tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1415177091709443002024-03-13T13:15:10.084-04:00Stray Thoughts, Little Couplets, Hopes, Dreams
It is important to understand I am a slam poet, and most of what I write is meant to be heard and because of this there are some typos and miscues that I cant be bothered to fix. But enjoy. Yea. Also not everything on here is poetry. I do what I want, it's my blog.Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-69477850783464677802020-06-25T00:43:00.001-04:002020-06-25T00:43:11.253-04:00Always<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Always, I will love you.<br />
In fact I will always love you more<br />
But not just more,<br />
I will love you more than most,<br />
I will love you the most often,<br />
And more often than not,<br />
You will love me back,<br />
Except when you hate me,<br />
In those cases I will love you even more<br />
than I loved you the day before,<br />
I will love you like the moon loves the sun,<br />
and I will love you when you run,<br />
but I should probably walk,<br />
and you should probably talk,<br />
But all this is just to say,<br />
I will never love you anything less,<br />
than every day.</div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-88688989146814020892016-08-28T17:17:00.002-04:002016-08-29T19:56:06.582-04:00Kaepernick Wont Stand for the National Anthem, and Neither Will I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
For as long as I have remembered the most difficult thing about going to sporting events, participating about sports in high school and even just listening to the Red Sox on the radio has been the Star Spangled Banner. In fact, I would say my relationship to that little piece of civil religion has followed me my whole life. When I was a very young child, I was getting ready for nap time when an announcement came over the intercom at our school saying that we should all stand for the national anthem, and I did. Then when the song ended, we were told to put our hands over our heart as the whole school did the pledge of allegiance, which I did not know, my parents had never taught me. After telling my father about this he sat me down and talked to me about what those things meant. He told me in no uncertain terms that I should not stand, nor put my hand on my heart and that I most certainly should not pledge my allegiance to a flag. He told me that he and my mother wanted our family’s allegiance to be to God, to our fellow humans and not to a force which actively warred against both. I asked him what allegiance was, and he told me that in essence my allegiance was my soul, to pledge my allegiance was to pledge how would I would spend my life, what I would support and what I would allow to give me direction. God seemed like a decent thing to give my allegiance to if for no other reason that God had never to that point told me to do anything and I am awful at following directions. So I carried on as my father had told me, not standing when we went to Wolfpack hockey games, nor at Rock Cat games, not when I was yelled at by my fourth grade teacher and physically dragged out of the classroom, not when I was sent to the principal’s office by my eighth grade social studies teacher and spent the remainder of the year sitting outside the classroom during the announcements, not when I got into an argument with my sophomore year history teacher over 1st amendment rights and was sent from the classroom yet again, not when my wrestling coach gave me extra laps and push ups for making the team look bad, not even when my baseball coach told me that if I wanted to play America’s pastime I better love America. I have been called everything from traitor to terrorist by my peers, my friends, my fellow church members, my coaches, my teachers and even my relatives. These experiences made choosing my college very easy, the college I ended up attending had sparked national controversy the year before by declaring it would no longer play the national anthem before sporting events, and for the first time I could attend soccer games without getting awkward stares and angry glares for being the only one seated while the star spangled banner was sung.<br />
<br />
<br />
It was while studying religion at this college that i began to research civil religion and the more I learned, the more I came to understand not only my position but the position of those who had hated me, argued with me and been hurt by me for my non-compliance. In America (and in many countries) we worship our country. We lay down our lives for this country, we take lives for this country, we see our country as a light in the dark world, we believe our country is beyond reproach, everywhere around us is the message of how important our country is, how it represents freedom and justice and equality, and in that light of course I seem like a malcontent for not pledging myself to that. However the more I learned about civil religion the more I became scared of it. The yawning void between what America is, and what we are told it is, is where I have grown up, and is all I have known. I grew up in the North End of Hartford, experiencing the segregation that while not enforced by laws is none the less present. Hartford is so segregated that even though I was “as Irish as Paddy's pig” as my dad liked to say, and had the skin and complexion to match, I was frequently asked by folks in the neighborhood who didn’t know me if I was Puerto Rican. This is because a Puerto Rican person looking like me, made more sense than a white kid growing up in the North End. Everytime I hear the words “Oh, say does that star spangled banner yet wave,O'er the land of the free, And the home of the brave?” I cannot help but scoff because in my experience the American flag does not wave over a land that fits that description. Is this really the land of the free when we have more incarcerated citizens than China, than anyone? Are we the home of the brave when we have been cowering before narratives of hatred and racism so deep that on any given weekday around 5 PM you can watch as hundreds if not thousands of white workers flee from Hartford to return home to gated communities and suburbs? That my best friend will have people cross the street when they see him, follow him around in stores and generally fear him with no knowledge about him based on the color of his skin? That we callously accept that any male over the age of 18 in the Middle East can and will be categorized as an enemy combatant to be killed by drone attacks. We live very far from such a land.<br />
<br />
<br />
The national anthem we know is part of our civil religion it is the hymn with which we worship the idea of our country, and the values it extols are indeed noble, however they paint an incomplete picture. The country being sung about when this song was written, did not include black and brown people amongst those who could call the nation home. In fact the only time that the song does refer to black/brown people is in the often unheard third verse: “And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion, A home and a Country should leave us no more?Their blood has wash’d out their foul footsteps’ pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave, And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave. O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.” According to Jason Johnson a writer for The Root who wrote on the racism of our national anthem this past summer, the verse is about the attacking the slaves who fought on the side of the British. A couple centuries ago when this song was written, racism was being built up as a cornerstone of American culture, and the evidence is here in the lyrics, these men would not free, not in the land that is being described here. <br />
<br />
<br />
All of this brings me to this morning, when I picked up the Hartford Courant hoping to read about the Red Sox and instead found an article by Jeff Jacobs called “Kaepernick's Act Heartfelt, But Divisive.” Kaepernick’s decision to not stand for the anthem during NFL games has created a lot of op ed sports pieces about the role of nationalism in sports and vice versa, and Jacobs claims that Kaepernick is essentially, throwing the baby out with the bathwater, that what the song symbolizes is more powerful as a unifying force, and that Kaepernick’s decision is selfish and wrong footed. Luckily, Jacobs doesn’t assume he is the be all end all of the discussion and says “Maybe I'm missing something here, but Kaepernick missed that point. He went after the American symbol. He had to know he would alienate a huge segment of our society and create an instant backlash. In my mind, he went selfish, not selfless. Hey, look, at me! I'm not standing for "The Star-Spangled Banner." Right off the bat, that will inflame millions of Americans.” You’re right Jeff, you missed something. You missed the fact that this song was written at the same time that racist systems were being created that would destroy black and brown bodies and souls for centuries to come. Far from missing the point, Kaepernick is acknowledging that the anthem describes an America that is largely unavailable to black and brown Americans. The systems that enslaved Africans hundreds of years ago are not somehow separated from the systems that are allowing police to murder and assault black and brown Americans today. The narratives that white people created and recreated to perpetuate the destruction and enslavement black people are the same ones that white people are using to fight back a movement whose only point is to simply convince the country that the lives of innocent people should matter regardless of skin color. What Kaepernick is doing is simply saying that he can no longer worship at the altar of America, not while it soaked in the blood of black and brown bodies. I understand how awful this piece will sound to folks who are patriotic, folks who have put their lives on the line for the ideals of this country, who have made it part of their identity. Folks who have incorporated patriotism into their soul, as I have with my religion. My religion is also corrupted by power and wealth, my religion also has a long and terrible legacy of violence and destruction, and yet I live and pray by the ideals of my religion, and I know people who live and pray by the ideals of America. Those ideals however, should not and cannot prevent us from criticizing the legacies of our institutions, the violence of our institutions and work at repairing them.If we cannot examine them critically how will they ever live up to our ideals? Or maybe a better question: if we cannot examine ourselves critically, examine how our own biases and prejudices have helped perpetuate the violence in our institutions, how will we ever live up to our ideals?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jason Johnson: "Star-Spangled Bigotry: The Hidden Racist History of the National Anthem"<br />
