all subject to change.
And, if I want to be complacent in my powerlessness, I'll just say again: It is what it is. Shrink back and forget about it, until it comes around again.


Recovery, to take back. Blog recovered. Re-started, like an old car in the garage, or on the side of the house covered in snow, bird droppings. Sinking deeper into the mud and dead grass every day, week. Until, a choice chooses something new and different for its fate.



Free Write, Incipient Effort


(not a love poem)

it is hard to love without holding
to type, trust, treasure, to try
building bridges over oceans, from
north america to (fill in the blank)
construct a Great Wall stability to ensure crossing
travel to the arms of a beloved

love for many means "mine" "his wife or her wife"
alloy couples: joint accounts, titles, claims
piles of possessions
yielding protection clauses
money distorts love like badly blown glass

diamonds, tickets, cars, even a t-shirt
love as what can you give me,
a dangerous attitude indeed
give you myself, my fidelity
to possess and cherish
to have and to hold

but to love without holding?


each night i walk home alone in lamp lighted darkness
to cross a thousand miles to return to you each morning