Today smells of
Autumn mulching
Turning over, rotting brown and
Orange. Playgrounds
And asphalt scraping knees. Stings
Crisply like autumn air.
Wet cold like
Dry heat. Like the chill of
Painted brick, like the harmony of
Ducks and of Union
Stations.
Today smells of
May. Of trapped musk and
Library. Samosas.
Fear, love, tears,
Death,
Mourning, healing. Soft
Words flowing smoothly through our silences. Strong
Words bellowing through the shelves of
Revolution. Raw
Words scraping
Away veils of protection. Exposing
Veins
Bleeding into one another like
The Missouri River when it meets the mighty
Mississippi. Like the parched crevices of
LA, and when wood soaks the
Smells of mildew and mold deep into its
Fibers, holds them there in
Memory.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Friday, August 8, 2008
Bad Poetry
I promised you some bad
Poetry, so
Here's where I
Give voice to those things
That words can't seem
To capture.
That beat of heart
Against ribcage, throat, and
If it didn't sound so gross,
I'd tell you that I keep my lips pressed closed
Because
The thump-thump-thump's
Got my gag reflex 'bout to make me choke!
It's a GOOD thing. PROMISE.
And then there's that
Quiver you've got rolling
Through my body, that rush
Of adrenalin pumping
From near kidney,
And these days, I stop
On ledge or high bridge,
Lean til my pituitary gland
Kicks in, cuz
That tickle of fear
Is so near to
What you do
To me when you
Slip hand in hand,
Touch skin to skin,
and I'm IN.
Girl, I'm SO IN.
It's that high school crush
That I missed in my rush to
Fit in.
But now when you brush
Your hair from eyes or
Revel in the magic of
Life
And try to surmise
The evolutionary benefits of certain plant phenotypes, I
Feel shaky inside.
I just wanna wrap you tight
In my monkey-arms and
Sit quietly, listening to water and breeze, or maybe
I wanna race you
Down the beach,
Climb trees,
Or hit up a club cuz you move SO
Sexily.
These days, you've got me procrastinating,
In the back of my mind, just waiting
For that next text,
The one that
Let's me know I'm not completely crazy
For thinking 'bout u, or
Even if I am, it's ok, cuz
U R, 2 :).
Poetry, so
Here's where I
Give voice to those things
That words can't seem
To capture.
That beat of heart
Against ribcage, throat, and
If it didn't sound so gross,
I'd tell you that I keep my lips pressed closed
Because
The thump-thump-thump's
Got my gag reflex 'bout to make me choke!
It's a GOOD thing. PROMISE.
And then there's that
Quiver you've got rolling
Through my body, that rush
Of adrenalin pumping
From near kidney,
And these days, I stop
On ledge or high bridge,
Lean til my pituitary gland
Kicks in, cuz
That tickle of fear
Is so near to
What you do
To me when you
Slip hand in hand,
Touch skin to skin,
and I'm IN.
Girl, I'm SO IN.
It's that high school crush
That I missed in my rush to
Fit in.
But now when you brush
Your hair from eyes or
Revel in the magic of
Life
And try to surmise
The evolutionary benefits of certain plant phenotypes, I
Feel shaky inside.
I just wanna wrap you tight
In my monkey-arms and
Sit quietly, listening to water and breeze, or maybe
I wanna race you
Down the beach,
Climb trees,
Or hit up a club cuz you move SO
Sexily.
These days, you've got me procrastinating,
In the back of my mind, just waiting
For that next text,
The one that
Let's me know I'm not completely crazy
For thinking 'bout u, or
Even if I am, it's ok, cuz
U R, 2 :).
Friday, August 1, 2008
How Women Make Me Crazy
Women.
Women drive me crazy, y'all...
In every possible way.
Like now? I got women makin my insides Flutter.
They've got my sympathetic nervous system so
Worked up,
I ran sprints up and down
The hall outside my office this morning--
You know, to use up that
Energy released by
Cortisol
So it didn't turn into
Fat,
Settle near my heart, and
Cause a
Heart attack, or something?
Man, oh man... Women.
So this one woman's got my Heart
still try'na piece itself back Together again... cuz see,
I was sure she was the one I wanted to spend Life with.
And now she's sure I'm not.
Yeah, she's the one who's got me believing Mariah's words...
Got me haunted by the Passion. There's no shame or Blame involved, but I'm still
Learning to let go.
Then there's the woman who's got my insides warm
like homemade
Ginger tea as it falls from esophagus to Stomach,
Spreading Comfort in its heat.
She and I've been had this thing
Brewing between us for a minute, and
While part of me would love to
Pull Pot from flame
And sip concoction,
Wrapped in the vermilion Glow of our connection,
Most of me feels like
That shit aint done steeping.
I long to
Taste the tangy, sharp, Spicy depths
Of a second boil, and I know that
No matter the end result, it's gonna be
Truly special.