<a href="http://www.theroot.com/articles/history/2016/07/star-spangled-bigotry-the-hidden-racist-history-of-the-national-anthem/">http://www.theroot.com/articles/history/2016/07/star-spangled-bigotry-the-hidden-racist-history-of-the-national-anthem/</a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Jeff Jacobs: “Kaepernick's Act Heartfelt, But Divisive.”<br />
<a href="http://www.courant.com/sports/hc-jacobs-column-0828-20160827-story.html">http://www.courant.com/sports/hc-jacobs-column-0828-20160827-story.html</a></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-67996210718726499522016-06-17T10:47:00.003-04:002016-06-17T10:47:32.016-04:00Icarus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today, I heard the story of Icarus in a whole new way,<div>
Today, his wings didn't break beneath the sun,</div>
<div>
There was no heat melting wax, no feathers gently falling away,</div>
<div>
There was nothing slow about the abrupt end of ascension.</div>
<div>
This Icarus crashed against the barbed wire ceiling that hangs over this city,</div>
<div>
his wings were torn to shreds, his fall reached a terminal velocity.</div>
<div>
We are taught to blame Icarus,</div>
<div>
We are taught to see Icarus as filled with braggadocio and lacking in self control,</div>
<div>
we refuse to see that he was only born with a buoyant soul,</div>
<div>
Souls such as these long to scratch the sky,</div>
<div>
To look down on the world with God at their shoulder, clouds at their toes</div>
<div>
and heaven laid out before them.</div>
<div>
And of course we fail them.</div>
<div>
Barbwire ceilings do not occur naturally,</div>
<div>
Our cities aren't meant to be inescapable, inhospitable </div>
<div>
they arent meant to put so many in the hospital,</div>
<div>
in the ground,</div>
<div>
and if you hear the faint sound,</div>
<div>
sneakers scraping against celestial chain link,</div>
<div>
stop for a moment and just think,</div>
<div>
did you see him today?</div>
<div>
did he just start to sink?</div>
<div>
did he do a loop the loop,</div>
<div>
start from his front stoop,</div>
<div>
touch the sky with Kanye,</div>
<div>
then hit the green house to hoop?</div>
<div>
He wont get a filibuster, he's a forgone conclusion, </div>
<div>
and we pretend not to see his wounds and contusions,</div>
<div>
Black's dont crack, dont bleed, dont feel pain,</div>
<div>
will always be blamed, always be shamed </div>
<div>
and excuse me if this sounds like a refrain,</div>
<div>
but if all lives matter,</div>
<div>
why wont we talk about him?</div>
<div>
Is it cause when Icarus has ebony wings,</div>
<div>
that don't melt in the sun, but shine beneath the moon,</div>
<div>
it's that much easier to close your eyes?</div>
<div>
fall asleep as we whisper gentle lies,</div>
<div>
it'd be harder if you could hear is brother cry,</div>
<div>
his mother cry, my mother cried,\</div>
<div>
I pray to God that an angels wings are made from more than wax,</div>
<div>
That they can transcend barbed wire,</div>
<div>
that they might carry Icarus higher,</div>
<div>
than our world was ever going to let him fly. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-67867280043137845992015-11-20T08:40:00.001-05:002015-11-20T08:44:03.964-05:00Task Manager<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
With the emergence of the personal computer,<br />
<div>
many of us have forgotten our savior,</div>
<div>
the task manager. </div>
<div>
Three quick buttons to open up a program,</div>
<div>
that shows you everything your computer is doing,</div>
<div>
the things that are responding and those that arent,</div>
<div>
and you are given the option </div>
<div>
to end the tasks.</div>
<div>
End those parts that arent working right now</div>
<div>
End those parts so that others can still function,</div>
<div>
It was a fairly useful thing. </div>
<div>
Leaps in technology mean that nowadays it is fairly rare for your page to freeze</div>
<div>
and if it does freeze, </div>
<div>
Google Chrome will kindly offer to kill it for you.</div>
<div>
The following pages are unresponsive:</div>
<div>
The lesson today</div>
<div>
The notes you should be taking</div>
<div>
The test in front of you</div>
<div>
would you like to kill these pages?</div>
<div>
No Google I cant kill the lesson,</div>
<div>
I cannot kill the classes I am in</div>
<div>
I cannot kill the way the color of the sky is particularly blue today,</div>
<div>
I cannot kill the way that tree outside looks really good for climbing</div>
<div>
I cannot kill the red jelly bean that somehow made its way to the middle of the freaking carpet.</div>
<div>
I mean I guess I could go pick it up. </div>
<div>
but that might disrupt class.</div>
<div>
Shit class, are we still taking an exam?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Some days I wish I had a task manager.</div>
<div>
Some days I wish I could control alter and delete my disorder,</div>
<div>
Some days I fantasize about having a brain that isnt made from loose yarn, and bad ideas</div>
<div>
Some days I would trade every creative bone in my body to just sit through a class.</div>
<div>
Some days I wish my mind would calm down</div>
<div>
Some nights I wish sleep came easily</div>
<div>
Sounds like insomnia,</div>
<div>
Some nights I wish I could worry about one thing and not everything,</div>
<div>
Sounds like anxiety,</div>
<div>
Some nights I wish I could simply sit,</div>
<div>
Without being besieged by a thousand obligations</div>
<div>
Sounds like OCD</div>
<div>
Sounds like things a lot worse than ADD</div>
<div>
The disorder we made up to excuse bad behavior</div>
<div>
See I have been called everything from sped to stupid</div>
<div>
And while I know next to nothing about brain chemistry</div>
<div>
I know the inside of my own skull well enough </div>
<div>
to see loose wiring and insufficient insulation</div>
<div>
And sometimes the wires connect,</div>
<div>
and a bunch of buzzfeed articles will tell you,</div>
<div>
that the ADD brain is uniquely creative,</div>
<div>
Sounds almost sincere,</div>
<div>
just like every professor who said,</div>
<div>
You're brain isn't quite right</div>
<div>
Have you tried adderall</div>
<div>
Have you tried adderall </div>
<div>
Have you tried adderall</div>
<div>
Fine.</div>
<div>
I'll try it.</div>
<div>
Throw back a little bit of self control,</div>
<div>
Swallow small blue responsibility,</div>
<div>
and wait...</div>
<div>
Pages loading...</div>
<div>
Pages loading...</div>
<div>
The page "personality" is unresponsive,</div>
<div>
The page "friendly" is unresponsive</div>
<div>
The page "extrovert"is unresponsive </div>
<div>
Would you like to kill these pages?</div>
<div>
Too late you already have. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-89397412848791804692015-11-17T14:47:00.002-05:002015-11-17T14:47:58.409-05:00Notes for When My Child Falls in Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
1. Do not be afraid, this is going to be freaking awesome.<br />
2. It's ok to be afraid, there will be times when this seems like anything but awesome.<br />
3. I guess what I am saying is don't be worried about the aches in your chest and tears in your eyes, they are a beauty that humanity has been obsessed with for centuries. We might even figure out what it all means eventually, but probably not.<br />
4. The first time you chip off a piece of your heart to give away, the person you give it to might not understand what they are holding onto, give that piece anyways and dont even worry about it, I will have packed pieces of my heart in your backpack, your lunch box and eyes so that you are never running low.<br />
5. When you do meet that person that makes your heart speed up, your hands sweat, and your tongue twist itself into a pretzel of all of the things you want to say, some of the things you should say and a whole lotta nonsense, you will be overwhelmed and that's fine, let yourself get lost in the feeling like a wave crashing over you, let it carry you safely to shore, let it pull you out to sea, you are in the midst of something irresistible, and sometimes it is nice to be carried.<br />
6. For the record, should you be pulled under the water, should your lungs become flooded and the light start to fade, I will be standing there, I will pull you up to oxygen and safety, to sunlight and stability, but if you are anything like me you will immediately plunge yourself into the ocean again because that is the type of person that our family produces.<br />
7. When it all goes to shit, which happens with surprising frequency I will be there for caloric therapy, and romantic comedies and books and poetry and all of the coping mechanisms that I have used, and you will probably want to sulk and be alone and that's cool too, but dont be surprised when every meal we have is based around comfort food.<br />
8. Should I find out that you have been anything less than careful and considerate with someone else's heart, I will teach you a lesson you never forget, opening up the boxes of damaged pieces of my heart that will have probably collected dust in the attic. I will show you the bruises and breaks that accrue over time, and dont always stop hurting, you will watch your father cry and you will know that you have got to be careful with things that are precious.<br />
9. Don't forget that you are precious, that you are to be handled with care, that you are chaos and cosmos, that no one but you will ever get to decide your limits, that your hand could snatch stars from the sky and fix them to your ears that you might hear the songs the universe is playing, that your eyes will run clear like a river and that your soul is unblemished by malice and beloved by a God who gave you to me with a complete list of all of the ingredients she included, and instructions to light a fire in your chest to share with the world.<br />
10. the first time you decide to write a love poem, promise me you'll show it to me first so that I can tell God you caught the fire she requested and that you are ready to share the world. </div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-87566941058900206782015-11-01T12:18:00.000-05:002015-11-01T12:25:59.760-05:00The Matriarch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My mother is a tree with roots, branches and leaves.<br />
My mother's roots break concrete and dig deep into our city,<br />
they find life water past the sewers,<br />
Yea, my mother finds love,<br />
and goes through a lot of shit to do so.<br />
My mother's roots are as Irish as potatoes and whiskey,<br />
as Irish as wooden spoon swords and oat meal,<br />
as Irish as fire and poetry,<br />
and she fed me through those roots.<br />
My mother's roots raised me not to lift hands in anger,<br />
My mother's roots love the earth that surrounds them,<br />
My mother's roots weather storms and cataclysms,<br />
My mother's roots are stubborn,<br />
My mother's roots do not give up,<br />
My mother's roots find hope in the darkness.<br />
<br />
My mother is a tree with roots, branches and leaves.<br />
