At the first poetry club meeting, I tried to teach the kids how to write a slam poem. I told them to think of things from their past that had made them sad, mad, or hurt them; and to write about it. One method I told them was to write as if they were saying everything they had ever wanted to say to someone, if that person had to listen and couldn't interrupt. I didn't quite do that, but I tried taking my own advice and this is what popped out.
Amazing at Football
There's a kid
who carves swastikas
into his eyelids
and his cheeks
he's pretty creepy
but I can talk to him about you
he understands
all the things I want
to do to you
not really, I suppose
neither of us do
we're both in 4th grade
we don't really know what it means
to tie someone up
out in the woods
cut them a thousand times
add salt and vinegar
and let them lie there
for a few weeks
we talk about it
I, I dream about it
but we've probably just seen it
in the movies
sure, it's monstrous
but for ou
it's more than you deserve
my mother doesn't scream
not when you put her
through the shower door
not when you wrap your hands
around her throat
not when you're stringing nooses
in the backyard
there's thuds and grunts
but she only screams
when you come after us
my sisters are not sluts
my brother and I are not pieces of shit
you could've worked for Pinochet
you know every spot on the body that hurts
from the web of the ears
to the nerves in the armpit
they cry, they scream
so Mom screams
I don't
not anymore
I don't scream
I don't cry
I'm used to it
thanks to you
I do not feel pan
I'm aware it exists
but I can turn it off
like a switch
I will say this
it makes me amazing at football
good thig I'm the oldest
that I'm big, that I'm a boy
it means I piss you off the most
it means I can take the heat
off the others
I can handle the fists
and the belt
and the boots
it means I can endure
it means I'm gonna be awesome at football
but
it doesn't mean I'm strong enough
to stand up to you
to feed you a steak knife
while you sleep
to Mark McGwire a cast-iron skillet
at your temple
while you're busy
with someone else's neck
to end you and our suffering
to make the lives
of six roses and one hawk
better
I'm amazing at footbal
but you don't care,
and I'm sick of it
sick of the question
"what does your father do?"
and making up some new story
so sick of hearing
"he's such a great father"
and biting back the truth
sick of tasting the salt in my blood
like the lies of home sweet home
so sick of being a father
at 12, 14, 16, 18
so sick of being terrifie
of worrying about blood on the walls
when I call the house
and no one picks up the phone
I'm sick of making more money than you
I'm in high school
it's not my job
to put food on the table
I'm sick of the numb horror
at watching someone else
hit the wall floor furniture
because I didn't get in the way
fast enough
I'm sick of all this
and it makes me fucking amazing at football
because I run on rage
I channel fire and hell
I put kids in the hospital
I run raw fuck you all across 100 yards
white hot yellow supernova
and it scares teh fuck out of me
because I look like you
I sound like you
and my biggest fear
is that I am you
that this fire
that runs me
that loves me
that consumes me
is yours
my model for life
is everything you are not
my to-do list is
everythin you never did
my moral code
is not doing what you are
so I used to speak to Swastika Boy
of vigilantism and vengeance
I broke the children of the woods
while they broke my legs and hands
ntil the screams are gone
I took and tossed girls
like the Band-Aids they weren't
it's so much easier to help someone else
than to fix yourself
let me love you
and be your needy cure
but I've seen where that goes
and my worst future is your footsteps
so forget being amazing at football
I found release for rage in ink
on skin
and page
I don't need this fire
I've got water and ice
to melt the mountains
to wash it all away
fuck football
I'd rather be the real thing
you never even imagined
a friend
a lover
a partner
a husbad
a son
a human
an artist
a worker
a person
a man
I dont' think it reads very well, but it was fun, and it's good to perform. This week, I think.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Love is Strong
I wrote this back in mid-January; I thought one of my friends was being fucked with, and after playing basketball for three hours, I sat in the hot tub with a six pack and wrote this, start to finish, save a few line edits.
