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Monthly Archives: August 2011

And I Like It

First thing I thought of to write was a line from an OutKast song.  I’m going to hold back that impulse for now.

I don’t know if I ever mentioned I opened up a fortune cookie and the Chinese word on the back was “Orange.”  Poetry is Orange right?  Wonder what part is red and which part is yellow.  Then again “O” is in Roy G Biv.  Everything Depends Upon the Red Wheelbarrow.

I’ve seen more Michigan license plates recently than I have in a while.  Maybe I’ve been looking for them.  Kind of how you buy a new car and then notice it on the road a lot.  I haven’t bought Michigan though.  Looks like your hand.  Put your hand up to a map.  It looks like your hand.

The way it looks on the page.

Top 10 Reasons Why I Shouldn’t Own a Handgun

  • Easier to grip than a shotgun and remember I think like Hemmingway
  • My aim is terrible and I’ve failed at enough already.
Shall we visit this again…left or right…
courtesy of Amara Betty Martin (tampered with by the HNIC)
Another reason why black bears roll down hills is because she likes it.  Or as she said it “and because I like it.”
I know where Carmen SanDiego is.  She’s with Waldo.  Sitting in Jimmy Hoffa’s convertible.  Talking about how they miss hugs.
Miss as in I Miss U.  Not as in Miss. Daisy.
Not really sure if I write because I like it or because my heart is too far to the right. Ever notice there’s no pulse on my left side?  Ever notice how I’m always warm?  And I wash my hands a lot?
There’s a type of poem that’s written in letter form to someone or something.  I heard someone read a series of them to their dog once.  Saw someone write about war cards.  Saw someone get chased with metal tee ball bats.
That really has nothing to do with poetry.  Sorry for getting off track.  I tend to do that sometimes.
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Posted by on August 22, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Because They Like It

A poet friend of mine was told some awards he’ll never win because he doesn’t write about blackness subtlely.  Guess I didn’t make to much to show the madam at the last brothel because I wasn’t subtle enough.

Just like how people will compliment me on my writing when I read it.  Just won’t print it.  This sounds familiar no?

This is for the hamster in the bag

Skip to 1994 when my 4th grade teacher gave me a certificate for creative writing.

Skip to 2009 when an institution gave me a certificate in creative writing.

Read a poem recently where someone says a cricket won’t burn if thrown into a fire.

Skip to 1999. I know mice do.  And they’ll make two laps around in a firepit before they give in to teenagers laughter.

Have you know there was one whole paragraph to start this blog.  But I deleted it.  And decided to be subtle.

Picture…left of right?

courtesy of Amara Betty Martin

Is it crazy that I’m think of book cover and the manuscript hasn’t been rejected yet?  I need at least 7-8 rejections before I can think seriously that it may happen.

Mice will chew off their paws if trapped to get away and survive.

This is for flying.  I have a passport with no stamps in it.  But I use it often.

I get sick of writing.  And sick of list poems.  And writing list poems.  I’ve already said this.  Just making sure it’s not forgotten

For you Susan Slavoagfoaidgago.  “That was an awful poem”

For you Shay Shay.  “Whipalicous”

Coming soon… “15 Reasons Why I Shouldn’t Own a Shotgun”  

1)  Sometimes I think like Hemingway

2)  I have no aim.  And I failed at enough already

I didn’t forget about the black bears.  They tuck their front paws to their back paws and roll forwards down hills.

Just because.  Just because they like it.

 
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Posted by on August 17, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Falling Down

I always wanted to know how to play the guitar piano and drums.  I played the clarinet for a few years but things that use my mouth never rested in my me.  I need to use my hands.  Think I always will.

I recite my poems out loud after I finish them and before I do readings.  A practice I just picked up about a year ago.  Figured I was a terrible orator.  Recorded them a few times as well.  But my voice sounds awful to me.  People have called me in the past so I’ll talk to them until they fall asleep.  Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.  Back to the hands.

Someone told me that they have broken the same hand at least five times in their life.  I don’t think I’ve broken that many hearts.  But my mother told me when I was younger I would break a lot of them.  I did break a hand mirror 4 years ago.  Swore I broke my arm when I was 13.  My moms worked a temp job and my pops just started his new job.  I prayed on it and went to put my Bible away and noticed it barely hurt anymore.  One reason it travels with me.  One reason in the bed most nights.

A few nights ago I was startled awoke thinking someone was laying next to me.  Not sure who.  Just pictured a silhouette.  Grey.  Kind of like the creatures in Ghost that carried Tony Goldwyn away.  There was nobody there.  I instantly went back to sleep.  I had a daydream that felt like a night dream that someone rubbed my toe waved smiled and sat down next to me.  I looked up.  Same scenario.  I keep thinking I hear people upstairs moving around but I’m sure I saw that guy move out.  So maybe I’m delusional now.  Or maybe I’m always dreaming.  Or maybe poetry has me living too much in my imagination.

I often see people who I know don’t live in Chicago in Chicago.  Who I know don’t live in the US in Chicago.  And I know I’m not crazy and the piano keys don’t have knuckles but imagine if they wanted to strike back they then.  They’re black and white.  They make grey.

I keep writing list poems.  Lyrics and leaping don’t want to agree with me.  They just come out as random. Or as list.  I read this in Lamar’s manuscript “God said let there be irony & there was I”

More poetry rejections recently submishmash tells you big red letters “Declined.”

This tarot card reader told me everything is leading me toward Ra or the Sun.  Said I’m doing too much my energy’s low and the path I’m taking is going to weave.  It was kind of like reading a horoscope in the newspaper.  But I did write poem about Ra I should revise.  I should find my basketball poem too.

There was a black bear in Liberty Park where I grew up at recently.  I’m not sure if he rolled down any hills.  I’d like have seen it if he did.  I think that’s what’s wrong with this city.  Too flat.  No hills.  The landscape lacks character.  There is no falling down here.  No time to catch yourself.  You just fall.

This is a beautiful song (I hate the word beautiful) it’s so depressing.  She could just hum this and make it depressing.  There’s some irony.  Beauty is depressing.

 

 

 
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Posted by on August 8, 2011 in Uncategorized