My mother's branches reach out into the sky,<br />
seeking to catch falling angels before they hit the ground.<br />
My mother's branches spread out to entangle other trees,<br />
creating cradles in the forest.<br />
My mothers branches dip low,<br />
almost touching the ground,<br />
so that they might be climbed by kids searching for heaven.<br />
My mother's branches are shelter from the summer,<br />
My mother's branches are worship and prayer,<br />
My mother's branches protect me,<br />
My mothers branches are a home when I dont deserve one,<br />
My mother's branches do not accept excuses,<br />
My mother's branches are strong enough to hold up a world.<br />
My mother's branches never forget, but always forgive.<br />
<br />
My mother is a tree with roots, branches and leaves.<br />
My mother's leaves do not fall, they float.<br />
The orange touch of autumn is not feared or loathed<br />
See my mother teaches her leaves that for everything there is a season,<br />
but in that admission she sees no reason<br />
to ever accept anything less than justice and love,<br />
My mother loves her leaves like they will never leave her,<br />
My mother's leaves will eventually leave her<br />
My mother's leaves will never be left by her,<br />
My mother's leaves are lifted to be fed by sunshine and freedom,<br />
My mother's leaves catch the wind at just the right angle,<br />
so that they might hear it whisper of beauty and change,<br />
My mother's leaves are unlike that of any other tree,<br />
My mother's leaves love the ground beneath them,<br />
as if from the moment they first tasted air,<br />
they knew that the world was limited and precious,<br />
as if they had been taught about grace and hope and courage,<br />
as if they had grown on a tree,<br />
that loved unconditionally.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-35698406844333600282014-11-30T23:00:00.001-05:002014-11-30T23:00:48.546-05:00Praying to Pecola<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In November of 2011 my sister gave birth,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three months before her due date,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lily came into the world,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she was perfect. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We cradled her,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We whispered in her ear<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We sheltered her<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We held her close against our chests<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We loved her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She had milk chocolate skin,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dark eyes that dared defiance,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And a smile that was entirely too old<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
for someone who arrived three months early.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the three years that have passed since then,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She has been inundated by adjectives:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She has been called sweet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She has been called precious.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She has been called beautiful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We shower her with love, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and dread the day she leaves the house. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We fear the day that she enters the world,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We fear the day she gets called ugly for the first time<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We can see the word on her lips as she echoes it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her mouth unsure,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like tasting a flavor it has not yet encountered<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not a spice, salt or sugar,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something that tastes wholly different<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unlike anything she has ever been exposed to<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The taste of cruelty. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We dread the day she holds up a white doll<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That she will no doubt be handed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By some well meaning charitable white person<o:p></o:p></div>
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And asks, “Why doesn’t she look like me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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We dread the day those eyes,<o:p></o:p></div>
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That once held an unquestionable authority,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Glaze over in tears and confusion,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And wonder if maybe <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their hue is anything less than perfect.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We know this will one day happen<o:p></o:p></div>
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We have heard from prophets like Angelou and Morrison<o:p></o:p></div>
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The stories of an era in which racism<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was worn on sleeves and hoods<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before we hid it away,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Before we buried an empty coffin called it dead <o:p></o:p></div>
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Before we named ourselves post racial<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And pretended the scars our society sliced into humanity<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Had faded into unmarred flesh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They haven’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are less scars than they are scabs<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wounds waiting within our kids<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be torn open <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To spill scarlet once more<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To become infected avulsions<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The broken results of our children trying to pull out<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Beauty standards they had no role in creating<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rotten teeth ideals that both bite and bleed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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We have inundated her with adjectives,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the hopes of using all the space in her heart<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Leaving no room for slurs and slander<o:p></o:p></div>
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Leaving no room for hate and anger<o:p></o:p></div>
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Because she is ours and we have claimed her<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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We will not have her pray for relief from white Jesus<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will not have her weep for blue eyes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We will pray for intercession,<o:p></o:p></div>
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From Pecola, From Claudia, From Frieda<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From Rosa, From Coretta, From Alice,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That God would reach down,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With hands as dark as coffee,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And cradle Lily to her breast,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kiss her like cocoa butter,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until she loves every inch of herself,<o:p></o:p></div>
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As much as we do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-43012135712044053862014-11-10T09:55:00.000-05:002014-11-24T13:47:20.302-05:00A Prayer for Heavy Handed Boys<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My sister told me I had heavy hands.<br />
and it wasn't always my fault<br />
But even play fights were prone to bruising,<br />
and still I am sometimes afraid of my hands.<br />
So I pray at the start of every day:<br />
<br />
Lord grant me the strength,<br />
that these fingers would stretch instead of clench<br />
that these hands would swing not like clubs<br />
but like chariots,<br />
dipping down for a soul that could lead me home.<br />
<br />
Oh great carpenter forgive me,<br />
for every blasphemous profanity<br />
that might escape my lips<br />
at the countless blisters, burns and bruises,<br />
born of a thousand projects<br />
forgive me also,<br />
for those which will not be completed<br />
and keep in my hands the dull desire to create.<br />
<br />
God make it so that the calluses<br />
that I will no doubt collect<br />
will always be the roughest thing about these hands<br />
that even in play, these hands would catch<br />
kids who leap into the air<br />
testing gravity<br />
daring it to slip up for even a moment.<br />
<br />
Oh Mother of God,<br />
make that these hands could be cradles<br />
that they could shelter that which is most precious<br />
that I could give, if even for just a moment<br />
a small modicum of safety.<br />
<br />
Please God,<br />
Let Arthritis riddle my knuckles,<br />
let them become knotted,<br />
let my hands be warped into caricatures,<br />
let them be purposeless with pain,<br />
let them contort themselves beyond recognition,<br />
let them fail to do all that which hands do,<br />
Lord, let them do all this,<br />
before they do what is sometimes too easy for them,<br />
let my hands fall useless at my sides,<br />
before they ever seek to cleave flesh from bone,<br />
before they ever draw blood from its holy sanctuary.<br />
Let my hands never be extensions of violence, God.<br />
<br />
I pray by all my favorite saints and sinners,<br />
that my hands would embody the creative forces of life<br />
Lord let pens and pencils form familiar indents in my hands,<br />
let it be, so that stories and stanzas flow freely<br />
carving valleys into plain pages<br />
let a river of of writing pour forth from these hands,<br />
let ink and graphite stain my my finger tips,<br />
let flowers of unintentional beauty encroach upon these digits<br />
