Listen, She Spoke of Mama

She spoke of Mama, but from where did she come? From what distance traveled and at what cost?

People see the likes of her and they think they know: the leopard stance set to take things, the golden halo elevating skyward, the animistic smile that out-whites a camera-flash. They think they know – but they are idiots and thank Jehovah you’re not them.

Shifts in perspective are needed, lives lived in the blink of an eye and many assumptions abandoned. If you are wise you will not think of this as another week-long runway, you will not assume another romance sans chance? You will say Are you ready? and jump in as if the rest of your life depends on it.

And as the sunlight reflects off the bay and soaks into her bronze-black skin, And the intuition that this is no ordinary human begins to set in, You won’t jump to conclusions or you’ll miss it:

She’ll let you carry her for a minute, She’ll speak with care about small things and laugh about people back home, She’ll speak of Mama and you’ll listen and wonder when you should go into your usual things – which now seems senseless, like wiping down the table before a hurricane. Save your questions and listen. No one knows just how far she has come.

Under The Tree

I heard you singing to the wind and I was touched by the grass as the wind swept it against my legs and I began to laugh and the grass was a rattlesnake as the glorious comedy was prepared.

And I began to sing the song you were singing and it became a song I couldn’t stop singing, and if I stopped I would get sick and throw up and then I’d feel better and I’d begin to sing again and so the comedy was prepared.

And my body swayed the way the tiny sprouts on the ends of the grass swayed and the grass was the back of a rattlesnake and I ate the grass and spit it up and ate some more and I couldn’t stop swaying and singing and so the comedy was prepared.

/ complete Under the Tree is here /

Equinox

That which is done is that which shall be done;
there is nothing new under the sun.
Ecclesiastes 1:9

I

It’s the Equinox
and I’m hungry—
Halfway through life,
the same hard choices.
Rather than turn to a more fruitful path,
I’ll take a long walk and
pay visit to an old friend.

We keep a solid rhythm, You and I,
a stash of tales at the ready.
We arent the bits-and-pieces they make of us,
We keep our minds on the rails,
We have regular places to pick up our mail.

It’s always time well spent with you,
commenting on the carnival at a distance.
I’ll listen to your dimestore wisdom
and piss from the porchstep for fun,
We’ll get out our what ifs & howsos
until we begin to feel ok again.

But listen, in town they’re hooting Winter’s End,
The verdict is in: there is little use for us type of men.
Let’s take the backroads on and old coot’s errand,
I’ve borrowed a pushcart for just such an occasion,
I’m loaded with old silver, antique sundries and spices,
No one’ll notice our absence, or they’ll say “good riddance”.

This is I of IV parts : Equinox wherein the poet explores the relationship between the physical change in seasons and a variety of spiritual and cultural ideas.

to balance the HEAVY BOOKISHness of certain posts I will include links to music that is CURRENT + Very GOOD; #1 ::: Thao with The Get Down Stay Down. (Yeah SF!)

Directions

The only book that matters
Is the book that’s in you

Ever attempt
a New Poetry
Leaves too soon
turn to soil

Take style and
call it substance
I’ll keep scripture
by my bed
I’ll decry the day
and lose my balance
For I’ve just right
voices in my head

Once I figured out
how to stare em down
and smile—Why
I was golden!
Now I’ve crossed over
once too many
and the boatman
is gone

Tonight I’ll put on
good humor
and play dumb
And if I have to lie
So be it … Bad Poet
Time is Come

The first of III parts of Directions ~ from the Bad Poets series.

New Moon

Look at the moon
( * ) her moon
And she’s gone
( – long gone

Tonight I’ll act uncool
and do all the wrong things
using more whiskey than words
I’ll go until my body is bloated
like an upturned boat
in a graveyard

And in a year month week or two
I’ll find a new moon to muse to
I’ll have energy again and
I’ll find life more to my liking
I’ll awake early and put a pot on
and I’ll never read Plato or finish all of Tolstoy
and I’ll erase passages of the Bible
I’ll begin my own bible

For now
take the medicine and moan
Like clockwork
* ) New Moon

/// This is 1 of 4 Love Poems of various shapes and forms that I put up on Biblia.

The GIFT part II

I’ve been searching the boxes to find perfect GIFTs for friends and family of Brahmapura. It’s been an interesting trip. I have no idea what some of these items might mean to somebody, maybe more or maybe less than they do to me. But it feels good that I wont be carting some of this stuff around any longer. AND IF it all can go to a good home and be of further use, well RIGHT ON.

In the process of putting this all together, I’ve come across some bits and blaps that might help me tell the story of what I’ve done and what I’m doing. Listen, I dont know too well myself what it is I do sometimes. So this is has been a really good round of house cleaning. I’m cataloging some of this process at leebob.com. Go there for the FULL ON RUFF CUT version.

browse play / download songs at leebob.com