Poetry Break…

Feel like poetry today…

These are all by me.

The New Algonquin Round Table, AFL-CIO

 

We poor poets, producers of a lesser art

Are expected to give our copyrights

To any who offer us “exposure”

 

Should I wish to expose myself

I will read my poetry

STARK NAKED

In times square during rush hour!

 

I seek not exposure, but fair return for my work

Having starved for my art for too long

I now dine on a different bill of fare

 

I’m now seated

With the hungry as well as the sometimes slightly overfed

Who build with line and stanza

 

At such banquet halls as we build

We feast on food for thought, body, and soul

We join with our brothers and sisters

Worshipers of Apollo

To ride our flaming chariot

Above the corporate heads

Much as our works meaning

Shines sun bright and high above them already

 

Now secure in our enlightened ascendancy

We can warm the too small rooms and sparse tables

Of the sweatshop workers, migrant farm workers, and miners

 

Those last who work in light less toil the perfect metaphor for what I speak

The joining of those who work with mind, body, and soul

That clothe, feed, and warm us through seasons of despair

 

We poets are often as traditional Cuban cigar factory readers

Speakers of our own personal truth

In hope of a more just society

Verichrome Rain

 

Pinks sliding

Blues flying

Yellows crawling

Greens walking

 

The gleam of wet

The crackle of dry

The thunk of hard

The squish of soft

 

Moving ever moving

On mysterious tasks

 

Hunting or being hunted

Feeding or being fed on

Mating or seeking to find a mate

 

A tree branch becomes

A singles bar for beetles

Or perhaps a lunch room for ants

 

Lush green and brown

The living backdrop

 

To

Smooth

And

Supple

Bands

Of

Slinking

Devilish

Poisonous

Red

A small gray ball of fur

Is swallowed whole

 

Last years growth

Now lifeless

Festers on the humid ground

 

From this rotting death

Comes the stuff of rebirth

 

In a simple exchange of energy

Nothing ever wasted

All simply changes form

 

The processes of the forest

Keep life eternal

 

Man’s awful

Slash and burn interference

Is none but infernal

 

Lets treat our green places

GENTLY!

 

For the children

LET’S DO IT FOR THE CHILDREN!

It’s Just a Fad

 

There were daniel boon ‘coon skin hats

And hoola hoops

 

Klick-klacks

And little rubber things that crawl down walls

 

Flagpole sittings and dance marathons

New deals and contracts with america

 

D-days and desert storms

Gerbils in butts and flavored condoms

 

Polyester leisure suits

And fancy overpriced baseball caps

 

Swing and bebop

Techno and hiphop

 

 

Assorted yellow ribbon hangings

And flag wavings

 

The noriagas and bin ladens

The slick willies and g’dubyas

 

The pronouncements of

postmodern paradise

And other beckonings

 

To a glorious past

That never really existed

 

Eventually they run their course

And we wait around

 

For the next hot new thing

 

 

 

 

 

Contract and Expand

 

When the molecules in a given section of the Universe

No matter how large or how small their neighborhood

 

When they fall silent

Waiting waiting waiting

Laying in a dreamless sleep

 

When they crowd together comfort less

Waiting waiting waiting

For the next happenstance

 

A systematic solidification

Waiting waiting waiting

For the bitch goddess that is the 2^nd law of thermodynamics

 

To enter the scene with the addition of energy

Perhaps requiring kinetic conversion, perhaps not

Flying flying flying

Apart like co-jilted lovers on a crystal meth binge

 

To dance the dance, trip the light, and ride the heat

Flying flying flying

In organized chaos toward circular renewal

 

Entropy be damned!

Just part of the creative process

In any given state change is just around the corner

 

Permanence but an illusion

In the random number clockwork

That is the cosmos

 

Thus, does Carl Sagan’s “star stuff”

Become other stuff, like you and me

 

Tick tock, Tock tick…

 

Loves List of Sought and Rejected

 

I seek not conquest

But connection

 

I seek not manipulation

But understanding

 

I seek not games

But playfulness

 

I seek not possession

But sharing

 

I seek not judgment of others

But to know them deeply

I seek not to use or be used

But to be served and of service

 

I seek not to win or lose

But to tie

 

For it is the ties

That bind us

One to the other

 

That make of strings

A rope

Strong enough

That we my pull together

 

To share

The workers burden of relationship

And the lovers joy of romance

 

That we may be ourselves

Safe and secure with each other

 

The telepathic crickets hate it when I go off all poetic like…

The scientifically impossible I do right away

The spiritually miraculous takes a bit longer

~ by ClapSo on July 24, 2007.