and let me love them for it.<br />
<br />
At all times God<br />
let me hear the faintest whisper,<br />
the sound of my big sister,<br />
reminding me to be careful with these heavy hands.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-40314541199646590092014-11-01T15:23:00.000-04:002014-11-24T13:50:05.202-05:00Things to Remember as I Burn Out<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am in control.<br />
I need to believe this with mind heart and soul,<br />
I need to understand that this will take its toll,<br />
I need to work and work and work towards this goal,<br />
I need to find the diamond hidden in the coal,<br />
I need to push and push and push and make this rock roll.<br />
and maybe it will roll back.<br />
and maybe I will crack<br />
and maybe I'll let this world run me through,<br />
let the weights and fates determine that I didnt do enough,<br />
that I was simply too invested in this bluff,<br />
that I wasn't really that tough,<br />
that I shoulda called it quits when the going went past rough,<br />
and hit that critical point of no return.<br />
where I was too stubborn to learn,<br />
where I was too determined to have any concern,<br />
for the things that creep slowly up and start to burn,<br />
and even as the flames began to lick up around my ears,<br />
I was too proud to extinguish them with tears,<br />
had no time for the warnings of seers ,<br />
was too bold to recognize my fears,<br />
too optimistic waiting for that second when the smoke clears.<br />
When the world would open up before me,<br />
where the arch of the universe bends and I can see,<br />
over mountains and across the sea,<br />
and all the futures there could be,<br />
every accidental opportunity ,<br />
that point between my idealism and rationality,<br />
the imposition of my dreams over reality,<br />
the cut off between desires and morality,<br />
where everything could click with the lightest touch of intentionality.<br />
but here is the problem.<br />
the clearing of smoke is actually rather rare,<br />
and maybe it's true; the cliche that life just isnt fair,<br />
and maybe we will be engulfed in more than our share,<br />
of internal infernos that burn until our bones are laid bare,<br />
leaving us exposed for the world to stare,<br />
at charred skeletons who couldnt stop to care,<br />
about repercussions and conclusions,<br />
who left behind flesh marred by contusions,<br />
and plans that were lost in the midst countless confusions,<br />
in the pursuit of that one perfect solution,<br />
that would grant us a touch of absolution.<br />
for all that we desire is there,<br />
that were we to reach out and take it,<br />
something might change.<br />
but not us.<br />
we who once made our way down to the river,<br />
who waded in without a shiver,<br />
and screamed until the world began to quiver,<br />
until the birds flew off in fright and the trees began to wither.<br />
We who would shout and make demands of Heaven!<br />
who would call for compensation of seventy times seven,<br />
who look upon burgeoning clouds,<br />
and are not satisfied until the floodgates are pulled back,<br />
who take up the title of rain maker,<br />
who seek to be chain breakers,<br />
who could be called earth shakers,<br />
whose voices will cut through smoke and make it clear.<br />
And maybe I will burn out.<br />
But it will not be in silence.<br />
I am in control.<br />
I walk out from underneath rocks which would roll,<br />
tread on diamonds that were once coal<br />
and even if all that is left is a charred skeleton,<br />
I was told that every skull has its grin,<br />
and Yorick and I are in on this joke,<br />
I will cough but will not choke,<br />
as I step through this smoke<br />
and change the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-20058544026619402282014-07-18T13:45:00.000-04:002020-06-07T15:03:37.175-04:00The Sounds of Summer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have had a long term love hate relationship with summer,<br />
between the whale like blubber that I need to get through the long winter months,<br />
and my propensity for sweating when I do anything more active than lounging,<br />
that period of May through September gets a little hard for me.<br />
That being said I love swimming, and playing outside,<br />
I am somewhere between a Labrador retriever and a 5 year old,<br />
in terms of my enthusiasm for bouncing off of walls<br />
and then out of the house<br />
For a time summer meant<br />
crashing through the perennially broken screen door,<br />
Out into sunshine and scraped knees<br />
Out into all the bruises and bumps that are part of growing up,<br />
The loudest thing from my childhood was for a long time the sound of that screen door slamming.<br />
<br />
Until it wasn't.<br />
<br />
I don't remember how old I was the first time I heard a gun shot echo off the buildings in my city.<br />
I don't remember at what age I became able to determine between fireworks and firearms.<br />
nor do I recall exactly when the impulse to duck became second nature.<br />
but eventually it did.<br />
Flinching and twitching,<br />
dodging my way through the world,<br />
I could never tell if it was the ADD acting up again<br />
Or if my body was simply dodging bullets that weren't there.<br />
I grew to hate silence,<br />
if for no other reason than that it shatters<br />
With edges like broken glass<br />
So I wear sounds like they are a second skin<br />
I surround myself in constant din<br />
and I will never let the quiet in.<br />
I sleep soundly through both sirens and thunder<br />
but even then I have to wonder<br />
because even dreams can be torn asunder.<br />
and I fear being cut apart by broken peaces<br />
of temporary twilight truces<br />
<br />
Summers are scary.<br />
There is a direct correlation between ice cream sales and gun violence<br />
This is a reflection of an awful urban lesson<br />
City kids grow up learning a sick sense of duality<br />
It is a rather warped reality<br />
to relish the vacation like every other kid<br />
but keep in the back of the mind,<br />
the knowledge that long summer shadows<br />
hide many things<br />
like bullets<br />
like silence<br />
and both of them scare me.<br />
And I don't know what's worse.<br />
The silence of peers<br />
or the sounds of their screams?<br />
I grasp at my ears<br />
and they burst at the seams,<br />
It's just how it be, That's just what I see, It's just as it seems.<br />
And what worse than a bullet,<br />
is the hand the sends it<br />
malignant muscle memory<br />
and it's impact on the senses<br />
bullets cross border and cultures,<br />
and bridges and fences.<br />
Tell me why they can't mark that on the census?<br />
<br />
So we sleep through the night when we can,<br />
and we roam the streets when we cant.<br />
Wish it were that only the gods own thunder<br />
could wrench the sky and disturb my slumber<br />
but right now, the cops and their kind got my city down under.<br />
<br />
And even though my home is as quiet as it has ever been,<br />
for the first time in my life I can't sleep past ten<br />
and my alarm doesnt come from a phone or clock<br />
My sleep isn't killed by guns on the block<br />
but by badges in the street<br />
and pain in my feet<br />
and the point in my brain<br />
where my shame and my pride meet.<br />
We march because we hurt,<br />
We fight because it works.<br />
We lose because our curse.<br />
Our wounds will never be as deep as Uncle Sam's purse.<br />
Our ride will never be as smooth as the graveman's hearse<br />
We will never be they who come first<br />
Because that's America at its worst<br />
patriotism nationalism and pseudofacism,<br />
Secure in our faith that the State wont come for us<br />
That the hands of fate dont lust for us<br />
That our family has trusted us<br />
enough to know our secrets and failures,<br />
enough to know that we're in hell here,<br />
enough that they would never send us to the counselor.<br />
That's the trick ain't it?<br />
everybody's broken<br />
there pride in their silence,<br />
their demons unspoken,<br />
the violence of choking<br />
their fire slow smoking<br />
they'll say theyre just joking,<br />
but they dont understand<br />
the coals theyre stoking<br />
<br />
I don't have any answers,<br />
I dont sleep easy,<br />
I might get cancer,<br />
I might like yeezy,<br />
I'm as dumb as rock,<br />
and mute as stone,<br />
But if you come round my block,<br />
you can see I'm not alone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-60466684882174443512014-03-24T01:28:00.001-04:002014-03-24T10:57:36.574-04:00Compulsive Masculinity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the era of unrealistic standards for women,<br />
With the plastic precision of barbie dolls, <br />
and the physically impossible bust to waist ratio of Laura Croft<br />
where the only thing that mirrors the warped results of a first attempt at photoshop<br />
is the very standard that editing is trying to match.<br />
We cannot ignore the corner that women in our society are literally being painted into,<br />
but we also cannot ignore the reciprocal for our young men.<br />
For every scantly clad, computer generated model on the cover of a magazine<br />
there is an action figure being placed into the hands of a little boy.<br />
That action figure has hands that are forever closed fists<br />
that action figure comes complete with kung-fu kicks<br />
that action figure is telling that little boy the exact opposite<br />
of everything I have ever been taught to tell kids<br />
See my kids have mantras that they echo around the classroom<br />
"Hands are not for hitting"<br />
"You can't just take that from me"<br />
"I need help please"<br />
That action figure, and the movies that spawned him<br />
they tell kids that asking for help is for the weak,<br />
they tell kids that the quickest way to solve the problem<br />
is a combination closed fists, bullets and explosives,<br />
and you can be damn sure whatever you want is always for the taking<br />
<br />
I want us to remember and weep<br />
for every little boy whose dreams are stained red<br />
by the bloody myth of redemptive violence<br />
whose games are permeated by deus ex machina guns<br />
whose bullets only penetrate the bad guys.<br />
I want to tell these kids bad guys only exist in nightmares<br />
and political campaign speeches<br />
but then I would have to explain to them what politics are<br />
and there are rules about using filthy language around kids.<br />
I want us to remember and weep<br />
because damnit, it is OK to cry sometimes<br />
Despite every movie, every adult, every cultural representation of MAN<br />
that tells us boys dont cry<br />
that tells us boys are meant to fight<br />
that tells us boys are meant to chase down women or objects<br />
that tells us boys are meant not to know the difference between the two<br />
that tells us boys are all biceps and bravado<br />
