Long Think up Poems
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Community starts here
Under this tree of sprawling branches
With thighs pressed against sinuous gnarled roots,
Our heads nodding and shaking with whurring yellow leaves
Adorning our heads and fluttering off into the river beside us,
Only to stick to the dipping twigs of the tree in such cool August air,
Such a smoky light, community will start right here.
Community starts here
In this small over-crowded coffee shop,
with faces in late morning glow, as old friends reunite to
the clang of dishes and the sliding of porcelain
On faux-mahogany, elbow-elbow expressions brighten
from the whiteness of day: "I got a copy of my documentary on DVD
In my car that I can give you, if you like?"
"Oh really, well, okay..." This is the post-Sunday Mass air
Where light and love swirl as opportunity and re-emergence
And everything feels as natural as a breeze, with the fluttering of
Newsletters, roommates wanted ads, yoga lessons, and announcement
That a new spoken Word artist is arriving in town who's blind but has a dog and took the
bus from Ohio and reads his words like honey for angels,
This is where community starts.
Community starts here
On the playground of a hundred tumbling children
Screaming, tugging, jumping, laughing, crying, and dreaming.
Slow this time down and imagine them all 30-years-old with suits
And private thoughts and caged feelings and fully-fleshed with the
Citizen's kinetic energy to do right and wrong, good and bad,
Picture them as you, then picture how you're reflected in their eyes like
Revolving suns with times for dinner, and now flash back to the monkey bars,
Back to the open-souled shining young stars, here on their battleground,
in this galaxy of fun and terror our community finds it seedlings.
From the cafe to the riverbank,
From the playground to the People's Court of Whatever You Can Think Up,
Community starts everywhere,
Everywhere,
But my bathroom.
but all things are possible in the vastness of forever
a collective consciousness does exists and compared to us they are clever
our physical world is nothing more than the thoughts we manifest
as the laws of the physical world put our minds to the test
it may seem impossible to think up all this mess
but unlock true inspiration and you will find the minds treasure chest
a wall a rock can hold a pattern of thought
but it evades comprehension refusing to be caught
energy is everything and everything is energy
the law of "like attracts like" via magnetically
we all contribute to the greater collective mind
and when thoughts attract thoughts reality is defined
this dimension in which we operate is only one of many
but our reality is manipulated if we accept the lies of any
the collective consciousness can be controlled through manipulation and deception
but only if you allow the collective force the power of inception
we fight a battle that we do not understand
for this is simply not a battle of man vs man
this battle is fought upon a vast cosmic scale
and men in all his ignorance is truly groomed to fail
history repeats itself yet we never seem to learn
because once again our time in history is awaiting to take its turn
we are no more than misguided mice in a maze
humans with our own idealogies trapped behind a phase
yet we are all part of a multidimensional consciousness we call God and creation
somehow locked in ignorance controlled through manipulation
but home is eternity and existence is immortal
be not afraid of the universe as you walk through the portal
I sometimes wonder if it was all a plot,
That my parents used a lot,
When I was in a spot,
To get my imagination running hot,
To think up excuses they believed not.
If you think this poem is worth a jot,
You will not think my writing has gone to pot,
And what comes next will not tie you up in a knot.
Or excuse what we say to the modern tot.
If we contrast yesterday with today,
We can notice a lack of imagination in their play,
With parents making up the excuse of the day,
That would have taken me all day,
And when my parents' let me out of my room again to play,
My imagination turned to what would one day make a mortgage pay,
And show me how to write this way.
I’ve never been a writer, but when I have the time.
I try to think up some ideas to write a random rhyme.
Sometimes it works and I think up something new.
Other times I just scratch my head, as I haven’t got a clue.
Now I’m staring at a blank screen, unable to think.
And my brains just like a pen, that's run out of ink.
Analogy's a great theme, I’ve not done that before
Already hit a brick wall, as I can't think of anymore.
Should I write about a dream, romance, or secret fears?
Looking for inspiration, but still with no ideas.
I try using my imagination, so I write down a few lines.
Then look for other words, to try and make them rhyme.
My plan was to create a poem, with poise and eloquence.
But everything I write down, just simply makes no sense.
So, to spark creativity I recall something from the past.
Ideas come and go, but the moment doesn't last.
I suppose my brain is scrambled and running a bit too slow.
I attempt to write something meaningful, but nothing seems to flow.
I guess writing poetry is not as easy as it looks.
So I admire all those poets, whose work is published in a book.
I've got this awesome idea
To write the greatest of poems
It'll start out nice and easy
Then with a BANG make some noise
It will be widely read
In every coffeehouse in town
Soon to catch on like a wildfire
Then #1 with a bullet nation bound
Writing so amazing
It'll astound everyone
Why it might even get hired killers
To turn in their guns
It'll make the strong want to weep
And the weak to stand strong
There will be waves of applause
This poem will have it all going on
They'll beg me to let them use it
In a Presidential speech
Afterwards they'll fly it straight to the conflict
Where it'll bring peace to the Middle East
Finally coming to rest at the Smithsonian
Taking up it's rightful place
They may have to move that old Shuttle
To give my poem plenty of space
But before any of this can happen
Before it rings true, buckaroo
I suppose I should think up something special
And jot down a line, maybe two...
On the Way to Memphis
On the way to Memphis, Graceland-bound are we.
I know a way to pass away the time.
Since there is a challenge to write with somebody,
Will you help me come up with a rhyme?