Because for the first time in my life,
I'm patient.
Woman number three's got me ripping down Walls,
Despite myself.
Twenty-three years later, I find Myself
Cocooned near her Womb.
Once again in touch with the
Roots of my
Creation.
Laying down the Arms I was sure I'd need for
Battle,
Finally finding home
In her embrace.
And there's the one I want to
celebrate.
The one who's got more Power over me than she knows.
Cuz five years ago, we took
A long walk
Around the park
After dark,
(And by "park" I mean our college campus,
But Ms. Scott's words flow more
Poetic).
And she was the first woman to Share with me the Beauty
of mutual attraction.
For her,
I seek Peace and safety.
But she gets me worked up with this
Hot-then-cold, close-yet-distant Veil she throws out,
Matador,
Tormenting me with doubt about if
Or when
We'll next make contact.
There's also the woman
Who's knee-deep in it.
I mean, she's got some Shit goin on. And
She's got me yearning for a Lake
And grass
And a patch of Shade large enough to shield us both from the heat of Noon,
As I sit behind her,
Pull her in,
Hold her until she feels the sheer Magnitude of her own
Strength. She's got me try'na channel Energies and send
Positivity over hundreds of miles so that
"Home" and "employment"
Find her before she loses the Conviction to
stand tall in Herself.
Finally, there's the woman who's got me
Wiggly. I mean,
She literally has me grinning. And I'm the guy who
Leans on a sly Smirk.
She's got me caught up in that giddy feeling of
Newness.
And I'm slipping into ignorance the fact that
we met
through a Friend
who wanted More with Her.
Cuz she permits me safety to
re-explore flirtation,
Nestled in soft Botanicals,
Lapping smoothly at our ankles
In twilight's Tide.
Women, y'all.
Women got me one big
Hurting loving
Aching burning
Tender bare
Yearning grinning giddy
Mess.
Women drive me crazy, y'all...
In every possible way.
Like now? I got women makin my insides Flutter.
They've got my sympathetic nervous system so
Worked up,
I ran sprints up and down
The hall outside my office this morning--
You know, to use up that
Energy released by
Cortisol
So it didn't turn into
Fat,
Settle near my heart, and
Cause a
Heart attack, or something?
Man, oh man... Women.
So this one woman's got my Heart
still try'na piece itself back Together again... cuz see,
I was sure she was the one I wanted to spend Life with.
And now she's sure I'm not.
Yeah, she's the one who's got me believing Mariah's words...
Got me haunted by the Passion. There's no shame or Blame involved, but I'm still
Learning to let go.
Then there's the woman who's got my insides warm
like homemade
Ginger tea as it falls from esophagus to Stomach,
Spreading Comfort in its heat.
She and I've been had this thing
Brewing between us for a minute, and
While part of me would love to
Pull Pot from flame
And sip concoction,
Wrapped in the vermilion Glow of our connection,
Most of me feels like
That shit aint done steeping.
I long to
Taste the tangy, sharp, Spicy depths
Of a second boil, and I know that
No matter the end result, it's gonna be
Truly special.
Because for the first time in my life,
I'm patient.
Woman number three's got me ripping down Walls,
Despite myself.
Twenty-three years later, I find Myself
Cocooned near her Womb.
Once again in touch with the
Roots of my
Creation.
Laying down the Arms I was sure I'd need for
Battle,
Finally finding home
In her embrace.
And there's the one I want to
celebrate.
The one who's got more Power over me than she knows.
Cuz five years ago, we took
A long walk
Around the park
After dark,
(And by "park" I mean our college campus,
But Ms. Scott's words flow more
Poetic).
And she was the first woman to Share with me the Beauty
of mutual attraction.
For her,
I seek Peace and safety.
But she gets me worked up with this
Hot-then-cold, close-yet-distant Veil she throws out,
Matador,
Tormenting me with doubt about if
Or when
We'll next make contact.
There's also the woman
Who's knee-deep in it.
I mean, she's got some Shit goin on. And
She's got me yearning for a Lake
And grass
And a patch of Shade large enough to shield us both from the heat of Noon,
As I sit behind her,
Pull her in,
Hold her until she feels the sheer Magnitude of her own
Strength. She's got me try'na channel Energies and send
Positivity over hundreds of miles so that
"Home" and "employment"
Find her before she loses the Conviction to
stand tall in Herself.
Finally, there's the woman who's got me
Wiggly. I mean,
She literally has me grinning. And I'm the guy who
Leans on a sly Smirk.
She's got me caught up in that giddy feeling of
Newness.
And I'm slipping into ignorance the fact that
we met
through a Friend
who wanted More with Her.
Cuz she permits me safety to
re-explore flirtation,
Nestled in soft Botanicals,
Lapping smoothly at our ankles
In twilight's Tide.
