Surf’s up
Catch the high waves
It’s sup
Giant wave
Wild and true blue
Its brave
Fallen
Face knuckle down
All-in
fill the void, oh! hotshot
knuckle down to call in question
like elucidation of parting shot
triviality over inflection
05/08/16
(Summon the Muse)
Calliope drops sensuous
sounds from her fingertips.
My outstretched arms catch
and hold them to my bosom,
wherein they suffer death.
Clio presents her backside.
My impassioned pleas fall
on deaf ears. All the old
stories stay locked inside
aged trunks in the attic.
Where are the words,
recounting broken vows?
Erato is sleeping. Wake up!
Let us pen phrases, turn
hearts of stone into
songs of undying love.
I appeal to Euterpe.
Her answer dribbles down
as scattered snowflakes.
I sing the songs only
to children, or myself.
No boldness here.
Thalia fails completely.
No wit or wisdom blooms,
no grace flourishes forth.
The blank page dances
crazily and begs.
The pen remains silent.
Stick to your convictions
Don’t ever back away
Tell it like it is
Say all you have to say.
When you have a chance to meet success
Stick to your convictions
And surely if you do what’s right
You’ll have very few restrictions.
So knuckle down , apply yourself
Be the best that you can be
If you stick to your convictions
Your success you’ll guarantee.
The safest way you can succeed
And live up to your predictions
Is to work real hard, but most of all
Stick to your convictions.
Men at work, bumper to bumper
tensile traffic, thick black bitumen.
Everything seems to last longer
then that grey granulated concrete
that extends from Bodega, Cali-
fornia to Savannah, Georgia.
Blacktop pot-fill smells like
the solid and searing work of roofers;
hardhat knuckle down workers,
men that stretch skyscraper towers,
or suspend themselves over
the ledge of the Golden Gate Bridge.
If only this endless line of steel
on rubber wheels could steam roll
past the frustrated flashing lights
and pinstriped lattes honking horns.
If only these orange jump suites,
(sloth shaped men on armrest shovels,)
spent less time blathering like this poem,
we’d all be able to get to work.