and it makes me sad that at age four,<br />
I can already see boys looking at their hands and forgetting what they're for<br />
so I want to remind them:<br />
Guys, hands are not for hitting even when it seems like your heart is just for hurting,<br />
they're for holding and writing and making<br />
and even though you'll never see a Michelangelo action figure<br />
with realistic brush stroke action,<br />
or an MLK video game where players hold signs while marching and write speeches<br />
that change a country<br />
you can know that your hands are not molded into plastic fists<br />
I want to remind them:<br />
Guys, they can't just take it from you, your innocence and believe me they're coming for it,<br />
they want to take it from you, replace it with extra helpings of testosterone and misogyny<br />
but you can't let them.<br />
Hold onto your hope,<br />
because even though no one wakes up thinking:<br />
"today I will tell a boy that manning up means hiding behind guns and knuckles<br />
and forgetting any kind of empathy"<br />
that seems to be the lesson the world has to offer<br />
I want to remind them:<br />
Guys, it's OK to ask for help, if we are helped when we need it and help when we are needed this whole world thing works, and I dont know of any obstacle that isn't lighter with an extra pair of hands.<br />
<br />
But I can't say these things to four year olds,<br />
I can only say them to you.<br />
We've been sold on this definition of MAN for far too long<br />
it's about time we asked for our money back<br />
it's about time we canceled our societal subscription to compulsive masculinity.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-75483348464158429892014-01-22T00:31:00.001-05:002014-09-05T01:27:31.609-04:00Patchwork <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I couldn't count on fingers, toes and teeth<br />
the number of times she's crossed my mind<br />
or the number of times that I have played blind<br />
like I didn't notice her the <i>second</i> she walked in<br />
like the lights didn't suddenly go dim<br />
like my mouth wasn't suddenly filled to the brim<br />
with every single not worth her time pick up line<br />
that I held back, with a stupid grin to hide behind<br />
cause for once in my life,<br />
I'm too scared or to scarred to say anything.<br />
Nowadays I am just a remnant.<br />
I am the eraser shavings and smudged ink of every love story I've ever been written out of<br />
I am the discarded candy wrappers of every sweet nothing I have ever whispered in someones ear<br />
I am the shadow of every bruise left by a bad idea that got the better of me<br />
I am one third the man I was when I met her<br />
One third the man I wish I was when I met her<br />
One third the man I have been trying to be since I met her<br />
and for some reason in spite of every math class I've ever slept through,<br />
all those parts haven't added up to a whole<br />
somehow I am the remainder of one too many long divisions<br />
far too many bad decisions<br />
six or seven off the cuff clumsy incisions<br />
cutting myself apart to get out of everyday awkward positions<br />
that I, unlike most folks cant get a grip on,<br />
the stuff people walk over, I'm more likely to trip on<br />
but I'm bottoms up on on what the rest wont even sip on<br />
my shoulders hold just enough weight, theres no space to put a chip on<br />
and still I'm no good at tying knots, so I'll stick to the clip on<br />
but still.<br />
I am catching myself getting caught on of the corners of her smile<br />
I am letting myself get lost at the edges of her laughter<br />
She's got me think about everything before and after<br />
and everything in between<br />
and somehow it would seem<br />
and I am just now starting to dream<br />
that she is interested in things that are less than whole<br />
that maybe she is waiting with love for a patchwork soul<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-46263713071850662382013-10-25T12:37:00.000-04:002020-07-11T11:20:56.852-04:00These Were Yours<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
1. The little wooden box you gave me, so small it could fit in a preschooler's pocket, but you said it was bigger on the inside and could hold all your kisses. I'm sorry if it smells bad, I kept it with me and I think the kisses expired. Were those meant to be refrigerated? Because clearly I am not cool enough for you.<br />
<br />
2. This is a bag filled with dust that gathered on top of the two letters you sent me. I ended up collecting a lot because no new letters ever arrived to displace it, and if you open that bag you'll catch the scent of staleness, like something that has been waiting for anything.<br />
<br />
3. This is a box filled with all my gift ideas. If you move aside those flowers you can look on the bottom for the ones I put a lot of thought into. I had us planned straight through valentines day. Actually wait... maybe I'll hold on to these and distribute them to our mutual friends because part of me still thinks you deserve nice things.<br />
<br />
4. Here is a thimble. I filled it with all my anger packed it in tight and now I wont have to yell at you. I wont have to scream you how unfair it is to treat someone this way. Keep your thumb over that one real tight, otherwise some unorthodox language might leak out and offend passersby.<br />
<br />
5. Here are the transcripts from every conversation I had with cousins, aunt, uncles, telling them how great you were, how happy we were and how sometime soon you'd come back east and meet all of them.<br />
<br />
6. Here is the bottle of shame from having to go back to those cousins, aunts and uncles and explain that maybe we werent as happy as I had thought, yea you were pretty great but no you're not coming back east anytime soon. I know it looks like an empty whiskey bottle filled with vinegar and rubbing alcohol, but hey I'm a cheapskate. I use the materials that surround me, and I'm not going to a store to by a bottle that will cork nicely and sit on a shelf, because this is not fermented embarrassment that I will hold on to for years until I pull it from an emotional cellar one day and say "man 2013, that was a good vintage, a good year for looking like a fool." This is gas station shame, 200 proof that I will throw back at a party and make some bad decisions with.<br />
<br />
7. Now this one is squirmy so hold on to it really tight, it's all of our nicknames, inside jokes and secrets. I kept them. Even though a small part of me wanted to release them into the wild, and by the wild I mean facebook, I decided that I'm better than that. I can be better than that.<br />
<br />
8. These are all my questions, they're mostly why's, "why did you do it?" "why did you do it over the phone?", "why did you do it over the phone at midnight?" "why didn't I see this coming?" "why couldn't you wait and make eye contact with me?" A few 'Whats' "What were you thinking?" "What could I have done?" "What should I have thought?" "What will happen next?" some whens: "When will this stop hurting?" "When will I be able to look at you without the coal in my stomach heating up?" "Since when is ok to treat someone this way?" "when will I be alright?" there are two 'wheres' "Where were you when you decided i wasn't good enough for you?" And "where will hide now?" oh I didnt even notice all these 'hows' "how could you?""HOW COULD YOU?" "how...could you?" oh wait no there arent that many, just that same one in different sizes. Finally, and I dont want to admit I have been asking this because I like to think I know you better...but there's one who. "Who is he, and is he bigger than me? cause I could probably totally kick his ass!"<br />
<br />
9. This is a bookshelf. It has a dictionary, a thesaurus, a set of encyclopedias anthologies of poetry by Neruda, By frost, By Atwood, by every slam poet I asked you to watch with me while I said things like "THAT RIGHT THERE IS HOW I FEEL AND IT IS NOT RIGHT OR WRONG IT JUST IS!" There is a set of Shakespearean tragedies for perspective on bad relationships, there is a lecture my dad gave me on the weight of words, and somewhere in this mix there is a manual on how to hug just tight enough. I want you go through that shelf slowly. Go through it all. Because we threw "I love you" around and I'm not sure you get the concept and that is not your fault, there is a learning curve.<br />
<br />
10. Finally, here is a plastic smile. I have one just like it and when we're in public we can wear them and match. No one will have to no how I'm dying inside. You might not need this, you have a pretty good one you used with me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-65963973381227082652013-10-07T01:14:00.002-04:002013-10-07T01:14:45.406-04:00Calling Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I called Mom on a Tuesday night and said,<br />
"Hey ma, how are things back home?"<br />
She said "well you know your dad is hurt,<br />
and of course he is, he always has some ache in brain or bone<br />
he likes to believe he is indestructible, made from stone<br />
your brother still talks is that broken glass tone,<br />
and every time I look away you and him are a little to grown<br />
and sometimes I scared that I'll be alone."<br />
And its funny, cause as <i>cheerful</i> as that all sounds, it's exactly where I want to be,<br />
and my Mom knows it.<br />
Mom can hear in silence, like bats see in the dark and she asks me what's wrong<br />
and I start to sing her the same old song,<br />
Classes are fine, I am managing time and my friends and I all get along.<br />
But my mouth has a mind of its own and before I can stop I say:<br />
"I'm sick ma, I've got a fever and it's bad,<br />
I can't see the sun cause the clouds in my head are so damn sad,<br />
and I cant even get out of bed without feeling so mad."<br />
And being the Mom she was always meant to be<br />
she speaks a special remedy<br />
she says "Listen that's not a fever, youre just sweating the small stuff,<br />
And as for the clouds, theyre an invitation to quit when the going gets tough,<br />
and the only reason you cant get out of bed is that you're not dreaming enough."<br />
She says here talk to your dad,<br />
and before I can say no his voice pours over the phone<br />
"Listen pal I know your anxious, but God knew that too,<br />
so he left a reminder in our blood to B+,<br />
if youre ever unsure enter into the interrogative,<br />
with someone who lives of their own prerogative,<br />
cause they're the folks who show you how to live."<br />
I listen to the man who taught me how to throw a baseball<br />
like he was some type of guru with answers to it all<br />
as if from damn near 1000 miles away he could reach through a call<br />
and catch me just as I am about to fall<br />
but then I remember that is not dad's style<br />
this is the main who taught me to ride a bike by pushing me down a hill<br />
I stayed balanced but couldnt figure the brakes<br />
