I will share one of my recent ones. Started in 2007, I revisited and revised this one over the summer.
We are beige
We are the earthtone generation in a
Sea of vibrant color and the
Toys of our youth are a reflection of our desires
We have no wars to cling to for definition
We have no cause to bring our feet in step with those around us
We have no mission the importance of which exceeds all else
We are nondescript
We blend in
We are camouflaged in the sea of time
We are indistinguishable from each other
We do not cry with one voice
And there is not one voice that stands out
We are the general murmur in the background
The easily chastened class
The museum goers
Couldn’t find this to buy, so I had to make it. Off to Kinko’s!
Gift Poem, with the photo I used to make the Gift for the Gift Recipient.
The microphone matters.
The Microphone covered in caustic contradictions from spastic politicians, matters. The microphone drenched in diatribes from diabolic debaters, matters. The microphone covered in beer and spit and anger, pain, joy, and fear, matters. The microphone, matters.
Check, check, check-o-slo-vak-ia. Yu-go-sla-via. Mother Russia, soviet time bomb. The microphone matters.
One, two, one, two. America! America! Patriotism! Family and God! The microphone matters.
Levels, levels, levels. I have a dream! We will not rest! Liberty! Freedom! Education! The microphone matters.
The most important invention of the last century was the radio. The most important invention of this century was the internet. The most important invention of all time was the printing press. But the most moving invention remains, the microphone.
Sound carries.
Sound moves.
The microphone, matters.
We are music makers
We are dreamers of dreams
We are somewhere in between
We are genius
We are madman
We tinker in the garages of our fathers with worn out screwdrivers
We build machines that will explode
We blot out the sun
We bring peace
We are borderline insomniacs
We are writing the next great novel
We are perceptive and bold
We cower at our own shadows
We see manifestations of our demons
We brought them to life
We can live the lives of others
We cannot live our own
We pretend the world is alive
We rip out its throat
We can save a child for three cents a day
We buy a gumball for twenty-five
We sometimes give it to our offspring
We stand and fall over with our knees locked
We stand
We do things
We watch and wait for the world to be reborn in the morning
We dance at its demise
We call out our existence to the stars
We expect an answer
We get one
We jump up and down for delight
We cannot cry
We fight and scream for things
We never wanted in the first place
We are never as good as those who came before us
We keep trying
We will not stop
We sing
We dream
A few short ones from it.
11/9/06
I tied the rain into a knot
And Hung it around my neck.
With a restraining weight
Light and real,
Stopping my body from flight
While my soul soared
Above the ground
Carried by the wind
From the mouth of a goddess.
Breathing into life
The world of her
Heart’s sadness.
The material of hurt
Personified in the bones
Of the earth
Catching joy in the crevices.
12/5/06
The days of
Superman underpants
Are over.
And the transition
Has been hard.
From X-Men afternoons
To
A re-evaluation of life.
And questions that outpace
Any answers.
And there is
No way
We can go back
Through that
Airlock of time.
And
We are already
Floundering in
The suffocation of
Responsibility.
1/29/07
Words fall from her
Mouth
Like clay pots
Shaped by the movement
Of her tongue and teeth
To roll around the
Floor
Sloshing
Ambrosia on the
Settled dust.
Sweet Basil in my herb garden.
“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” — Oscar Wilde
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