Love is Strong
Now I've heard 'em say
that love is strong
and I used to think
that they were wrong
because it can not
hold two people together
but that's not
the appropriate measure
the fact is
it can pin you to the wall
and that's it means
when love conquers all
I know because it happened to my friend
saw it trap the happiest of men
didn't take a doctor to know she wasn't right
calling someone else in the middle of the night
caught and snared, but not even out of spite
just drawn like a moth to her white pixie light
and she forgot to tell him that her heart just might
belong to her ex, trapped in his bite
but he swore back tears to be her white knight
he withered and he strained and his pride grew slight
love found him, and it was strong alright
Baby Cupid caught him square in his sights
and shot him out the sky like a broken kite
broke his legs no flight
took his heart no fight
you tell me love is strong
I look at his broken body
and I think you're right
because I've heard 'em say
that love is strong
and I used to think
that they were wrong
because it can't hold
two people together
but that's still not
the appropriate measure
the fact is, it can
pin you to the wall
and that's what they mean
when they say love conquers all
I know because of what happened to my mom
it kept her married to John
for twenty years too long
and I'm lucky that my mom's not a swan
because she might have ended up broken and gone
victim of a monster blue-eyed and blond
with no heart, no brains, all brawn
a man who would've shot Bambi the fawn
June 2006, she ripped up the Autobahn
she came flying down thirty
cause she was tired of hurting
that day was too much, and she had to flee
but it took a car crash to finally set us free
we uprooted half of our family tree
terrifying as it was, it still filled me with glee
my mother, I love her, she's an angel to me
but she showed me the truth of love to see
that even when it's wrong
or all gone
love is still strong
maybe it will hold
two people together
but that's still not
the appropriate measure
the fact is that sure,
love conquers all
it can kill you
and nail you to the wall
if you've got it
your heart's sinking, your mind's racing
you're not thinking, the truth's facing
staring you right in the eye
you look and you swallow and kiss it goodbye
no way are you gonna think about it
I'd rather let my mind tiptoe around it
it's a crushing boulder on your shoulders
a truth you bear when you get older
that love is strong and the young are wrong
I personally know love is strong
all those little bits of memories that keep you hanging on
after everything's gone
and you're crying to old songs
every conversation's a self-con
she's the queen to your pawn
and nothing matters, not brains or brawn
you're still hoping and talking to her mom
weeping and watching a rising red dawn
it's a rope around your throat
a little something to help you choke,
all those little bits of hope
the girl who made me hyphy
I was gonna make her wifey
but she wasn't right, see
she loved me only slightly
she killed me impolitely
stabbed by her knife-y
and even though she still texts on the low
still I know, I gotta let her go
see it's like Janus, two-faced
meeting someone new and find out how their lips taste
just two holding hands out ahead of the rat race
it can make extraordinary out of the everyday commonplace
but the one that you love might really be a snake
then your mind's a waste
you ache for their embrace
lost, alone, drifting in space
slammed back to earth
with a broken sense of self-worth
so love's a blessing and a curse
because it brings both misery and mirth
kisses and hugs and a kick to the groin
you might as well flip a coin
you don't know anything about the future
you just hope you don't end up with holes sutured
all throughout your chest
you give it your best
and then deal with the mess
the pieces, the bits, and all the rest
the hope, the rope wrapped around your neck
of memories of the past and all that's left
so you gotta decide if it's worth the stress
ask yourself
do you like wearing a blindfold
or is not knowing gonna turn your heart cold
because if you're caught in Cupid's chokehold
then you decide if you're gonna let go
and take that ride
and let love burn inside
you can try and try and try
and you might succeed
and find the one you need
the one for whom you do heroic deeds
who'll take your hand and lead
if you're ever in need
or end up on your knees
with your heart on your sleeve
ripped out so you can't even breathe
with no blood left to bleed
I'm telling you,
I know love is strong
Now I know they weren't wrong
Love, man, it really does conquer all
It'll kill ya and nail ya to the wall
Love is Strong
Now I've heard 'em say
that love is strong
and I used to think
that they were wrong
because it can not
hold two people together
but that's not
the appropriate measure
the fact is
it can pin you to the wall
and that's it means
when love conquers all
I know because it happened to my friend
saw it trap the happiest of men
didn't take a doctor to know she wasn't right
calling someone else in the middle of the night
caught and snared, but not even out of spite
just drawn like a moth to her white pixie light
and she forgot to tell him that her heart just might
belong to her ex, trapped in his bite
but he swore back tears to be her white knight
he withered and he strained and his pride grew slight
love found him, and it was strong alright
Baby Cupid caught him square in his sights
and shot him out the sky like a broken kite
broke his legs no flight
took his heart no fight
you tell me love is strong
I look at his broken body
and I think you're right
because I've heard 'em say
that love is strong
and I used to think
that they were wrong
because it can't hold
two people together
but that's still not
the appropriate measure
the fact is, it can
pin you to the wall
and that's what they mean
when they say love conquers all
I know because of what happened to my mom
it kept her married to John
for twenty years too long
and I'm lucky that my mom's not a swan
because she might have ended up broken and gone
victim of a monster blue-eyed and blond
with no heart, no brains, all brawn
a man who would've shot Bambi the fawn
June 2006, she ripped up the Autobahn
she came flying down thirty
cause she was tired of hurting
that day was too much, and she had to flee
but it took a car crash to finally set us free
we uprooted half of our family tree
terrifying as it was, it still filled me with glee
my mother, I love her, she's an angel to me
but she showed me the truth of love to see
that even when it's wrong
or all gone
love is still strong
maybe it will hold
two people together
but that's still not
the appropriate measure
the fact is that sure,
love conquers all
it can kill you
and nail you to the wall
if you've got it
your heart's sinking, your mind's racing
you're not thinking, the truth's facing
staring you right in the eye
you look and you swallow and kiss it goodbye
no way are you gonna think about it
I'd rather let my mind tiptoe around it
it's a crushing boulder on your shoulders
a truth you bear when you get older
that love is strong and the young are wrong
I personally know love is strong
all those little bits of memories that keep you hanging on
after everything's gone
and you're crying to old songs
every conversation's a self-con
she's the queen to your pawn
and nothing matters, not brains or brawn
you're still hoping and talking to her mom
weeping and watching a rising red dawn
it's a rope around your throat
a little something to help you choke,
all those little bits of hope
the girl who made me hyphy
I was gonna make her wifey
but she wasn't right, see
she loved me only slightly
she killed me impolitely
stabbed by her knife-y
and even though she still texts on the low
still I know, I gotta let her go
see it's like Janus, two-faced
meeting someone new and find out how their lips taste
just two holding hands out ahead of the rat race
it can make extraordinary out of the everyday commonplace
but the one that you love might really be a snake
then your mind's a waste
you ache for their embrace
lost, alone, drifting in space
slammed back to earth
with a broken sense of self-worth
so love's a blessing and a curse
because it brings both misery and mirth
kisses and hugs and a kick to the groin
you might as well flip a coin
you don't know anything about the future
you just hope you don't end up with holes sutured
all throughout your chest
you give it your best
and then deal with the mess
the pieces, the bits, and all the rest
the hope, the rope wrapped around your neck
of memories of the past and all that's left
so you gotta decide if it's worth the stress
ask yourself
do you like wearing a blindfold
or is not knowing gonna turn your heart cold
because if you're caught in Cupid's chokehold
then you decide if you're gonna let go
and take that ride
and let love burn inside
you can try and try and try
and you might succeed
and find the one you need
the one for whom you do heroic deeds
who'll take your hand and lead
if you're ever in need
or end up on your knees
with your heart on your sleeve
ripped out so you can't even breathe
with no blood left to bleed
I'm telling you,
I know love is strong
Now I know they weren't wrong
Love, man, it really does conquer all
It'll kill ya and nail ya to the wall
Tumblr(Othello)
A couple weeks ago, I was drunk. I slipped and looked at her blog; I wrote the idea that night before I passed out, and wrote most of it during professional development the next day.