thats part of the way dad teaches he shows me my mistakes<br />
he points them out with labels like bandaids on all my scrapes<br />
and then I speak up "Dad I cant deal with these people there all fakes!"<br />
"No kid, they're not, they're doing what you should, whatever it takes."<br />
I know he's right<br />
I know for just about everyone, every day is a fight<br />
and that most people might<br />
if they could, say "listen kid it'll be alright"<br />
Over the static on the phone I hear my dog barking<br />
I can hear the broken glass yelling<br />
and dad sighing<br />
he's hurt<br />
of course he's hurt he always has some ache in brain or bone<br />
he is accident prone<br />
but dad is responsible<br />
he remembers his accidents even when they call on the phone<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-15205464556467299122013-10-07T00:49:00.000-04:002013-10-07T00:49:00.298-04:00Am(en)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I tell people how to say my name,<br />
I have a script,<br />
and I hand it out like a favorite page of the Bible I ripped.<br />
"It's Ammon.<br />
sounds like someone yelling back to the pastor<br />
and I'm a religion major so it works."<br />
What I dont say is:<br />
I am the legs put to my parents my parents prayers,<br />
When I walk hallways, hallelujahs echo in my footsteps,<br />
and when I scream for help, Hosanna haunts the back of my throat<br />
and I have always screamed.<br />
See I was a colic baby .<br />
that means I screamed for at least three hours a day,<br />
three days a week<br />
for at least three weeks<br />
in the first month of my life.<br />
Ma says it because I had a voice before I knew how to speak,<br />
so when I grew up in churches of yelling<br />
of liberation<br />
of "free me from my chains oh LORD!"<br />
It was a language I was already fluent in.<br />
I am bilingual.<br />
I speak English well,<br />
but my first language is pissed off child of God.<br />
That dialect is not available on google translate<br />
and every poem I write is first spoken in my native tongue<br />
so when my lines<br />
dont rhyme<br />
or dont keep time<br />
be aware that this is not how they were first sung.<br />
<br />
Left out of every introduction is the fact that:<br />
I am the accidental testamental that Ma and Pop put out there<br />
I am the unexpected blessing, no less loved as a surprise<br />
I am mom's sense of humor with dad's fire in the eyes<br />
I am the heir to the legacy<br />
of there is no time to wait and see,<br />
I am the younger brother to give 'em hell for me<br />
I am steeped in all kinds of prophecy<br />
like promises that I'm going nowhere with that degree<br />
<br />
I guess what is left out when I tell people I study religion,<br />
Is the fact there is no irony<br />
that my name sounds like it belongs at the end of Our Fathers and Hail Marys<br />
my name is the weight I have carried<br />
my name is the light that will not be buried<br />
my name is the one man revolution<br />
my name is the celtic knot in the mystic tradition<br />
my name is all the defiance and lack of inhibition.<br />
<br />
My name is Amen.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-35646140212839561392013-08-20T22:31:00.002-04:002013-09-09T18:09:12.504-04:00Silent Language<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There's something I need to say,<br />
Words spoken in the language of silence<br />
sighs that slip into unspoken soliloquies<br />
that carry me to the edge of a stage<br />
that might as well be a cliff<br />
and I cling to every 'if'<br />
like a man fearing death clenches his crucifix<br />
or a junkie on the corner clutches his fix,<br />
I'm like the child of revolution raising my fist<br />
my gesture says more than any single speech ever could<br />
and I swear my heart bleeds more than I ever said it would<br />
I let it lead more times than I should,<br />
and I want to let my head take control,<br />
but the heart holds the soul,<br />
which defies reason<br />
and like the changing of the season<br />
it never stays cold,<br />
but does once wither and freeze,<br />
and I'm begging you please,<br />
see past the ice and wait for the thaw<br />
and now that even the unruled heart obeys one law:<br />
that it must change.<br />
and even though right now I am at the wrong end of this shooting range<br />
I might yet turn a new page<br />
and I know you're feeling a bit forsaken<br />
you've been left by friends<br />
that promised ends<br />
but had not the means to hold them to the bitter finale<br />
and if you're keeping track in your tally<br />
the dashes and slashes<br />
have turned into stabs and slices<br />
from a blade that was made<br />
with a goodbye bade<br />
while a farewell was never proffered in trade<br />
because some fires simply don't fade<br />
but grow,<br />
fanned by sighs holding soliloquies<br />
and breaths that deny the heart its intentions.<br />
So listen to this language of silence,<br />
of forlorn fingers<br />
and looks that linger<br />
and know<br />
your heart holds a home in mine.<br />
<br />
<br />
Poet's Note:<br />
I wrote this over a year ago, posted it in a video of poor quality and thought that was enough. So here is the written version<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-5648411902113466642013-08-02T19:31:00.002-04:002013-09-09T18:09:34.334-04:00A Recipe For Start<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
From grades 6 to 12 I was always familiar with the administration,<br />
and trust me it was not because they wanted to show appreciation,<br />
generally I was faced with aggravation<br />
or poorly disguised attempts at intimidation<br />
which I could always shrug off without the least bit trepidation,<br />
because by 13 the lie I told was an easy one:<br />
"I'm sorry." <br />
I often came home to the line "You know, you're teacher called today."<br />
and went to bed to the line "You always have something to say."<br />
It was ironic criticism coming from professional activists' <br />
who would always say after shutting the door "we did name him for an anarchist..."<br />
<br />
By 15 I could identify and diagnose a mark at 30 yards,<br />
they usually had me pegged at 50,<br />
They knew I was the kid that never learned he should be seen and not heard, <br />
They knew I was the kid that didn't get beaten for back talk,<br />
Because for every smart mouth wise crack, mom had a come back word<br />
or two, or three,<br />
So it went that, every figure of authority,<br />
Pegged down a a part of me<br />
There were those that <i>knew</i> I was a trouble maker,<br />
but also an instigator,<br />
on top of that a procrastinator,<br />
and thus they tried to run me like a dictator.<br />
and wouldn't give me the time of day,<br />
but would throw it like a knife,<br />
yelling "ABOUT DAMN TIME TO GET A WATCH!"<br />
Then there were those that let me play the role of entertainer<br />
like a solid comic that they kept on retainer<br />
and for me it was a no brainer,<br />
I liked the laughs, with jokes all things are better.<br />
But my best teachers knew what to expect.<br />
They never had to demand respect,<br />
That they earned, only yelling to be direct,<br />
These were the ones who would scratch out<br />
"Trouble" on tests and write in "difference maker"<br />
gave me the tools to preach peace with Mennonites and Quakers<br />
Recognized I came from a long line of movers and shakers<br />
Like my ma, they taught don't give up but meet halfway with takers<br />
They took me off using labels like "haters"<br />
Pointed out people are just needers<br />
those who help them are leaders<br />
those who prey upon them? conflict breeders<br />
and if you care enough to be an interceder<br />
then get in on their behalf,<br />
gave encouragement to use my gifts and make 'em laugh<br />
they were honest saying:<br />
"sometimes you'll get the shaft.<br />
but never, never stop giving what you have,<br />
the truth. Not all of it, not even most of it, a small part<br />
but with that, a steady heart<br />
a touch of art<br />
you can go and fill your shopping cart<br />
get all your favorite ingredients<br />
because you've got what you need<br />
to make a start."<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-84610511517635998742013-05-23T17:45:00.001-04:002013-09-09T18:09:48.442-04:00Weeds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Growing up my neighbors had a perfectly manicured lawn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No scratch that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My Neighbors had Mani-Pedi day at the salon type lawn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With grass so green it hurt to look at it,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mowed so precisely it would cut your feet to walk on it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My lawn growing up was not so. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My front yard was characterized by a tree, a couple flower
beds, patches of dirt and most importantly dandelions<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I loved our dandelions, they were wishes, countless wishes,
which would ride winds, to find new homes and grow into the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They were hope incarnate,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sticky chocolate cheeks puffed out,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A lung full of desire<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And a mouthful of promise<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And enough naiveté to think that a breath could speak wants
into existence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still blow on dandelions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a world where wishes are rejected by realists<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where neighbors yell about flowers blown onto their lawn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where people say “get real” but instead of it being
encouragement to will wishes into reality
it is a condemnation saying settle for mediocrity<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People tell me “Those are weeds, not flowers”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What defines a weed?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It grows when unwanted,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s tough to kill<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if you want to fit in, they’ve got to go<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But if I cared about fitting in, this would be a poem about
puzzles not dandelions<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So let me tell you, I will blow on dandelions until age
