Category Archives: poetry

Here is where you’ll categorize poetry posts during your field study. A minimum goal is one poem per week, 4 total, posted by Monday PM midnight. One of your four poems must be posted in a “Poetry Observed” video format (www.poetryobserved.com/). The goal is to perform your poetry in situ—within the context of your passionate immersion.

lp- The Shepherd

Sound takes flight like a flock of crows

Roaming around until it finds purpose

Like a hot knife it can pierce your heart

Forcing your mind down paths as the heart has a tendency to do

And like the crow, sound has the ability to scavenge

Not unlike the convict who does without regards

Picking up pieces of trash of the freeway

Placing it with other non-descript trash to give it a better purpose

 

I am the weak in the valley of darkness and sound is my shepherd

And taketh me to lie down in a forest built of freedom and rejection

Trees of blood, pain, beauty. I shall not want, or shall I?

Because, as much as my shepherd guides me, it is powerless to my will of where I want to go

The paradox of sound is that it goes exactly where it is sent, and yet

Leads me into the forest of my thoughts

And yet, I decide where its roots finally take hold

The only time im okay with being a sheep is when my shepherd is with me

 

The sounds I most like to her are those designed to promote freedom of will

Because, regardless of what people tell themselves to cope,

We live in a world of oppression

Those who have the power to disseminate propaganda do so with their agendas in mind, not mine

Perhaps music has driven me to this perspective

I just know that I’m not okay with walking in line with everybody else

I’m not okay with lulling myself into unconsciousness

Anit-establishment, because we don’t need this kind of structure

It shouldn’t be people living in mansions profiting

off of the policies that they can convince other rich people to vote for

sure, I have a voice

and yet people who speak out against the government are ostracized and looked down upon

branded as “radicals”

they sure do a good job of keeping everybody in check,

Not I

 

Sometimes, a gentle caress

Other times, a frightful pummel

Words transfer emotion

Sounds that can be perceived

Intent to find the truth

Answers to questions that I’ve always wanted to ask

But never had the courage to face judgment

So many times

Art is one of the only things that make people pause before placing judgment

Maybe that’s why I relate to it so much

It’s the freedom to say what you want to say

Do what you want to do

Because if you don’t like it

Let’s see you do better

Week 9 Calculated poem

The idea of primitive elements combining to create art, and of the importance of relationships between elements, also exists in visual art and dance.” (Levitin,This is your brain on music; 18)

Our mother is not such of nature, as nature cannot be separate from us.
Rather she is Mother Creation. This air bubble in the vastness of this universe to our knowledge, is an otherwise lifeless place. Our cells made eyes to see, we crawled from swamps, found a way to walked tall and along that road came our child, Art. We birth her each day in our words even if it’s only a stray sentence. Our drive is fueled by him, pushing us each day to string those words together to bring new beauty to Mother creation. Our sometimes seemingly simple poems are really bold sacrifices to our bloodthirsty Mother.

lp- Music

Sometimes it makes you

Feel like crying

Sometimes it makes you

Feel like dying

Sometimes it makes you

Feel like jumping for joy

Sometimes it can make you

Feel nothing at all

 

Or maybe it’s like a smell

A feeling and a sound

Triggering memories putting you

In a state of reverie

Shaping and molding

The future

By examining the past 

Ms – Poetry of Smell – Happiness

Cashmere Perfume

Undertones of cigarette smoke

delicate butts

rimmed with pink lipstick

Diet Pepsi … the gold can

with a straw

The consistent smell of Christmas.

I could so easily be a chain smoker too …

her constant inhale/exhale

Too hot in the winter

Too cold in the summer.

Bridgette the dog’s slobbery tumble

across the lawn.

Gramps shows me the sprinkler box

-sometimes you can catch a frog

plopped in for a drink- he says

They quit smoking when gramps got cancer.

But every now and again

I still smell grams’ perfume

and undertones of cigarette smoke.

 

Ms – Poetry of Smell – Nervousness

Tide Detergent + Compost

Tipsy knocking on your door

(Dreadful) dread inoculates my veins

I whine drunkenly

for you to help me

I want to vomit

not from the alcohol

but because you’re not alone.

My face flushes

in embarrassment

I wish it could always be

you and me

and that this icy hot flushing dreadful dread

would go… some place else

Because every time I kiss you

it feels like my soul is weeping

and it won’t stop

until time does.

 

 

What good is this clean room?

these taut sheets?

a swept floor?

If you can’t be here

with me.

Wake me up with your touch

fuck up

with me

destroy this room

with me

where perfection lies

grounded by my side

with me

Be here

with me.

Ms – Poetry of Smell – A Darkness

Artificial Cherry Hand Lotion

The house, the key

my body, broken,

Heart

a nervous beating.

I am a child

so scared

her nails dig into my arm

Why can’t you be pretty?

like your sister

You look like a boy.

But I’m not a boy.

no

Her perfume…

chokes me.

I fantasize about her death.

I would wear a beautiful sun dress.

Everyone would cry.

But I would smile.

And spit on her face.

asking her why, why

she’s not pretty.

like me

**Punctuation and spacing are huge for me in terms of how the poem looks aesthetically and reads. This one has been in the depths of my mind for awhile… maybe that’s why it’s so dark.

Bachelard week 8

“They [the neurological conceptions of personhood] have argued that the human brain… is evolved for a collective form of life… and the formation of groups both small and large to pursue common aims.”
Rose, N. Abi-Rached, J., 2012. Neuro: the new brain sciences and the management of the mind. Princeton University Press. (pg 226)

 

“She says the tree
Is stationary and multitudinous in her chest, untouched
And skeletal, almost like metal, in its network against the sky.”

‘Duality’
Rogers, Pattiann, 1940 – The tattooed lady in the garden. Wesleyan University Press. (p. 15)

Each body has many deep and unyielding roots

that reach to the earth, whether the eyes can see the branches’

silhouette against the dewy sky,

or its forces are hidden in spectral starlight of spirit. The patient arches

of these unfurling footsteps

begin to braid together,

finding, as they join, their common direction

which is slowly unwinding

in an ever widening spiral

which reaches out into the neuronal hands,

seeking to touch, and be held

in the rivers caught in sharp relief

that flow through butterflies’ wings as they soar

over eyes to show the branching

fractals innate on the earth, and in the trees

and in each fire filled body that creates

and destroys, and are created and destroyed

on the skin of the planet which heaves and rolls

its life blood underfoot to remind all beings with roots

of the finite blessing of this time, and this space.