"Tumblr(Othello)"
I don't know
why I flip
to your blog
in these witching hours
I think
it's the look in your eyes
the way that they shine
like the light from a diamond
locked in a mineshaft
that light comes from within
it shines in my memory
it shines in the pictures of you
everywhere else
it shines, scarlet letters
burning in my mind
like Vegas lights, enthusiastic
all the implications of
"when I finally got home in the morning"
and the grins you might've rode, enthusiastic
I don't know why
I don't like the way it feels
like my insides are dry snakeskins
tangled, chafing, and sliding
while an icepick pounds my navel
to the rhythm of a broken heart
fire and ice
is not the theme for a party
it's my guts
when the future becomes the present
it arrived
it's here
and you left
I'd say
I don't like jealousy
I don't like pain
but I guess
that's what it was always about
two months of animal tango
two years of emotional krumping
we traded bitemarks for boredom
confidence, mistrust
and I swapped your scratches on my back
proudly worn
for the crown of Othello.
Desdemona didn't know
there is no proof of innocence
with guilt, you can at least
get the proverbial lipstick on the collar
the accidental phone call
the crusted latex behind the pillow
the brand-new bruise on the thigh
when you haven't seen 'em all week
or the choicest chocolate of them all,
certain proof -
spotting the two backed beast
heaving out, a, brilliant, red, A!
but there is no proof of fidelity
merely the absence of its opposite
there's no proof in arched backs
or loving caresses
that calms the one choking on
the sick green spoiled meat
of jealousy
I will tell you what jealousy is
it's hating the guy you used to be
before you gave in
and went back, uncertain
now the only certainty you have
is that you'll catch her again
if you look hard enough
her head, napping on your shoulder
must be exhausted from afternoon delight
her phone's free of anything suspicious
--she must've deleted them already
there's no proof of innocence
there's no proof someone's changed
you can't ever know if someone's reformed
you're left feeling
like a hunchbacked Dickensian war criminal
awkwardly moving atop a willing actor
adrift in the open sea
because every smile
hides something you don't know
maybe this crown
is why I'm here again
creeping your footsteps electronic
in this rather undignifed hari-kari
I throw myself at that shine
hoping to finally hit bottom
to hit zero, to hit reset
maybe if it hurts enough
I can die to start again
and free myself of Othello's crown
"Tumblr(Othello)"
I don't know
why I flip
to your blog
in these witching hours
I think
it's the look in your eyes
the way that they shine
like the light from a diamond
locked in a mineshaft
that light comes from within
it shines in my memory
it shines in the pictures of you
everywhere else
it shines, scarlet letters
burning in my mind
like Vegas lights, enthusiastic
all the implications of
"when I finally got home in the morning"
and the grins you might've rode, enthusiastic
I don't know why
I don't like the way it feels
like my insides are dry snakeskins
tangled, chafing, and sliding
while an icepick pounds my navel
to the rhythm of a broken heart
fire and ice
is not the theme for a party
it's my guts
when the future becomes the present
it arrived
it's here
and you left
I'd say
I don't like jealousy
I don't like pain
but I guess
that's what it was always about
two months of animal tango
two years of emotional krumping
we traded bitemarks for boredom
confidence, mistrust
and I swapped your scratches on my back
proudly worn
for the crown of Othello.
Desdemona didn't know
there is no proof of innocence
with guilt, you can at least
get the proverbial lipstick on the collar
the accidental phone call
the crusted latex behind the pillow
the brand-new bruise on the thigh
when you haven't seen 'em all week
or the choicest chocolate of them all,
certain proof -
spotting the two backed beast
heaving out, a, brilliant, red, A!
but there is no proof of fidelity
merely the absence of its opposite
there's no proof in arched backs
or loving caresses
that calms the one choking on
the sick green spoiled meat
of jealousy
I will tell you what jealousy is
it's hating the guy you used to be
before you gave in
and went back, uncertain
now the only certainty you have
is that you'll catch her again
if you look hard enough
her head, napping on your shoulder
must be exhausted from afternoon delight
her phone's free of anything suspicious
--she must've deleted them already
there's no proof of innocence
there's no proof someone's changed
you can't ever know if someone's reformed
you're left feeling
like a hunchbacked Dickensian war criminal
awkwardly moving atop a willing actor
adrift in the open sea
because every smile
hides something you don't know
maybe this crown
is why I'm here again
creeping your footsteps electronic
in this rather undignifed hari-kari
I throw myself at that shine
hoping to finally hit bottom
to hit zero, to hit reset
maybe if it hurts enough
I can die to start again
and free myself of Othello's crown
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Habit Mathematics
(Click the "poetry" tag to see other poems and songs more easily.)