steals the breath I have<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And will not only abstain from weed killers, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But will cultivate wishes for my kids<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if I look into it I will sip the wine of fermented
wishes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Get drunk on possibility<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And run out at night <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stage an assault on normalcy and conformity<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And blow dreams and desires on to manicured lawns<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And when yellow hopes blossom in emerald deserts<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone will say “Man, those things turn up everywhere”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-55316686665552364052013-05-22T23:48:00.001-04:002013-09-09T18:10:04.404-04:00Blinded<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There’s
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Apparently,
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Someone
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It
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Sometimes,
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not
knowing kids believe in the liberty of yellow latex,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
and
want nothing more than proof that things can fly,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
I
steal glances at the sun. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
And
when I look away, the sun is still printed on my vision.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
So
I think<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
If
it’s true<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
That
the sun doesn’t steal your sight if you look at it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
It
is simply so beautiful that looking at it so closely<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
Means your
eyes will never want to see again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
It
makes me think about you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
How
after I hold your hand my fingers seem to stop working<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
Almost
like ten digits are protesting<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
Telling
me that they’ve found a home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
Or
how food tastes like ashes in the wake of your lips<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
And
my lungs are sanctioning oxygen since breathing you in. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
And
how my feet have a mind of their own, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
and
I can’t walk anywhere without first taking a few steps towards wherever you are<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
I’m
not saying I’ve gone blind since looking in your eyes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
But
I’m saying I have found a movie I never want to stop watching there<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
I’m
not saying I’ve gone blind since playing connect the dots with the
constellations of your freckles,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
But,
I’m saying I’ve found a game that I will always win<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
I
haven’t gone deaf since I heard you laugh<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
But
I’m saying I’ve found a song with a melody that always changes and unfamiliar
lyrics that I want to learn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
I’m
saying that ever since I saw you light up<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
I’ve
been watching<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
Because
I believe in the liberty of yellow latex<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
And
proof that things can fly<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
And
every since I started stealing glances at you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 75.35pt; text-align: center;">
You’ve
been imprinted on my eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-79010584475261656092013-04-28T03:46:00.002-04:002013-09-09T18:10:16.501-04:00Sublimation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sublimation describes the process in which a substance goes from a solid state to a gaseous one, without first melting and becoming liquid.<br />
Think dry ice--<br />
but dont because it's far too cold.<br />
Think of something less scientific,<br />
like stock in gold!<br />
It's shining, beautiful solid but not really.<br />
You can hold it with finger tips,<br />
and let it go with computer clicks<br />
It's the idea of something precious,,<br />
but you are not something to be bought or sold.<br />
I know I must sound silly,<br />
and this is me, no really,<br />
this is me coming to terms that you are not mine to hold.<br />
Not in that our relationship is ending<br />
more in that it changing,<br />
where once it sat in the midst of hands holding<br />
fingers twining, boy bands whining,<br />
now it travels in letters ill be sending<br />
and in hopes ill be lending<br />
to you<br />
in case you get a little hopeless<br />
but note those are not for keeps ill need them back<br />
at some point along the way<br />
not tomorrow nor the next day<br />
but eventually.<br />
Cause I get a little hopeless sometimes.<br />
Im sorry that this will be joining a long line<br />
of overused overlapping rhymes<br />
that use pretty similar combinations of the words:<br />
"smile" and "mile" and "see you in a while"<br />
all to convey the same message:<br />
You're far away, and I still love you.<br />
You're disappearing like dry ice,<br />
but less cold,<br />
think sunshine on reddish blonde hair.<br />
and lets take a second to appreciate the fact<br />
that the phrase the world coined was strawberry blonde<br />
because the other option was cherry.<br />
I fucking hate cherries.<br />
I much prefer strawberries,<br />
My dad thought I was nutrient deficient so I had strawberries almost every morning.<br />
I was an obstinent kid and would always resist.<br />
When I complained my dad would sprinkle sugar on them,<br />
like he could make strawberries sweeter.<br />
And I cant wait till he meets you<br />
because he was preparing me for something that is sweeter<br />
sweeter than southern ice tea<br />
sweeter than the scent of summer pine trees<br />
sweeter than syrup spread generously<br />
sweeter than hive robbing fingers covered in honey<br />
sweeter than light blue cotton candy<br />
like he was telling me:<br />
listen pal one day you'll meet her,<br />
the girl sweeter than strawberries,<br />
she'll taste like this.<br />
Sublimation describes the process in which a substance goes from a solid state to a gaseous one with out first melting and becoming a liquid.<br />
Think a beautiful girl.<br />
Who is sweeter than strawberries.<br />
Who is slipping through my fingers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-4341202143698113812012-12-01T15:45:00.001-05:002013-04-28T14:44:47.207-04:00Evenor Marquez<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For this poem, we are going to leave out the numbers,<br />
Not because I think you're dumb,<br />
but instead because I think numbers leave you numb.<br />
Instead, I'll give you a name.<br />
This name may have more power than any statistic ever could,<br />
This name holds more weight in my heart than any human should.<br />
This name I cannot attach to a place,<br />
nor when it comes to mind can I see a face.<br />
In five syllables it holds more pain,<br />
than any set of thumbscrews could ever gain,<br />
it holds not title, it lacks any fame,<br />
a problem I seek to remedy without any shame,<br />
I have never met the man who owned this name,<br />
but despite that fact, I will still proclaim,<br />
Evenor Marquez.<br />
Presente<br />
I picked his name from a long list,<br />
and since I did I've been called everything from an idiot to an idealist<br />
I've been faced with fascists that would paint themselves as realists<br />
Using a patronizing patriotic voice to tell what the deal is:<br />
that sometimes violence is the answer, well tell me if you can feel this<br />
Id drop books before bombs,<br />
and replace battle cries with psalms,<br />
turn the tide in seas of battle to tranquil calms.<br />
and keep kids in the arms of their moms.<br />
I'd put the power of peace before brutality and blades<br />
throw words in place of shrapnel and hand grenades<br />
shut down a school that hands out bullets instead of grades,<br />
all because of this one name which never fades.<br />
Evenor Marquez.<br />
Presente.<br />
As we stand here tonight<br />
we may drive out darkness with light<br />
because we have been given ways to be bright<br />
because we know how to act in the right<br />
We could tools from Tesla and from Edison<br />
as our most efficient and strongest medicine<br />
to drive out shadows that plague our kin<br />
we must read the stories in the scars on their skin<br />
we make music with their grief, an almighty din<br />
I will not allow myself wallow, hopeless in sin<br />
all because of one name:<br />
Evenor Marquez.<br />
Presente.<br />
I could give you books of many a martyr and saint,<br />
name the men who sought not lead but to dominate,<br />
but none of these names could my point demonstrate,<br />
nor could they the crooked, cruel, culprits incriminate,<br />
no i will give you the source from where the problems emanate,<br />
it is we, the people cannot control our state.<br />
I'm calling us all out now because there is response I seek to agitate,<br />
I wish us to get past political promises that seek to placate,<br />
I want us to be people they cannot easily sedate,<br />
Because there are those that to us have chaine their fate.<br />
If you're still unsure think of those for whom it's too late,<br />
Evenor Marquez.<br />
Presente.<br />
I am here tonight because of a name that is with me every day,<br />
as constant as the cracks in my joints as I kneel to pray.<br />
It is tacked on to my tongue and every word that I lay,<br />
I am here because I hold a hope that somehow someway,<br />
there be someone somewhere someday will say,<br />
Evenor Marquez.<br />
Presente.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-53151289201988608882012-11-21T15:54:00.000-05:002012-11-21T15:55:29.988-05:00American Skills<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We are good at a few things here in America.<br />
First of all we're good at killing,<br />
follow up on that and we're good at billing,<br />
which in the case of the poor, is essentially killing,<br />
so like I said, here in America, we're good at killing,<br />
and when you think about it, it's awfully chilling<br />
that we focus on murder when we could be filling<br />
