Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Can you find the poem within the poem?

One at a time, please
One at a time
I'm a one on one kinda
or maybe two or three
but put me in a room full and
what a mess I feel
Too many
faces voices conversations
emotions intentions states of being
too much information to
in anything that looks like sense
And I may make for a corner
to scope out the scene
try to make invisible and observe
stand back and see more clearly
in a place of some sort of
and somewhere that feels
safe and out of the way
and not in the middle
and not having to think
of something
say when you don't
have any idea what people
are talking about
and you really want to
sit down and
figure it all out with

Thursday, July 14, 2011



my sisters are a battlefield
broken war-torn territories
ravaged by misunderstanding
raped with neglect
shot in the back by subservience
and our tender off-shoots
our sweet rows of makings
we do our best to tend with open loving hearts
knowing still that we bring them into a world
that makes war against itself
makes war within ourselves
makes war out of and into everything crawling upon it
so that what we do our best to grow
has still to contend with blood-soaked soil
with the bones of some like them
with skeletons others think we don't see
and we,my sisters and me, we're battlefields
walking around in shells that a less and less covert war
is being waged against
walking around in shells that are somehow not right
somehow not powerful
or not given trust
when what's true, more true than any of this,
is that what lay within us,
we, the sisters of the earth,
is the only living solution to all this death
our freedom is the freedom of all
it's the freedom of women
and it's the freedom of children
and of animals
and even of men
because as it may seem the white men are ruling this world
what's really come to pass is that their world
is ruling us all
and though we lay beneath their feet
there is yet a heavy weight on them
having used such strength to hold back our Amazons
they now falter
they now fail
again and again they fail us
with their “ideas” and “plans” and “proposals”
because not one single time in any proposal put forth
can you find the word love
or the idea of freedom for all
the idea of borderlessness
the idea of differentlessness
they simply can not see
the whole within the one
they need us to show that to them
but they've long since stopped listening to our talk
if we want them to listen
we have to talk man talk
and man talk has no translation for
the good of all
it has no understanding of
the end of all wars for good
it doesn't include the concepts of
living sustainably, communally
because this is what we all need
we need our sisters to help hold us up
it gets tired, walking as a battlefield

Monday, July 11, 2011



We seem to be busy with the business of
throwing all our cards on the table
face up, of course
mostly hearts, a few clubs, a couple diamonds
and they're all spades because
we call things what they are
and there are a lot of them
enough to build a house I think
or I think
we could build a city an Empire!
complete with sewers and skyscrapers
with Japanese bridges and Georgian hotels
with stop signs and churches with parking lots
with laser light shows and skies full of stars
with seasons that swing one to the next
into years of how have you been

But I've seen these cards before
and the cities they can create
I've seen them balanced-ish
piled up lavish and extravagant
I've seen them
make into fantastical, impossible shapes of wonder and magic and awe
so many empires forged
by the hands we've played
and, like any game, these cities have ended
towers felled and bridges torn (though never burned)
temples tumbled and roads akimbo
trees uprooted and clouds collapsed
not carefully put away but
turned to simply cards now
splayed on a dusty table, sticky with
after party and two empty bottles of Boone's Farm
in the back corner of a room
that no one ever goes in to anymore

Or, at least it seems that way
I think sometimes I
dream there
little snippets of places
I'm sure we made before
and it falls out into my journal
from time to time
till I start to wonder if there aren't little trolls
building bridges back and forth from
your deck to mine

Or, maybe it's just that someone left the door open
because we seem to have found our way back to that game again
now standing, a bit awkward by the table,
as we always are at first
and when it's been so long
'do you remember how to play?
or which deck is whose?
or how we made that one cool thing, you remember...

and the city starts to build itself again
empirical regeneration takes place
ripples the table into asphalt undulation
almost without our attention a new
but familiar cityscape is constructed
and we, duly deposited in the middle

So we find ourselves here,
in this new place
made of old spaces
and it must be time to talk strategy
but I look over at you and I'm wondering
how to strategize my way out of the game
I no longer wish to rule an empire of play
and I notice you haven't picked up your deck yet either
and we're a little nervous standing
in this city we're supposed to be building
a city of this-is-what-this-looks-like
and I decide to walk away from the table

You ask me where I'm going and I tell you
I'm looking for the last bridge out
of this city
back into the world
and I walk away without asking
whether or not you're coming with me.