I just replied to a craigslist posting seeking erotica; if I could make cash writing that, that would be a nice sidejob. A little absurd, but pretty fun - I submitted a thousand words from an old story I wrote for an ex, which was easy enough, because I also have no idea how legit the posting is.
I also signed up on Associated Content and Gather; I want to see if I can post things and make some side cash. That would be sexy, pun intended.
Last night, 3 of my kids came to the Black Pearl Slam, and I was so happy about it. I re-did "They Are," which was what they had come to hear anyway. It occurred to me that I haven't put any rhymes or poems up here in awhile; here's one that I already have typed up, called "Habit Mathematics."
I'm a simple man, and
God knows I’ve got no plan
I’ve got tattoos to mix with my scars
I’ve got this new predilection for bars
Where I can sit and break my heart
Freeze, and fucking rip myself apart
It’s fun,’cuz it makes the words start
Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground
I’ve never really been a fan of the warmth in the whiskey
It doesn’t help me forget all those that don’t miss me
And the caramel’s no replacement for the way you used to kiss me
I’d rather play with my salt and tequila
So I don’t have to think about who gets to feel ya
I’ve spent my time sobbing and drunk, sober and bitter
I’ve planned my pointless pathetic plots on the shitter
Now I grab a pen and a brew to wash away the blues
Seconds after I get home and kick off my shoes
I could be afraid, I could feel fear
But not after I’ve cracked open a couple of beers
I sit and I scribble, flow till I’m serene
My body gets dirty but my mind stays clean
It’s a lie but it’s what I do when I flow
When I write and don’t care if you know
I sit and I spaz until the rooster crows
Keeping warm in the cold light of the fact that everybody goes
Sitting here with my pen in my hand
I don’t know if this is the measure of a man
It’s kinda silly and anybody can
I could be drifting off in bed
But I’d rather write the things I should’ve said
All the leftover thoughts rolling around in my head
Two legs spread wide and waiting in the toolshed
Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground
I spark up my bic fairy
And light up a new cherry
As the flavor hits my lungs
I let go of the bottom rung
I can feel the smoke inside burning
And my stomach finally stops turning
It takes on the slow stillness of death
The hard pride of absolutely nothing left
I let the smoke billow through my car
While I’m cruising to and from the bar
Maybe these cigarettes make my hands shake
But something else slows em down so I can sit and make
So I can paint pictures with my words
Get high and fly with the birds
I push myself, and pretend that I’m great
Keep track of my lonely travels through these dirty states
Happiness, joy, lust and despair
Twist em together to give and to share
Now the coffee’s got my mind’s humming
My heart pounding my leg drumming
I can feel the words man, they’re coming
In my veins I got the nicotine seeping
For now my heart’s still beating
While the words keep on keepin
Another hit but now it’s my breathing
Getting a little choked and soft
My pulse is starting to get off
Wonder if I’m getting that smoker’s cough
Sitting here burning out the lining of my nose
With smoke soaking into my clothes
Before long, we all gotta go
What your time might be, nobody knows
Maybe speeding mine up is the price of a flow
Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground
Now, I savor the pain
So my words flow like the wheels on a train
Blind, fast, insane
In case you ain’t figured it out yet
This last is the reason I sweat
Taking words and put ‘em to a rhythm so I can ride
Like the bodies of enemies killed I don’t bother to hide
I’d rather put ‘em on display,
put ‘em on a page, lock, load, spray
I can feel ‘em coming night and day
They take hold of me
They get control of me
Whenever they fit the sound
You gotta be quick to write ‘em down
Before you forget it
Because if you let it get it away
You might get stuck with nothing to say
It would kill me because I gotta let ‘em out
They thrill me and now I can’t go without
I love it, I live it
I eat it, I breathe it
So I don’t’ get mad at myself
When I’m all kinds of bad to myself
No, I didn’t get no sleep this week
But the way I see it, sleep is for the weak
The sweets and the treats don’t go to the meek
Go hard, baby, and stay out late
Your only hope of beating back fate
So what if I up the pace
With a case to the face
It helps my pen chase
All the words I can find
In the valley of my mind
As I lay their bodies on the page
I’m making gunpowder out of my rage
So maybe I’m all torn up and I’m a mess
Get some popcorn and admire my distress
‘cuz I can sit in a storm and feel blessed
I know how to keep warm in the shadow of death
Yeah, I'm an addict
But there’ s a mathematics to my habits
I just replied to a craigslist posting seeking erotica; if I could make cash writing that, that would be a nice sidejob. A little absurd, but pretty fun - I submitted a thousand words from an old story I wrote for an ex, which was easy enough, because I also have no idea how legit the posting is.
I also signed up on Associated Content and Gather; I want to see if I can post things and make some side cash. That would be sexy, pun intended.
Last night, 3 of my kids came to the Black Pearl Slam, and I was so happy about it. I re-did "They Are," which was what they had come to hear anyway. It occurred to me that I haven't put any rhymes or poems up here in awhile; here's one that I already have typed up, called "Habit Mathematics."