A what?? I’d rather just tour Presley’s home.
I’m hearing rules asking me to find
iambic meter just to write a poem?
Pentameter rhyming? I just feel blind.
You’re doing well, but we’ve been BOTH off beat!
Why must this weather have to be adverse?
To think up lines in rain is no small feat
while you are driving! Think up one more verse!
That made me laugh! My brain I have to use.
You back-seat writer, what now must I do?
Your suggestions make words so hard to choose.
The beat’s not right now? What will you do? Sue?
Now THERE’S a funny line. You’re getting good!
You’ve got the humor and you sure can drive!
Who cares about it? We’ve got sisterhood;
So when to Elvis-land will we arrive?
July 5, 2017
For Jan Alison's PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR WRITING PARTNER FOR MY COLLABORATION CONTEST - Poetry Contest
[ Poem inspired by Contest : Ghost of Frankenstein : sponsored by Tom Woody ]
CREATURE FROM THE PAST ?
Elite scientists are the scariest humans
their minds think up stormy waters with acumen
these they traverse with little concern
for millions of quarters that could wisely
be used with much more discern
dinosaurs, woolly mammals, dire wolves
already lived joyously through Earth’s doors
why would they want to come back for more
when conservation projects would better suit
protection of what exists in Now’s galore ?
Nature herself creates equilibrium
She knows what is needed whatever
considered debate argue into nights late
moving forward, not backward in Time
tunnel funnels, She lovingly smile at
everybody’s befuddled scientific grime
But wait ! Who created those scientific minds
to explore all underbelly curiosity DNA fine
stretch past into future then draw it back to present into laboratories, test tubes, zoos
curiosity sanctuaries, for economics or
humans to know our prehistoric plethorics ?
Each mind and program part of Consciousness
exploring timelines excitedly, simultaneously
be not monotonous, instead bottomless
from foundation to apex ONE priceless
holy illusion, quest to manifest dichotomous
sayeth Supersoul, eventually all to Void
fun, fidget or fancy, this remains His prancy
a small golden slice of Earth’s historic plate
as good as its broad-base stone, checkmate
those who shout “ethics”
usually contain their own inner
unresolved hectics
Some things are not funny.
Some words strike terror into our brains
Some ideas will never be popular.
It is difficult to think up a poem
that will not offend someone.
So the trick is to think up a poem
that delights you.
Whether or not it resonates with
any other people at all does not matter
as much as this …..did you enjoy creating it?
You should not pick up the donkey and carry
it to please a neighbor who feels sorry for donkeys, at
the risk of your own back, right?
I had an idea for a poem today that I thought
might offend everyone. It made me smile for just a second.
Then I thought better of it. I am way too socialized to do this to myself.
Some words are not funny. Some words are immediately offensive.
Corpses are not funny. Even if you make them dance and sing.
Can you make them shake their booty? Yes, in poetry you can.
But frankly you might offend everyone.
Warning Will Robinson!
Warning! Some ideas
are offensive.
So
Be
Careful….
VIII.
Chris had done lots of studying in school,
and then logically came to understand
that there was no deity in this world,
there was just matter, life, and then humans.
And for several years this just simplified things,
he felt smart, and could see the world with reason,
even felt bad for those folks ‘trapped’ by faith,
would often joke about them to have some fun.
But as Chris was approaching his thirties,
some troubling thoughts were bubbling up,
when he started asking moral questions
his understanding got even more rough.
He thought that all morals were relative,
but if so were they even morals at all?
If you only did what you had power to
then did the powerful make moral calls?
He noticed that his atheistic friends
never really could go draw a hard line,
they’d do what they wanted and afterwards
think up fine-sounding words to justify.
He found that friends who still were believers
were better people, more often than not.
They were not perfect by any means, no,
what group of people is free or all rot?
They also seemed to have kids and family,
while the other side seemed mostly alone,
it made Chris wonder what he really valued,
what it would take to have a happy home?
And when it came to physics, the universe,
he increasingly was coming to find
his reason could answer the ‘how’ well enough,
but it was useless when it came to the ‘why?’
Yes, Chris realized, later than most folk do,
no one can escape existential pain,
to be a man is to live with not knowing,
because human nature just doesn’t change.
I stood in a flock with the other nerds
Trying to think up of the words
To get that girl to dance with me
While my friends all laughed at the absurdity
She was the girl from my every night dreams
Talking to guys from the football team
When I broke away from the geek squad pack
On a journey forward without looking back
All eyes but hers were staring at me
My tongue was tied as I nervously
Asked her if she would like to dance
Time stood still for the circumstance
“Oh gawd, how dare you even talk to me
Go back to your group of weird buddies
I wouldn’t dance with you if you were the last boy on earth
Your mom should be ashamed for giving you birth”
The football players all laughed and gawked
The pack of nerds – the other way walked
I stood all alone just frozen in place
Shame and embarrassment painted on my face
And then a wallflower walked up to me
She said, “I may not be as pretty,
But I sure would like to give a dance a try
I’ve been trying all night to catch your eye”
Then another girl and then two or three more
Surrounded me on the school dance floor
I had a partner for every dance that night
And from that day on my life was all right
Twenty years later in the bank I own
That girl from my dreams came looking for a loan
Seems life hadn’t really been too kind to her
She said, “I’d do anything if you could help me, sir”
I saw no reason to bring up the past
Got no satisfaction in laughing last
I told her simply, “Just please sign here”
Her signature was smudged by a fallen tear