don’t think just write spill it out for once just let go it doesn’t matter how many words or how long how do you feel are you being real with me are you being real with yourself just put the words down don’t ask questions just write who cares what I think what do you think how many pages you ask who cares just write for yourself you have to write you can’t keep it inside anymore be honest be genuine be vulnerable like this poem here no punctuation no capitalization no sentence structure just words on this page talking to you and you only do it for yourself don’t do it for anyone else you can make a difference if you put truth into your writing you don’t like this poem I don’t care I’m writing it anyway it’s done
By the electric riverbed I laid
Taken captive by its sound
The sweet, fake droning of this false place
Lulled me in and out of sleep
As my hand hung in its binary shore
Feeling the bits of information wash over my fingertips and disappear as they came
The river lapping at the land
Licking its digital lips a little at a time
A little at a time
I recognized its danger
Yes, it’s shallow but it stretches for miles
Look, it goes on and on
I wish I could explain it
Like something I’ve heard
Before but it’s
Can my mind tell the difference
An electric riverbed and a real one?
Photo credit: “physical bit” by Flickr user Miki Toshimichi
My God, how I can see your marvelous gifts
Your unending love and care for what you make
You give us life and help us grow, even though
We go astray and spit in your face
You promise us a mighty victory when
The end of days does finally come
You’ll pick us up and hold us as your children
As the old world is swallowed and left to soak in sin
I continually rub the sleep from my eyes
Too blind to see your powerful work,
To sense your subtle nudges in the right direction
I don’t take the time to remember that you are here, you are working
Thank you, God. Thank you for caring.
Thank you for thinking up redemption.
Thank you for sacrificing yourself for the weak.
Thank you for mending the broken. Thank you for love.
The power and resources
Of the American Man
Good god it’s an infinite machine
A deep sleeping mine
Of gold and old money
Holding on until someone gets lucky
Until he blasts his way through
The endless tunnels of riches
Using a slick word
Gems, rubies, diamonds
All of which can be sold at a price
To feed the guy on the corner
The one holding that cardboard sign
HUNGRY ARMY VET ANYTHING WILL HELP PLEASE
We’ve all seen him
And sometimes I drive past
Fifty feet below my car lies an abandoned system of sufficiency
These rocks that can be polished and shaped into fish and loaves
The money’s there
It just needs to be seized, siphoned, and distributed
Everyone reach into your pockets and give what you’ve got
American Man, give what you’ve got
Photo credit: “Panhandler sleeping Winnipeg” by Flickr user Dave Shaver
Hey now at the push of this button I can look into the future
See the green clouds amassing over the city
Causing destruction in their wake
My what a power I have at my fingertips
To be able to see impending doom
The orange and red mixing
Creating a noxious concoction of dusts of the past
Far be it from me to take this information lightly
No I will alert the media, alert the authorities
Whoever picks up the phone first
What can they do?
Extinction may be knocking on our door
And everyone’s out to lunch
– Be back in an hour –
Why am I the one who sees the end of time on this tiny screen?
The button just below
Blinking and beating
A beacon in the night
Shame on you all for not being ready
Shame on me for not doing more
At a time like this?!
What’s the point
Let’s go out with a bang
Break through the roof accesses and just let it go
Look up in the sky and see the orange and red mixing
Those same green clouds that tipped me off in the first place
My what a beautifully terrifying sight
Just think if I hadn’t hit the button in the first place
I might be sitting inside
Watching TV on the couch
While this hysteria creeped in
“I heard you got a dispatch from San Jose,
I heard it was the color blue.”
Man, it’s been five weird years
Since I wrote those words to you
You’ve been collecting dust in a drawer
Longing to stretch your leather
I’ve been preaching in the corner
And trying to read the weather
How have you been, friend?
What’s the word, brother?
You don’t say, dude!
It’s good to see you.
On that warm and windy day, I found myself on the same green bench as usual. My lunch breaks were brief, so I had to make the most of them. The park was only a block from my office. I would take the quick walk down the street, find my bench, and eat quickly.
Usually the park was empty. I’d sit alone and enjoy the silence, a rarity at work. I could easily doze off or, at the least, lose track of time if the weather was just right.
However, this particular day was different. I was seated on the same green bench, sandwich in hand. But there were two boys probably no older than 8 or 9 years old who came wandering into the park looking for something to do.
Mom, Dad, Fam,
Salty savage trash
Lit – bet
Take the L
To what I once was I will return
Dust – the dirt under the colt
Maybe His feet will dangle low?
Wave the palms while they’re still green!
Here, take my coat to spread on the road
May His feet feel comfort from sackcloth
……“Who is this?”
………….“Who is this?”
I’d rather yell my answer from amidst the filth
Not seek clean shade under a temple table