I'm a simple man, and
God knows I’ve got no plan
I’ve got tattoos to mix with my scars
I’ve got this new predilection for bars
Where I can sit and break my heart
Freeze, and fucking rip myself apart
It’s fun,’cuz it makes the words start
Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground
I’ve never really been a fan of the warmth in the whiskey
It doesn’t help me forget all those that don’t miss me
And the caramel’s no replacement for the way you used to kiss me
I’d rather play with my salt and tequila
So I don’t have to think about who gets to feel ya
I’ve spent my time sobbing and drunk, sober and bitter
I’ve planned my pointless pathetic plots on the shitter
Now I grab a pen and a brew to wash away the blues
Seconds after I get home and kick off my shoes
I could be afraid, I could feel fear
But not after I’ve cracked open a couple of beers
I sit and I scribble, flow till I’m serene
My body gets dirty but my mind stays clean
It’s a lie but it’s what I do when I flow
When I write and don’t care if you know
I sit and I spaz until the rooster crows
Keeping warm in the cold light of the fact that everybody goes
Sitting here with my pen in my hand
I don’t know if this is the measure of a man
It’s kinda silly and anybody can
I could be drifting off in bed
But I’d rather write the things I should’ve said
All the leftover thoughts rolling around in my head
Two legs spread wide and waiting in the toolshed
Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground
I spark up my bic fairy
And light up a new cherry
As the flavor hits my lungs
I let go of the bottom rung
I can feel the smoke inside burning
And my stomach finally stops turning
It takes on the slow stillness of death
The hard pride of absolutely nothing left
I let the smoke billow through my car
While I’m cruising to and from the bar
Maybe these cigarettes make my hands shake
But something else slows em down so I can sit and make
So I can paint pictures with my words
Get high and fly with the birds
I push myself, and pretend that I’m great
Keep track of my lonely travels through these dirty states
Happiness, joy, lust and despair
Twist em together to give and to share
Now the coffee’s got my mind’s humming
My heart pounding my leg drumming
I can feel the words man, they’re coming
In my veins I got the nicotine seeping
For now my heart’s still beating
While the words keep on keepin
Another hit but now it’s my breathing
Getting a little choked and soft
My pulse is starting to get off
Wonder if I’m getting that smoker’s cough
Sitting here burning out the lining of my nose
With smoke soaking into my clothes
Before long, we all gotta go
What your time might be, nobody knows
Maybe speeding mine up is the price of a flow
Yeah, I’m an addict
But there’s a mathematics to my habits
There’s benediction in my addiction
And all kinds of seduction in this self-destruction
I pay in the black and the blue and the brown
Let it take me up like a plane bound to go down
I fall to my knees and rip these words out of the ground
Now, I savor the pain
So my words flow like the wheels on a train
Blind, fast, insane
In case you ain’t figured it out yet
This last is the reason I sweat
Taking words and put ‘em to a rhythm so I can ride
Like the bodies of enemies killed I don’t bother to hide
I’d rather put ‘em on display,
put ‘em on a page, lock, load, spray
I can feel ‘em coming night and day
They take hold of me
They get control of me
Whenever they fit the sound
You gotta be quick to write ‘em down
Before you forget it
Because if you let it get it away
You might get stuck with nothing to say
It would kill me because I gotta let ‘em out
They thrill me and now I can’t go without
I love it, I live it
I eat it, I breathe it
So I don’t’ get mad at myself
When I’m all kinds of bad to myself
No, I didn’t get no sleep this week
But the way I see it, sleep is for the weak
The sweets and the treats don’t go to the meek
Go hard, baby, and stay out late
Your only hope of beating back fate
So what if I up the pace
With a case to the face
It helps my pen chase
All the words I can find
In the valley of my mind
As I lay their bodies on the page
I’m making gunpowder out of my rage
So maybe I’m all torn up and I’m a mess
Get some popcorn and admire my distress
‘cuz I can sit in a storm and feel blessed
I know how to keep warm in the shadow of death
Yeah, I'm an addict
But there’ s a mathematics to my habits
Saturday, February 13, 2010
They Are
(If you click the "Poetry" tag on the bottom of the post, it brings up all the poems and songs that I've posted.")
Two weeks ago, I had the first ten lines pop into my head; yesterday, stuck in professional development, I thought about my kids - who I hadn't seen all week, since I'd been at home - and the rest of it just sprang out entire. I got to present it as the sacrificial poet last night at Black Pearl; it was cool, but it was the first reading of it I'd done. I did it for Lizzy B this morning, and I kicked it up another notch in rhythm - it made me a little mad at myself, I need to stop doing first readings at the mic, I should save things and practice them a bit. I get more of a rush from performing something that' s rehearsed, it feels tighter. Anyway, here's
They Are
They are bleeding
there’s 13 holes in his chest
one for every year of his life
and yeah, he runs with the wrong crowd
but it was uncle that had the knife
so now he still runs the court
but he slows when it burns
the missing pieces, I mean
they burn
they’re bleeding, and it’s embarrassing
the nurse quit because they terrified her
she wasn’t alone, the subs run away
crying
and it makes them laugh
but now there’s no one
to give out tampons pads napkins Midol
and the teacher has to ask the class
“does anyone have a tampon she can use?”,
as if life wasn’t embarrassing enough,
because the guys in 10th period are laughing
about what they they did to her last night
what she let them do
after he said I love you
they’re homeless
when you first find out one of your kids is homeless
it will shake you
they’re always late to class and
they’re always wearing the same cigarette-burn hole t-shirt
it’s summer school
so
when you are late just three times you are expelled
but when you walk them to the office
the secretary pulls you to the side
and says quietly
“they’re okay
“they’re homeless
“they can stay, you can take them back
and you don’t know how
okay and homeless
can describe the same child
and his tears
and you can’t cry - !
