January 17, 2014 #smallstones

be-bop
hip-hop
don’t stop
let it pop

words and notes
lines and quotes
antidotes
ships and boats
dreams and hopes

deeds that inspire
thoughts that catch fire
minds that inquire
hearts that desire

be-bop
hip-hop
don’t stop
reach the top

January 16, 2014 #smallstones

The same Spirit that haunts me, guides me –
same dude, although sometimes he shows up
in drag, wearing a wig, and lipstick –
talking ‘bout, “Will you light my cigarette?”

This same Spirit appears infrequently,
but just often enough to remind me
that he is both my rudder and my anchor.

He often warns me about the Muse
and her sisters. “Those women are no good,”
he says, “all that flattery and inspiration.”

The same Spirit used to frighten me when
I was a young pup. We are old friends now,
able to dismiss one another’s excesses.
It is, how shall we say, a mutual appreciation?

January 15, 2014 #smallstones

It’s a cold night in the bottom:
a deep fog has crept up on us
from the swamp below –
so thick the street lamps
look like little moons in the distance –

And my legs are tired, man,
my knees are aching so bad:
from walking too long –
too far – too late – too often –
to meet too many obligations –

But soon I’ll be home –
hot soup simmering on the stove –
a pair of loving arms awaits me:
to hold me and to listen to my story

January 14, 2014 #smallstones

class notes (found poetry)

the transformed, empowered mind….
(mystical processes)
…is capable of more possibilities….
(can transform our perception)
…than the ordinary mind…
(and thus grant us subtle abilities
that we previously did not possess)

January 13, 2014 #smallstones

meeting last night
at Starbucks
to plan our strategy

Gotta bust outta this old groove
and break out a new thing

here are the assignments:
M: logistics/space planning
A: evidence/artifacts
R: database aggregation
S: overall in charge

Maybe Sun Ra was right:

January 12, 2014 #smallstones

What if poetry is speaking in tongues,
and tomorrow – the tomorrow of our dreams –
is really yesterday, or the day before?

And what if time dislocates itself
from time to time, like water,
always seeking its own level?

And what if we live and love inside
a closed box, where freedom and justice
are just optical illusions,
dream-like holograms of hope?

And what if poetry is speaking in tongues,
and homeless shelters and prisons
our true condition, an accurate depiction
of our feeble, temporal existence?

And what if poetry is speaking in tongues,
and pure information our medium of exchange,
transmitted exclusively by a holy kiss?

January 11, 2014 #smallstones

black ice –
slipping and sliding
and stumbling and trembling
and smiling and grinning
and aiming and missing –

and slipping and sliding
and tripping and gliding
and aimlessly riding
and falling and falling
in love with Just ModPo