Sunday, June 27, 2010

Poetry From Smoked Mullet Cornbread Memory and Violent Hope

Orignal Post: Wednesday, March 31st 2010 12:16 AM

Surviving Indigo (this poem is also a performance piece, the Indigo song is sung at the begining and the ending)

"Here’s what I find about compromise, don’t do it if it hurts inside, cause either way your screwed…Eventually you’ll find that you may as well feel the ill, you may as well have some pride."~ "Second Time Around," Poseidon and the Bitter Bug, Indigo Girls

Sitting glass in hand, the conversations run across my eyes flicking words to brain, celluloid second coming of over a thousand years of absence.

I stood too proud in skin worn thin
Broken from days, of weeks of years of the friction
Of moving against the grate of your words…
If you cease my speaking of pieces of certainty
Then I will cease to be…and you can erase me.

The walls are turning indigo as Amy’s alto rocks her melody with gentle firm insistence, plucking heartstrings of forgotten pulsations of blood into the cavities of what was, what is and what has yet to be.

The power of the word, the language of the myth
The narration of crossing the border from Residential hell 10 dollars in hand…
The finality of watching white sheets flutter over faces in gulf humidity.
This was not my history, with no card to speak authenticity.

Cell phone in hand, waiting for mom to call, blue creeps from corner of lashes to glaze eyes, and my head nods lazily to Emily harmonizing sweetly sneaking into hidden places and laying trails of melodic discord in realities of what was, what is and what has yet to be.

Unweave me three threads of inconsequence.
Wipe blood from hands and feet.
Take photos from brittle leather albums.
Teach me to be as if none of these memories were for me…

In the quite of the early morning dichotomy of sleep and wakefulness, the radio is pulsing like a two-step love tune into the purple-blue dawn of in-betweens. Praying for the haters, praying for the lovers, praying for the survivors, that all words are good in this indigo haze of morning freeze…keep me in your payers sister, Keep me in there…prays of what was, what is and what has yet to be.

"Are you my ally or my enemy? Do you have Self-loathing or empathy? Can you keep me in your prayers sister. Can you keep me in there somewhere? And sister if you ain’t got nothing good to say…don’t say nothing at all."~ "Second Time Around," Poseidon and the Bitter Bug, Indigo Girls

Ghazal Of the Unspoken
“There is a way from your heart to mine and my heart knows it, because it is clear and pure like water. When water is still like a mirror it can behold the Moon” Jallil Ad’din Rumi

Silence weighs the tongue like morning dew on a curved leaf
Coating the human heart in blanket of regret; encompassing sheath.

Holding the water, in an opaque green vessel
The liquid distorts the reflection of what lies beneath.

The leaf learns to love its’ morning burden
There is ecstasy in the pain of unspoken belief.

Hugging its’ burden tight in womb like folds
The greenest leaf and most agile tongue caress the responsibility bequeathed.

Tongue and leaf and I, Rain, alike must shake ourselves
Like winds ruffling dew soaked plants, and find there our relief.

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