if you lose it
everybody is going to lose it
so, bite your lip.
they already feel bad.
they are seriously apologetic, they are sorry
they didn’t do their homework
yes, some are pissed
but others are legitimately sorry
and embarrassed
there are no pencils in the homeless shelter
and if you’ve never thought about it
there are degrees
there are shades of homelessness
they taught me that
it’s not just hobos and shelters
it’s the boy and his mom trading nights
on the couch
at his aunt’s house
when they can get in
it’s no wonder he’s pissed
he’s been wearing this hoodie all week
it smells like vomit and sweat
he’s mad because he’s fat, too
and he doesn’t know
if it’s better
to keep that hoodie zipped
and hide the pit stains
or take it off and drip
but nothing hides the sweat
and the shame and the shine on his face
they’re 12
they’re 13
they play at being adults
they drink barley
smoke marley
they don’t know the man, or the music
but they will light that shit up
they’ve got wine in solo cups, and
I think pills, pills are coming to town
because some of them have these pink spots
by their mouth
and they can’t stop scratching
they play at being adults
and they’re just as bad at it
as we are
she’s crying in 9th period
the test
was positive
she’s hoping they’re wrong
she’s too young to be a mom
she’s terrified, but she won’t be alone
and she’s jealous
because the girl sitting across from her
only caught herpes from him
now these 13 year old adults
couldn’t tell you what the economy is
couldn’t explain it, or define it
but someone needs to fix it
they know that
because Dad is sad
his job is gone
and he’s not happy anymore
he seems tiny and he never smiles
so Obama please, she edited her letter to you
twice
you need to fix it
but he, he doesn’t care about that
his dad got his throat slit
so I know why he’s throwing that chair
because this letter
is NOT going to bring him back
they ache
family is in jail
family is dead
family is crying, dying, and deported
they’re not making up the work
and it’s disappointing, but how can I blame them
they ache they weep they bleed
they hurt
they’re everywhere
she’s 3, and she pees funny
because her mother doesn’t like it
when she cries
so she grabbed her by the ankles
and swung her soft little skull into the wall
stop.
fucking.
crying.
she’s 11, she’s got AIDS
because Daddy drinks
and when Daddy drinks, he takes what he wants
they are so strong
I need you to understand that
they face all this
and they persevere
they are angry and frustrated
they are bleeding and crying
they hurt when they shouldn’t
it shouldn’t hurt to be a child
and they will take your breath away
they are brilliant
they are complex
they are funny
“playing soccer is like having babies. there’s always someone kicking you, and it happens in all seasons”
they’re funny, and they’ll steal your heart
“our class is like my fingernails. we’re all beautiful and I’d hate to lose any of ‘em”
“our class is like a brick wall we fit together perfectly
and we’re not complete with a single one of us missing”
“mr. B, have you ever been to juvie? or jail? I just
wanted to know if teachers make mistakes
too. I’m not going to be here tomorrow”
“hey, where’s your notebooks, guys?”
“Mr. B, would you do us a favor?”
“I have no unicorns but I do have free
pencils, what can I get you guys?”
“…Mr. B, would you quit smoking for us?”
I’ve cried in front of them
I cried then, and other times
I don’t feel like I deserve
to stand here in front of them
I tremble in awe and pride
at the things they achieve
I don’t teach them
I try to make them smile
so they can break out of their shell
and shine
and forget
that they’re not meant to make it
and light up with
everything they already knew
but don’t usually admit to themselves
forget teaching them
I want to get out of their way
I need you to do the same
so they can run this world
they go through so much
they hurt and cry
and that they still dream
that makes their hearts a triumph
for what they face
they still love, and care, and dream
that’s the triumph
it restores my faith in the future
of what it could be
of what it should be
of what it can and will be
it should restore your faith, too
they’re amazing, let them show you
they’re the future
Two weeks ago, I had the first ten lines pop into my head; yesterday, stuck in professional development, I thought about my kids - who I hadn't seen all week, since I'd been at home - and the rest of it just sprang out entire. I got to present it as the sacrificial poet last night at Black Pearl; it was cool, but it was the first reading of it I'd done. I did it for Lizzy B this morning, and I kicked it up another notch in rhythm - it made me a little mad at myself, I need to stop doing first readings at the mic, I should save things and practice them a bit. I get more of a rush from performing something that' s rehearsed, it feels tighter. Anyway, here's
They Are
They are bleeding
there’s 13 holes in his chest
one for every year of his life
and yeah, he runs with the wrong crowd
but it was uncle that had the knife
so now he still runs the court
but he slows when it burns
the missing pieces, I mean
they burn
they’re bleeding, and it’s embarrassing
the nurse quit because they terrified her
she wasn’t alone, the subs run away
crying
and it makes them laugh
but now there’s no one
to give out tampons pads napkins Midol
and the teacher has to ask the class
“does anyone have a tampon she can use?”,
as if life wasn’t embarrassing enough,
because the guys in 10th period are laughing
about what they they did to her last night
what she let them do
after he said I love you
they’re homeless
when you first find out one of your kids is homeless
it will shake you
they’re always late to class and
they’re always wearing the same cigarette-burn hole t-shirt
it’s summer school
so
when you are late just three times you are expelled
but when you walk them to the office
the secretary pulls you to the side
and says quietly
“they’re okay
“they’re homeless
“they can stay, you can take them back
and you don’t know how
okay and homeless
can describe the same child
and his tears
and you can’t cry - !
