Inside the outside of everything
Colors conform to retreat
I seek not what is lost or gained
I only seek the truth or fiction
Inside the Outside of all
I stumble against the wall of remorse
And in the distance of morning or nightide
I see the truth as gospel or not
Colors bleed into morning or night
Like the dharma of dawn reborn
I see the raven flying or hanging
On a rope-ladder to the moon and back
I am dead but hopeful of life
In all the usual places or not
I am dead and only now
glimpse the truth
I remember the first time I heard Ginsberg's voice,
A thunderous, cosmic howl that shook the air,
Like bebop horns wailing in the midnight noise,
A raw, unfiltered cry that stripped away despair.
His words, a jazz improvisation of the soul,
Breathless, wild, spinning in free flight,
A sacred chant, a rebel's roll,
Inviting us to dance in the neon light.
He was the poet as a bebop cat,
Slinging syllables like saxophone solos,
A spiritual anarchist, a love diplomat,
Breaking chains, defying all the old roles.
In his voice, I heard the universe's roar,
A call to be true, unshackled, free,
A portal to the sacred core,
Where art and life merge in harmony.
Allen Ginsberg, the beat's wild star,
Blazing through the darkness with cosmic fire,
His words, a jazz riff from afar,
Forever echoing, lifting us higher to right now, right here
Mary found a dinosaur egg
in her closet
The stork was the latest victim
Of rye bread and corned beef we speak
dancing in the everglades
A pale moon worshiped the morning sky
Trauma aboard the toy boat in the bathtub
incestuous conversation in the lobby
Golden pianos warm up the soup
Flying ninjas escalate the fight over
landfill’s gold reserves
Barf is, too, a clinical term
Jasmine Crockett, not Davy
Larry Bird, not Admiral
Eisenhower, Stevenson and Kennedy
Three Flyways
Computers yield to the abacus
tummy ache, all better
Suburban lawnmowers on the prowl, daddy
Beat poet Allen Ginsberg
versifier to both seen&heard
The embodiment of all things anarchic
a performance art so hypnotic
mission accomplished, bounded in truth,Ruth that is. dedicated to the rights of women matriculating the interpretation of man's law to remind man..you already wrote me in! with her impeccable, eloquent demeanor, she was once asked..well can you rap like biggie smalls? she replied, that's not my gift.all the women of the world are in agreement when it comes to truth, i pick Ruth, what ah lady, ah men, ah women.
Cautious adjudication, the gravitas of soft-spoken word.
Your legendary legacy, illustrious and exalted.
Advocate for gender justice, legal insights not always heard.
Yet, your jurisprudence was seldom persuasively faulted.
Few men invite state regulation of their sex organs.
Yet, many insist the state can control a woman’s body.
You, the bulwark against unconstitutional legal actions,
against state laws of men, pious and haughty.
Now you have departed, and we gaze upon the cavity.
Now we dread what might be used to fill the void.
The precedents of your life, our guidance against depravity.
Your advocacy for equality must be our natural law employed.
Paris is burning, hypnotized, majestic spire plummets to earth.
withpen in hand awake, apparations of immortality
consumed inward. This straight heart's delight
yelling Tiny Nicaragua's a big threat
to undernourished Mexico.
By common sense , common law , common tenderness
& common tranquility I want to know what
happens after I rot.
shooting Gasoline electric speed ; empty soul'd
exploding at viaducts heavy bound and
manacled upon the City's Heart.
... Was that a shot ! backfire
or cherrybomb? jiggling yr knees there blankeyed
in the rain.
While each flower Buddha eye repeats this story
with teenage boys , The Red Police and grunts &
screams & shouts ...
... eyes , tongue and heart ...
theres' just too much to see ; world-wide
and full of money. Count yourself Greatness
in their pointy empire accumalating on the margin
with broken plumes of sensation. As
I lie
here naked in the dark , dreaming....
The fantastic
writings
of Allan
remain
but he is gone
do you remember
seeing him?
He traveled the
world in search
of the perfect
poem
The waters of the East River
still flow
and the old
Gotham city
still stands
tall
Do you think you would like to
join in on the
parade of poets?
Well pick up
a pen
and let your
thoughts appear
on the page
We're waiting to hear from you!
Allen Ginsberg
Where have you gone?
We need you in this world right now
We are frightened and alone
You were a shining light through the darkness
Through the '50's you held strong
Even though society said
Everything about you was wrong
You were a beacon of freedom
Let your words always ring true
You will always be a hero of mine
May God always shine his light on you
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