a beat poem for you from my book

I’m working on this book of beat poems…

Here’s a selected work to whet or perhaps drench your literary appetite:

Hello There!
How are you dear soul?

I am most excellent,
as I hope that when your eyes,
find these words- most excellent-
is the state that you’re in.

Parakeet, dingo.
Wigwam, Tulsa.
Doorbell, Santa Klaus..

Trinket, Infinity.
Mambo, Radar.

Djimbe, Incense.
Frost, Paine…
Thomas, Theodora.
Lanky, Doberman.

Adorable gaggle of baby geese,
Half eaten bowl of ice-cream,
A spat of shepherd’s pie,
A dingo has spit in my eye,
Formaldehyde in an ancient jar,
Found crystallized-
In sub-basement’s domain;

All was quiet when the jar appeared.
Notice did anyone save for my eyes?
Apparently not! For it was,
Discovery all forth mine eyes.
Surprise!

Cats, drill-bits, are not equilateral triangles.
Soju is not a type of fruit.
To Kill a Mockingbird, would be shameful.

However, if ’twas a mockingbird;
An excellent work you’ve just read!

Elephants, elephants, elephants!
A parade of technicolor lights, and lamps, dot the-
expressway.

Vibrantly dressed clowns dance in the streets.
Gas lamps flickr atop ancient columns,
San Francisco, New York, Philadelphia, Boston-
Seattle, Pittsburgh. All had these at the turn,

of the century.

And what a romantic touch they must have been-
when they were not- setting things on fire,

surreptitiously.

For these modern times, we are told that an unattractive and oft,
alien looking shade of white will have to suffice-
‘specially if it happens to,
come whence forth- an iconic,
nor Doric, or ionic,
and unsightly cement pebbled type apparatus.
To knock one over,
whether on purpose, or accident-
is wholly contingent upon a very,
large fine. Something to the tune,
of 2,000 large.

Flying cats,
accolades.

Japanese tiny boxes, marzipan filling.
Mexican pastry, soup for 12.
Finality of prose.

order and reality

this page out of order,
these boxes-
intentionally left,
blank.

The scrawled writing,
on a gas station bathroom,
may just amount to-
more poetry-

albeit vulgar subject matter,
atrocious diction,
torrid and tangibly unrefined,
languished and lavish,
bundled ridiculosity.

Perhaps amounts to,
a summation of,
more poetry than-
you’ve whence past,
drawn muster.

Create, radiate,
Dictate your total,
reality.

Focus,
with intent-

Execute.

I shall reccommend,
that you visualize,
and then at some point-

It shall come.

Spanish Guide-

Spanish guide,
Spanish guide in my pocket.

Spanish guide,
shall I find,

my way into –

Adventures a’plenty,
comidas delicioso,
luscious vino rojo.

Models of dreams,
shall now be,
turned- reality.

Oh thank you,
Spanish guide,
I’m fortunate to have,
a pocket,
big enough to hold your knowledge.

head,
heart,
soul,
spirit-

All urge me to read,
my spanish guide.

Trans-Continental:

Flow, linger,
be, do,
here, there.

Hiatus, retire.

The possibilities,
will all be here,
available to you,
when you return.

Beliz, Panama,
Colorado, San Francisco.

This is my trans-continental-
love song;

To you.

Each moment is a treasure,
and all of these moments,
none-

more precious,
than the other.
All form a tangible part,
of who you are.

Are, am, shall, shan’t,
can’t,
wait…

Will,
Will do.

I urge you to,
live in vibrancy.

A poem to read and think about on Valentine’s Day:

The Invitation-

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher and Author

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love
for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty,even when it is not pretty every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

memories

::][the state of democracy][::

Do you hear it?

The sounds of a restless society.

A society consumed by its own cognative dissonance,

yet without clear directives.  

 

The chatter of a nation,

that has realized –

they’ve been stripped of a true democracy.

 

Where do we go, next?

As a people?

As a nation?

 

The truth is – I do not know.

 

But what I do know,

is this country,

no longer functions —

 

by the values,

on which it was founded.

 

That much, is clear.

 

I enjoy the concept of a democratic America as much as you do,

so I simply want you to stop and ask yourself, what can I do,

to improve the quality of life for those around me, and myself?

 

Where can I be a little more tolerant, understanding, and accepting in my life?

and finally – Where can I find those parts of myself that I don’t like,

and fix them, rather than taking ones own feelings of shortcoming – out on others?  

 

Just some food for thought…

the smokescreen of disconnection –

have you ever noticed,

and seen through the smokescreen?

 

have you also wondered,

why nobody seems to care or notice anymore?

 

the great national seance of television and “marketed culture,”

have fractalized society into “lifestyles,” and “statuses,”

and perpetuated the falsity of “difference.”

 

Reunite with your brothers, sisters, mothers, brothers, aunts, uncles, neighbors,

and others.  

 

We’re all in this together.