empty stomachs and cracks in the wall,<br />
and some of you dont understand at all,<br />
how long and how low some kids must crawl,<br />
looking up to men who snatch purses drop verses or know who to ball,<br />
and it's ironic that despite being so low, they still have so far to fall,<br />
I'm inspired by the kids who manage to deny death,<br />
with each and every embattled bailout breath,<br />
now I dont want you to be confused,<br />
I reference not the money with which the economy was infused,<br />
with my subjects the politicians are far less enthused,<br />
and that is why a presidents bipartisan bullshit promises leave me unamused.<br />
We need to get past this pulled up by boot straps mentality,<br />
come on people there is no such thing as meritocracy.<br />
I protest the pund of my flesh versus coins held preciously,<br />
because if there is anything else we're goo at in America, it's defying authority.<br />
I dare you to price check my labor, you couldn't possibly pay my fee,<br />
if for no other reason, than the fact that it is imaginary.<br />
Here have some advice, have no fear it's free,<br />
try a taste of the American Identity,<br />
Fuck the system.</div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-63523583995332734752012-11-21T14:47:00.000-05:002012-11-21T15:56:00.086-05:00In Defense of Stray Thoughts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Thoughts are not clouds against the sky, they push up against my feet so I say they are the ground.<br />
Watch as illusions, conclusions and contusions blossom when from my lips leak creation sound.<br />
Words wielded as weapons are no more weak when whispered, or so I have found,<br />
thus it is neither volume nor vibration, but thought to which the soul is bound.<br />
I am not mindful nor am I mindless,<br />
don't confuse my distraction as being thoughtless,<br />
my scattered psyche and tangent trails are a form of progress.<br />
Moving on from a single volition is not a symptom of weak decision, I must confess,<br />
had I not divergent dedication and meandering meditation I would need medication and be pointless.<br />
There are those who would have me be pointless though,<br />
and if I were we would never grow.<br />
I do not want to simply hand out lines for you to toe,<br />
nor do I was to hand out neatly wrapped gifts tied with a bow.<br />
See I would rather have you say "I think" rather than "I know."<br />
How many times have I heard: "You got somethin' kid so with your points be blunt."<br />
Sadly, my mind does not speak in gesture and grunt.<br />
You could learn lessons from non-linear lyrics that loop backwards like they're asking "why only approach from the front."<br />
Don't tell me that my mind is tattered,<br />
because I have never thought that mattered,<br />
and it was never simplicity with which woeful worlds were shattered.<br />
I am told that I have a problem with ambiguity,<br />
probably because I seek to make a throne for it in my poetry,<br />
and I am fond of double entendre, which means I lack maturity.<br />
I seek to make you question mind, soul and authority.<br />
How is this for a work out? Can you flex your morality?<br />
Are you no longer relishing this relative reality?<br />
Are you enjoying this taste of true authenticity?<br />
Come and join me in the writing community.<br />
I understand if your can't get a grip or handle me,<br />
but if you do see yourself as sky, strong, blue and free,<br />
than I hope I have done nothing else than made you cloudy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-86027768385492960282012-11-12T11:35:00.000-05:002013-05-23T18:23:08.069-04:00Mary's Light<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I think that everyone is afraid of the dark,<br />
but, I was still ashamed of my Mother Mary night light.<br />
So much so that once out of sheer peer induced 6 year old bravado,<br />
I unplugged her,<br />
that night as I lay in bed, of nothing was I sure.<br />
In fact I probably would have cried,<br />
if not for on of my city's thousand street lights.<br />
At age six those lights tinge everything gold.<br />
It was a comfort really,<br />
and not to get all touchy feely,<br />
but it made me feel not so alone,<br />
like if I curled exactly where the light shone<br />
The monsters couldn't get me.<br />
<br />
Nowadays the lights tinge everything orange.<br />
Kind of like it has been dark so long that the shadows themselves have started to rust.<br />
It's kind of funny that of all the things the night could become, it became oxidized,<br />
because it seems like oxygen has been less than abundant lately,<br />
My lungs are saturated with exhaust fumes,<br />
and I scrape my feet before coming inside,<br />
lest I leave a trail of carbon foot prints leading to my door.<br />
Then I have to shake the orange flakes from my shadow,<br />
cause we dont want that decay on the floor.<br />
<br />
I take up my position beneath a skylight,<br />
and wonder if maybe the night didn't rust,<br />
but was obscured by the trapped in amber dreams.<br />
Dreams people let go of in trade for things like job assurance or self confidence.<br />
then instead of the night rusting it's burning,<br />
because after all, what is more flammable than a dream?<br />
and what is more flame retardent than gun powder?<br />
Cause I dont know anything that can douse an abstract ember faster,<br />
than a misplaced bullet... unless it was a well aimed one.<br />
Wouldn't be ironic if we armed fire fighters with these most fantastic extinguishers?<br />
Send out the kids who never let go of their bright red toy truck ideals,<br />
and let them deal with the blazing detritus of abandoned aspirations.<br />
<br />
I think everyone is afraid of the dark,<br />
so I understand why someone would give up a dream<br />
light it with a cigarette<br />
pulled from a pack called regret,<br />
a pact they never thought they'd get.<br />
Then curl up on the edge of the pyre,<br />
thinking silly thoughts like:<br />
"Maybe if I lie right here the monsters wont get me."<br />
<br />
It doesn't matter that it has been more than a decade since I unplugged the maiden Mary.<br />
I am still afraid of monsters.<br />
Boogeymen named failure and solitude,<br />
who have long dirty claws that scrape at rib cages,<br />
and the space just behind my eyes.<br />
I'm far too old not to believe in evil.<br />
Far too old to think that a:<br />
"Hail Mary, full of grace!"<br />
could put bold monsters in their place.<br />
I'm far too young not to try it anyways.<br />
Isn't that why anyone prays?<br />
because the plausible and the possible have been played,<br />
and all that remains is grace.<br />
<br />
At this point, most hope has been painted to black doom,<br />
with soot from dreams burned up in exhaust fumes,<br />
and breaths that were eaten up by the oxidized gloom.<br />
<br />
So scared of the dark am I,<br />
that the first time I experienced true night<br />
the kind speckled with stars that inspire,<br />
boys to tell sweet and sweaty lies<br />
to get girls to open not yet ready thighs,<br />
All I could think was that here hide all the monsters I despise,<br />
here where the night is new and free of rust<br />
the monsters have their time to bide,<br />
and no number of fiery dreams could have that night defied.<br />
I surpassed terrified and became petrified,<br />
my body was now a cave,<br />
and if one were feeling brave,<br />
they could have read the message carved into the stone of my rib cage<br />
"Do not waste your time, this one wont be saved."<br />
<br />
I think that everyone is afraid of the dark.<br />
If they think aren't,<br />
than I think they've never looked inside,<br />
suddenly it's not so funny to think of "Where the sun dont shine."<br />
Cause the sun doesnt shine,<br />
on things curled around your spine,<br />
nor does it radiate inside of your chest,<br />
are you sure that is a heart that beats beneath your breast?<br />
I think if I were a monster it is there I would like best.<br />
I do not mean to be a pest,<br />
nor do I wish to disturb your rest<br />
but if sleep alludes you, you could try a guest,<br />
I have one I might suggest...<br />
her name is Mary.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141517709170944300.post-1857827676140961152012-11-10T22:42:00.001-05:002012-11-10T22:42:44.053-05:00Idiomatic Insanity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Lo siento.<br />
Like, low I feel<br />
Like I feel it<br />
Like I'm sorry.<br />
Por que?<br />
For what?<br />
what for a season?<br />
Dame un razón or a razor,<br />
and I will cut clean into us two.<br />
So bésame, abrázame, screw it, mátame<br />
because without you it doesn't matter to me.<br />
Like my germanic antic<br />
fails to manage a mind this manic<br />
and my frantic tongue finds follie in a language romantic,<br />
knowing it not, due to the taste and haste of panic.<br />
No, I can't break the ice I'm like an organic titanic,<br />
slowly sinking in the chill northern atlantic.<br />
<br />
I just want to sleep.<br />
Sólo quiero dormir.<br />
Alone to pass through a door mere inches from my face.<br />
into a land of fantasy y fantasmas.<br />
This world, este mundo.<br />
Is woefully mundane<br />
it brings not literal but liturgical pain,<br />
to live an existence so plain<br />
with minds trapped in frames<br />
souls and spirits subject to societal contrains.<br />
No. No, I refuse to live as the man in chains,<br />
I refuse to keep these ideas locked up in my brain,<br />
So I guess I might be insane.<br />
Can we make that a refrain?<br />
Yes. I guess I might be insane,<br />
because I want to speak in languages I don't know,<br />
because I want to smell the soft scent of summer in sleet and snow,<br />
because I want to plant a birch in the dark and then watch it grow.<br />
Write love letters on its skin, set it ablaze, I hope you like the show.<br />
Watch the smoke go winding through the wind<br />
whilst whining soft hymns<br />
as off to heaven it goes.<br />
I guess I might be insane,<br />
because for me the message here is quite plane,<br />
I want you in a way that is not tame,<br />
but say nothing and reasons like razors are to blame,<br />
reasons like not knowing the rules to your game,<br />
reasons that dont stop me from wanting to play,<br />
I guess I might be insane.<br />
'Cause there's this pounding in my head that I can barely explain<br />
growing louder tumultuous over the words that I say,<br />
it's like the reasons are pounding against one thought:<br />
"I have nothing to lose and everything to gain."<br />
The bouncing reasons have me shaking like tracks beneath a train.<br />
But I'd better go to sleep now,<br />
lest you think me insane.<br />
<br />
<br />
Poet's note: I don't know how I feel about the title of the poem it might change.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Ammonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06080298671788637397noreply@blogger.com1