Women, y'all.
Women got me one big
Hurting loving
Aching burning
Tender bare
Yearning grinning giddy
Mess.
Friday, May 30, 2008
To you
A few months ago I wrote a really mature-sounding post on self-love. Earlier this week, I took some shit out, added some more in, and re-printed it for a sex blog-a-thon.
I have a confession to make: it's all lies.
Or at least, it feels that way. Because right now, I'm lonely. Ugh. Not a cute look.
Another confession: I write cheesy love poems.
----------------
To you:
My future wifey
Is made from
The fragmented
Fictions of my imagination.
The one I construct
Using the wastelands
Of other people’s insecurities:
A sideways smile,
A chip on her shoulder
Butterflies in her stomach
And maybe a star wars collection.
I painted her
With the daydreams
Of my future
And brought her to life
Through the nightmares
Of my past
So she’s nerd-tested,
And ‘hood-approved.
Classy enough
Not to be uppity
And always down to earth.
Not offended
By the peeling paint
On my ceiling
And doesn’t pity me
For my family's lunatics.
Knows her critical race theory
But doesn’t floss that shit
When it’s not necessary.
She annunciates well,
And listens even better.
She doesn’t even have to cook
Just hold me
When I’m hungry
And make me laugh
To forget how broke I am.
I'd like to front
Like there are no prerequisites.
But it wouldn't hurt
If she had an affinity for hoodies,
Oakland
And gender sluts,
Like I do.
I'd tell her to meet me
In the middle
Since we've both
Spent out lives on the margins.
She could bring her secrets
and I could bring my shame,
and we could laugh
at our missteps
to the baseline of
her favorite rapper.
Maybe one day
She'll read this poem
and tell me how much
of a loser I am.
But a cute one.
Then I'll say something
equally as loser-ish
but cute, like:
It was all worth it
to get to you.
© The Playground, 2008
I have a confession to make: it's all lies.
Or at least, it feels that way. Because right now, I'm lonely. Ugh. Not a cute look.
Another confession: I write cheesy love poems.
----------------
To you:
My future wifey
Is made from
The fragmented
Fictions of my imagination.
The one I construct
Using the wastelands
Of other people’s insecurities:
A sideways smile,
A chip on her shoulder
Butterflies in her stomach
And maybe a star wars collection.
I painted her
With the daydreams
Of my future
And brought her to life
Through the nightmares
Of my past
So she’s nerd-tested,
And ‘hood-approved.
Classy enough
Not to be uppity
And always down to earth.
Not offended
By the peeling paint
On my ceiling
And doesn’t pity me
For my family's lunatics.
Knows her critical race theory
But doesn’t floss that shit
When it’s not necessary.
She annunciates well,
And listens even better.
She doesn’t even have to cook
Just hold me
When I’m hungry
And make me laugh
To forget how broke I am.
I'd like to front
Like there are no prerequisites.
But it wouldn't hurt
If she had an affinity for hoodies,
Oakland
And gender sluts,
Like I do.
I'd tell her to meet me
In the middle
Since we've both
Spent out lives on the margins.
She could bring her secrets
and I could bring my shame,
and we could laugh
at our missteps
to the baseline of
her favorite rapper.
Maybe one day
She'll read this poem
and tell me how much
of a loser I am.
But a cute one.
Then I'll say something
equally as loser-ish
but cute, like:
It was all worth it
to get to you.
© The Playground, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Today
Today, I’m overwhelmed. Worn seams bursting with hate
And love. disillusionment
And care.
Today, I feel tired of pain,
Of my own, and of others’.
Soaked denim weighing heavy with what this world has us believe about
Ourselves.
Today, I wonder how many times I will pray for death,
Before I will be free to live.
How many times the queer ones and brown ones will shed tears as blood
Pours from self-inflicted wounds,
Dying ivory cuffs crimson, spreading
Through fibers like so much hate we’ve learned to feel towards who
We are.
Today, I am missing
Her and him and you and we.
Longing for the false togetherness of complimenting outfits in family portraits,
Because at least, being together, we haven’t completely lost each other.
Not yet.
Today, I actually want to go back to
Where I came from. In more ways than one.
I want to lay there, touching soil to skin to
Root myself in
Something.
Today, I want to share
Tenderness, placed gently on shoulders to cut the
Cold.
Because it’s been so long since I’ve felt it.
And longer since I’ve given it to
Myself.
Today, I want to wrap women in my arms and hold them
Tight.
And safe.
Secure, protected, they can cry or
Scream or
Laugh or
Sleep,
Enveloped in the warmth of undefined
Love.
© The Playground, 2008.
And love. disillusionment
And care.
Today, I feel tired of pain,
Of my own, and of others’.
Soaked denim weighing heavy with what this world has us believe about
Ourselves.
