Twenty Three.

"Come here, boy." My body bends, arches towards her hum. 

"Come here, boy." That tune is familiar, tugging at a memory hiding deep within.

"Come here, boy." I can't fight the pull of her sounds, her rhythm, her pulse. 

"Come here, boy." I wish I could ask her to stop, even as I beg her to continue.

"Come here, boy." A siren song, the bite of waves nipping at my ankles, undertow claiming my skin like forgotten baggage.

"Come here, boy." I barely hear her now, her melody lost, bouncing somewhere above the twisting sea. 

"Come here, boy."

I'm here. But where are you?

Twenty One.

I sit on my living room floor,
apartment walls safely standing,
television screen clearly projecting
destruction,
smoke and glass,
broken homes,
broken bodies of
children
with their entire lives
to lose,
lost, gone,
blinked out
like a star exploding
a million miles away
and it all seems
so
far
away
but it's not.
It's in my house,
it's in my eyes,
it's in my heart now
and it's heartbreaking,
shattering
and wrong, so wrong
that it takes my breath away.
I am speechless
but now is the time to speak.

It's time for someone to speak.

Ten.

Nine.

Observation of a Slam Poet


Self-deprecating fidgeter
caffeine-based adrenaline
fueling nervous sentences
that calm as he transforms
poet to performer
in a matter of seconds
part dancer, part musician,
part lovestruck,
wholly talented

Perform, perform,
pause, applause
sip sip
coffee's gone, quickly consumed,
and the water bottle cap is elusive
when crazy energy rattles his extremities

He answers challenging questions
with an eccentric grace and
child-like exuberance.
Each word he speaks
is laced with impenetrable,
irrefutable passion
that infects every
single
person
who listens to him,
regardless of age or
understanding of poetry.

There is magic in the way he
moves,
spins stories,
harnesses words -
an alchemy
I won't forget.

Eight.

At YAK yesterday, I attended a poetry workshop/reading hosted by Colin R. Gilbert. He asked us to pick three-five words off of the YAK program, and then instructed us to write a poem using them. I have highlighted my five words, though you could probably guess at least one of them. Thank you, Colin, for the awesome session!

At four in the morning, I often consult Sasquatch
because innovation is a two-way mirror
and I'm on the wrong side of the glass.

When Sassy speaks, ideas begin to tingle
behind my eyes, and I am suddenly speculative,
contemplative, percolating.