if you lose it
everybody is going to lose it
so, bite your lip.
they already feel bad.
they are seriously apologetic, they are sorry
they didn’t do their homework
yes, some are pissed
but others are legitimately sorry
and embarrassed
there are no pencils in the homeless shelter
and if you’ve never thought about it
there are degrees
there are shades of homelessness
they taught me that
it’s not just hobos and shelters
it’s the boy and his mom trading nights
on the couch
at his aunt’s house
when they can get in
it’s no wonder he’s pissed
he’s been wearing this hoodie all week
it smells like vomit and sweat
he’s mad because he’s fat, too
and he doesn’t know
if it’s better
to keep that hoodie zipped
and hide the pit stains
or take it off and drip
but nothing hides the sweat
and the shame and the shine on his face
they’re 12
they’re 13
they play at being adults
they drink barley
smoke marley
they don’t know the man, or the music
but they will light that shit up
they’ve got wine in solo cups, and
I think pills, pills are coming to town
because some of them have these pink spots
by their mouth
and they can’t stop scratching
they play at being adults
and they’re just as bad at it
as we are
she’s crying in 9th period
the test
was positive
she’s hoping they’re wrong
she’s too young to be a mom
she’s terrified, but she won’t be alone
and she’s jealous
because the girl sitting across from her
only caught herpes from him
now these 13 year old adults
couldn’t tell you what the economy is
couldn’t explain it, or define it
but someone needs to fix it
they know that
because Dad is sad
his job is gone
and he’s not happy anymore
he seems tiny and he never smiles
so Obama please, she edited her letter to you
twice
you need to fix it
but he, he doesn’t care about that
his dad got his throat slit
so I know why he’s throwing that chair
because this letter
is NOT going to bring him back
they ache
family is in jail
family is dead
family is crying, dying, and deported
they’re not making up the work
and it’s disappointing, but how can I blame them
they ache they weep they bleed
they hurt
they’re everywhere
she’s 3, and she pees funny
because her mother doesn’t like it
when she cries
so she grabbed her by the ankles
and swung her soft little skull into the wall
stop.
fucking.
crying.
she’s 11, she’s got AIDS
because Daddy drinks
and when Daddy drinks, he takes what he wants
they are so strong
I need you to understand that
they face all this
and they persevere
they are angry and frustrated
they are bleeding and crying
they hurt when they shouldn’t
it shouldn’t hurt to be a child
and they will take your breath away
they are brilliant
they are complex
they are funny
“playing soccer is like having babies. there’s always someone kicking you, and it happens in all seasons”
they’re funny, and they’ll steal your heart
“our class is like my fingernails. we’re all beautiful and I’d hate to lose any of ‘em”
“our class is like a brick wall we fit together perfectly
and we’re not complete with a single one of us missing”
“mr. B, have you ever been to juvie? or jail? I just
wanted to know if teachers make mistakes
too. I’m not going to be here tomorrow”
“hey, where’s your notebooks, guys?”
“Mr. B, would you do us a favor?”
“I have no unicorns but I do have free
pencils, what can I get you guys?”
“…Mr. B, would you quit smoking for us?”
I’ve cried in front of them
I cried then, and other times
I don’t feel like I deserve
to stand here in front of them
I tremble in awe and pride
at the things they achieve
I don’t teach them
I try to make them smile
so they can break out of their shell
and shine
and forget
that they’re not meant to make it
and light up with
everything they already knew
but don’t usually admit to themselves
forget teaching them
I want to get out of their way
I need you to do the same
so they can run this world
they go through so much
they hurt and cry
and that they still dream
that makes their hearts a triumph
for what they face
they still love, and care, and dream
that’s the triumph
it restores my faith in the future
of what it could be
of what it should be
of what it can and will be
it should restore your faith, too
they’re amazing, let them show you
they’re the future
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Acute Bronchitis Sucks
I'm so tired of being sick; fuck cigarettes.
I've missed five of the last seven days of school - my first sick days all year - and it's driving me apeshit. I don't feel so horrible I feel incapable of doing things, but I feel shitty, and I'm not really capable of speech. At home, I don't talk all day; when roommates get home, even five minutes of conversation was enough to send me into coughing spasms intense enough for me to vomit.
I tried to go in last week, and coughed so much I started spraying blood from my nose by the afternoon. (That will get a class quiet and terrified real fast.)
Anyway, I'm getting stir-crazy at home, though I've gotten tons of grading and things done. Today, it hit me mid-afternoon (though it had occurred to me last night) that it was my ex's birthday. I was pissed at myself for knowing, for giving a fuck, for wondering what her birthday was like.
I was pissed at myself, because I thought of the last two February 9th's. To be fair, nothing crazy happened on either; or at least, nothing that I was a part of. I was stuck in initiations in 2008, and in 2009, the Vagina Monologues were nigh. But nice things happened to commemorate the occasion; modern dance and Mediterranean food with wine and blindfolds, a crammed Manhattan cafe watching a three-piece group perform beatboxed versions of Peter and the Wolf and other things.
One of those days was two weeks before I was cheated on; the other may have been during such a time period, for all I know.
I'm so tired of thinking of all these old things, and for tying them to doubts and dark things when I do think of them, that they can't even be nice memories.
I want to ache in a good way, to feel excellent pain; to feel like I'm electrified by someone.