Today, I wonder how many times I will pray for death,
Before I will be free to live.
How many times the queer ones and brown ones will shed tears as blood
Pours from self-inflicted wounds,
Dying ivory cuffs crimson, spreading
Through fibers like so much hate we’ve learned to feel towards who
We are.
Today, I am missing
Her and him and you and we.
Longing for the false togetherness of complimenting outfits in family portraits,
Because at least, being together, we haven’t completely lost each other.
Not yet.
Today, I actually want to go back to
Where I came from. In more ways than one.
I want to lay there, touching soil to skin to
Root myself in
Something.
Today, I want to share
Tenderness, placed gently on shoulders to cut the
Cold.
Because it’s been so long since I’ve felt it.
And longer since I’ve given it to
Myself.
Today, I want to wrap women in my arms and hold them
Tight.
And safe.
Secure, protected, they can cry or
Scream or
Laugh or
Sleep,
Enveloped in the warmth of undefined
Love.
© The Playground, 2008.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Dear Hip Hop
This one is for Jay.
Bridget Gray's Letter to Hip Hop
Find more about this artist here.
My favorite part:
Bridget Gray's Letter to Hip Hop
Find more about this artist here.
My favorite part:
Now unless I'm dreaming I could have swore, right after you called me a "bitch" you called someone else a whore, and at this point I'm trying to process a few things. What were the original words to that song and you want me to do WHAT with my thong? And I'm trippin' cause nobody is acting like anything is wrong. After all the anthem for the new millennium was "big Pimpin". And it all seems a bit surreal, cuz when I was dancing around I didn't know the damage my soul was going to feel. And there are times I'm still compelled to move, but I swear to you it's that old school groove that plays above the lyrics, beacuse if the music wasn't there I definitely wouldn't hear it! I thought Hip Hop was supposed to be a means of poetically expressing yourself but it seems these days you'd say anything to get your C.Ds off the shelf.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Weapons of Musical Dissent
For those of you who missed Weapons of Musical Dissent [1], I found some videos of the performances on YouTube. The line-up included Quetzal, Collective Purpose, Beau Sia, The Philistines and much more. It was hot.
Collective Purpose, San Diego-based spoken word group.
[1] Weapons of Musical Dissent (WMD) is an annual student of color-sponsored music festival for social justice at Pitzer College in Claremont, CA.
Collective Purpose, San Diego-based spoken word group.
Beau Sia. If you don't know, you better ask somebody.
( This isn't a video of his performance at WMD which, by the way, was amazing. All of his work is on point, I just thought I'd share this open letter to Rosie O'Donnell):
[1] Weapons of Musical Dissent (WMD) is an annual student of color-sponsored music festival for social justice at Pitzer College in Claremont, CA.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
ill-literacy
I saw some of these ill-literate cats perform at the Youth Speaks national poetry slam back in 04', and I've been following their work ever since. Here's some of their latest:
Also, if you're in NYC, be sure to check out their performances next week. The Bay's finest:
Also, if you're in NYC, be sure to check out their performances next week. The Bay's finest:
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Catalogue the Insanity - Stacyann Chin
Catalogue your insanity
type the small words
push them from you
fingers and feet
and fury first
find the flippant denial
affirm it
bend
forget what you used to call her
learn the name of her new lover
write it on wax paper
burn it
forget the smell of her cunt
carry one poem to orgasm
erase the lines
catalogue the blood
drink the solution with intent
it was meant to be so
accept it
chant the inevitable and fold her picture in three
tear into the center of her face
copy the broken image
and send it to her
imagine her happy
smile slitting the frame
imagine her in Iowa
cornfields bending beneath another's hand
the soft land warming her back
catalogue her leaving
admit that she was never there
imagine her driving
haikus scattered from Denver
to Kentucky to Khartoum
construct a betrayal
make it a thing of unspeakable beauty
forgive her
slit your wrists
survive
count the number of times you have kissed her
multiply by three
imagine she kisses Iowa
five times more than that
pack
unpack
pull your shoe-strings tighter than you need to
shave your head
move to Indianapolis
buy a dog
call her impossible
call her cell phone
hang up
call again
obsess
fuck other women who remind you of her
study their scent
shower less
stare at strangers
slip in and out of reality
do not explain yourself
survive<
sleep with a man
swallow your fist
feel
survive
scrape the flesh from your unstable legs
abort the skeleton that stands there
ingest one gallon of paraffin
light a match from the box she left by your bedside
imagine her happy
then inhale
------------------------------------------------
While researching for a midterm, I also stumbled across an interview Keith Boykin had with Stacyann Chin that is definitely worth reading. The interview centers around the controversey over homophobia in Jamaican dancehall and reggae, in addition to offering Staceyann's insights on the value of outsider/insider critique's of culture. Enjoy.
Peace,
J
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