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.

L – Week 7 Poetry

I applaud these soldiers of the land
for claiming this metal monster of a boat
as its own in a cage of roots
just close enough to the shore
to freedom,
for spite.
________________

Evolution spilled across the wall
paint bubbles spin the tale
of men’s growth from cell
to flesh

Lucy opens the window
to God like form
tearing reality at its seams
for mind’s play
__________________

The freeway
Earth’s scars
from wars with men
__________________

Your lips are sweet silk
to my dry
cracked
maw

O – waterbodies II

waterbodies II

The river nodes of my wrist
flip cross direct when
they feel the sea near.
Blue tributaries that rush to tingle
fingerpads at the humidity of salt
air. The blue blood sea blush
traces the swirls of this body,
a warmth in the river neck,
the sphere-lake brain,
the seafoam fingertips,
the twin torrent thighs
and the ocean belly.
Pulse pushes for tide.
Feel the white roar of abrupt
end of land. Moon lumens pull
at the blood sea lumens of my veins
and direct a tide between
brain and belly and body,
a slow push of blood sea
to fingers, back to gut.
Ocean sound: deep rumbles wrap
the spirals of cochlea from waterwaves
to airwaves to waterwaves to brainwaves.
Sound. Sound. Roar. Lap-ripple.
Water to air to water to air.
Ocean to sky to body to mind.
We are where the rivers spill
and the sea is all. 

Ml – Week 6 Poetry

Something I wrote specifically about my experience during the process of recording for the first time during this project.

 

What would you think if I were to sink

Into my own skin I slink

Scared of my voice I don’t have a choice

Try to get over and think

My sound is important I can’t try to force it

It’s me from my head to my feet

Under a rush just ain’t enough

Love of my lyrics just leave

Then it’s just clear I feel my own fear

Hands clam up and I stop

Scared of my thoughts eyes there to watch

Even if I know that they’re not

Wo poetry week 6 – Building

Building

elements lift up

latice work locked into place

what secrets lie hidden here?

in the joint, the truss

complexity lies hidden

humbly holding us

we build little cells

blood and flesh, within which dwell

trillions of other stories to tell

held together by

the structures that built us all

relationships grow

can we feel our bones

strengthening as we build you?

we grow together

i walk in your ribs

and wonder what i learn from

this anatomy?

bodies are fleeting

they move like the wind just to

rebuild us again

 

the wood built itself

still smells so fresh ‘n’ so clean

it finds life again

 

 

L – Week 6 poetry

What in love drives this
awkward
cruel wordplay

———————–

I see the whites in your eyes
Target acquired
Fire at will!
Just shoot.
why
won’t
you
shoot

Inspired from page 106 of The New Creatures

Trees shade the dark thoughts
of the trudging youth below

Inspired from page 124 The New Creatures

This party could be mistaken for a war zone.
Smoke and rises in pitch
mix all noise
into an ungodly decimal
girls scream
men laugh
tensions are high
mistakes
are made


L – Week 5 poetry

Inspired from page 81 of The Lords

I sit at this window into Suburbia.
We’ve domesticated our own mother to lawn accessories
and lifeless products
In the distance, crows feast by the roadside on our plastic
constantly mocking our cement paved way of life
with their vicious laughter.

Inspired from The Doors’ “Hello, I love you”

Hello, I need you
why won’t you tell me your game?
Hello, I crave you
won’t you scream my name?
Hello, I adore you
why can’t control this pain?

Inspired from page 35 of The Lords

I will wait
only for you
my eyes dilate

y – poem (universes)

my mind is like the galaxy.

deep and dark, mysterious. thoughts floating around for eons, lost astroids.

the ah-ha! moments hit me like a meteor hits the earth – suddenly, with expansion of wonder and exploration of unknown methods

forever leaving an indent in my being, in my earth.

 

I repeated it aloud over and over again in the warm bath water

Yoni, yOni, yoNi, yonI….

each time required a new expansion of breath.

Outward.

creativity,                  meeting the slowly wafting waves, originated by My lungs.

by My hand, the book is raised to meet my Eye, reading the meaning: yoni, ‘Entrance to the Universe’

pondering this.

 

Exploration

the creative touch brings breaths, brings moans, brings warm wet places to the surface of our union, from the depths of my internal universe. then,

the granted entry into my universe, my yoni.  private, unique, my pear, picked to perfection, to consume, to renew, to build, to drip the juice of life.  this is one entrance to the universe, my universe.

and when this universe is entered, my yoni likes to speak, to be loud, to laugh, to moan, to scream, to expand and expel the tension that grew and grew all fucking day.

hello, creative expression.

 

Expansion

your growth, nourishment, brings expansion of my belly.  into a globular, hanging universe made just for you. tripping over my breath to keep up with you, staying focused, feeding you, feeding me. then,

descending. waves of intensity wash me to shore, swallow me and lay me back down on the sand again, repeat. repeat. repeat. trying to replenish my lungs enough to keep up with your

grand ascending.  this is one entrance to the universe, our universe.

and when this universe is entered, my yoni likes to be heard, to listen, to teach, to moan, to cry, to contract and to expel the tension that grew and grew all fucking 41 weeks.

hello, creative expression.

 

Breathing, breathing, inward, outward.

my body is a portal, a sacred portal of universes rich with coming and going.

mysterious and deep,

my yoni is like the galaxy,

ripe with the unknown,

with wonder.

 

 

 

 

 

Q- the heart is a pulsing organ,fertile,needle:sperm,fabric:egg

Transcribed from a typewriter:

Today marks a moment where I finally felt the blood pulsing through my veins

all the way from my brain center of my pulsing organ, that is my heart

My Smooth skin is sailing.

feels, tactile (Death. Birth)

I am in my first trimester. Birthing the harmony between needle and fabric (maiden and mother)

into being

I am to embark, set sail, cast off

cast  in

to my

Quilted Pregnancy.

Filled with Harmonic Fertility

My time is being tic tocked on my moon clock. Fabric.                             F A      B       r    i       C

 

BLANKET. Quilt. Inside of me

inside of me.

Traditionally,  the quilt is sewn to mark a right of passage.

(GURTH, BIRTH)

A marriage,

a motherhood

or all of the bible scriptures, old baseball jerseys , a coming of age

a passing

down of log cabin

patterns, and embroidered stories

I am vibrating,Pulsing the needle, with my juicy, swollen, ripe, innocent, beating, vibrating, dancing

Heart.

The pulsing heart needle drags the thread through the fabric

into being.

Needle:sperm, fabric:egg

a story is born