I dug this out of an old blog:
"I was doing laundry this morning, and it occurred to me that I want to burn. It was a way of describing it that just came into my head. Earlier I'd written about having someone to do special things with, but this is just some kind of way to put it--I want to burn. This isn't a desire as bad as the others, but this would be nice--to have a hand brush down the back of my neck and feel like there's high-voltage wires under my skin, like there's a thousand butterfly wings dancing just beyond my skin, to feel like there's a howling wind in my ears, and like much of the world's disappearing when I talk to them. Because there's little else important enough to jump on my radar. that's burning. when there is just such a jolt because you were talking to someone or you brushed by them or just looked back over your shoulder and felt your skin burn. "
Tonight, I just drove, I sat, I went and lesson planned in a gay bar with roommates.
Haha - oh man, Phoenix, you and I do some weird shit.
I've missed five of the last seven days of school - my first sick days all year - and it's driving me apeshit. I don't feel so horrible I feel incapable of doing things, but I feel shitty, and I'm not really capable of speech. At home, I don't talk all day; when roommates get home, even five minutes of conversation was enough to send me into coughing spasms intense enough for me to vomit.
I tried to go in last week, and coughed so much I started spraying blood from my nose by the afternoon. (That will get a class quiet and terrified real fast.)
Anyway, I'm getting stir-crazy at home, though I've gotten tons of grading and things done. Today, it hit me mid-afternoon (though it had occurred to me last night) that it was my ex's birthday. I was pissed at myself for knowing, for giving a fuck, for wondering what her birthday was like.
I was pissed at myself, because I thought of the last two February 9th's. To be fair, nothing crazy happened on either; or at least, nothing that I was a part of. I was stuck in initiations in 2008, and in 2009, the Vagina Monologues were nigh. But nice things happened to commemorate the occasion; modern dance and Mediterranean food with wine and blindfolds, a crammed Manhattan cafe watching a three-piece group perform beatboxed versions of Peter and the Wolf and other things.
One of those days was two weeks before I was cheated on; the other may have been during such a time period, for all I know.
I'm so tired of thinking of all these old things, and for tying them to doubts and dark things when I do think of them, that they can't even be nice memories.
I want to ache in a good way, to feel excellent pain; to feel like I'm electrified by someone.
I dug this out of an old blog:
"I was doing laundry this morning, and it occurred to me that I want to burn. It was a way of describing it that just came into my head. Earlier I'd written about having someone to do special things with, but this is just some kind of way to put it--I want to burn. This isn't a desire as bad as the others, but this would be nice--to have a hand brush down the back of my neck and feel like there's high-voltage wires under my skin, like there's a thousand butterfly wings dancing just beyond my skin, to feel like there's a howling wind in my ears, and like much of the world's disappearing when I talk to them. Because there's little else important enough to jump on my radar. that's burning. when there is just such a jolt because you were talking to someone or you brushed by them or just looked back over your shoulder and felt your skin burn. "
Tonight, I just drove, I sat, I went and lesson planned in a gay bar with roommates.
Haha - oh man, Phoenix, you and I do some weird shit.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Today a kid came up to me after school and asked me if he could ask me a personal question. I made sure it wasn't going to be some weird thing - "Mr. B, are you a virgin?", which is a question I was asked the second day of school - and believed him when he said otherwise. His face was really sad too, and JCarb was usually grinning in the back of class sleepily. He asked me "Mr. B, have you ever gone to juvie?"
"...No, but..."
"-cause I have."
"Oh."
"Can I ask you another question?"
"Have you ever gone to jail?"
"JCarb, are you going to jail?"
"No, but have you?" His face lit up for a second - at the idea, perhaps.
"No" - and I talked to him for a few minutes, and he seemed to beating around the bush, but I had no idea at what. I just asked him point - blank: "JCarb, why do you want to know?"
He just got sad and began to walk away. "I just wanted to know if you guys make mistakes, too."
***
This was to end a day that started with two 7th graders, AdSanch and MarieCarra, came to me to apologize for the way they'd acted the day before. They'd said they'd been really stressed, angry, and depressed lately, and when I asked them why, they said one of their friends from their old school had just died.
****
I also had a whole class get legitimately pissed when I said I might not be there for a day, in the context of telling them that they needed to respect the sub. I think, though, that that was just because I let them eat lots of food on early Fridays, moreso than because they like me.
I need to write more of this shit down - I hear these stories everyday, and I almost just let them flow by now, it seems so normal. And now that I have a laptop (netbook) again, I oughta be. Whee!
"...No, but..."
"-cause I have."
"Oh."
"Can I ask you another question?"
"Have you ever gone to jail?"
"JCarb, are you going to jail?"
"No, but have you?" His face lit up for a second - at the idea, perhaps.
"No" - and I talked to him for a few minutes, and he seemed to beating around the bush, but I had no idea at what. I just asked him point - blank: "JCarb, why do you want to know?"
He just got sad and began to walk away. "I just wanted to know if you guys make mistakes, too."
***
This was to end a day that started with two 7th graders, AdSanch and MarieCarra, came to me to apologize for the way they'd acted the day before. They'd said they'd been really stressed, angry, and depressed lately, and when I asked them why, they said one of their friends from their old school had just died.
****
I also had a whole class get legitimately pissed when I said I might not be there for a day, in the context of telling them that they needed to respect the sub. I think, though, that that was just because I let them eat lots of food on early Fridays, moreso than because they like me.
I need to write more of this shit down - I hear these stories everyday, and I almost just let them flow by now, it seems so normal. And now that I have a laptop (netbook) again, I oughta be. Whee!
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