#0136 - Месте

Это не Россия.
Здесь не русские горола.
Здесь нет русских домов.
Здесь не русские люди.

Однако,
Если ты не думаеш
Я русский шпион,
Это может быт мое место:

Как Россия,
Как Америка…

#0114 - Child's Play

It wasn’t as if you could call it child’s play.

I didn't think it was haphazard.
I didn't think it was spontaneous.
I didn't think it was usual.

I didn't think it was that in-the-moment grace
that, yes, I love
but that kind of depends on how you interpret it,
and on the context.

This situation didn't need that in-the-moment grace—
it should have lasted longer than a moment.

#0113 - “Finding Meaning in the Face of Death”

“Finding Meaning in the Face of Death.”

That was the title of an article I came across recently,
and I'll admit I don't like that title.
Here's why:

I'll grant we live in a society
where motivation is scarce.
(Disagree? Look at space travel, Cold War to now;
voter turnout in the *perfect* democracy of the US;
the fact that procrastination is so prevalent it's become a joke.*)
Even so, I would argue that if you need death to arrive at your door
before you find meaning,
you probably haven't taken a good look around.

More importantly, it implies we're not all dying every day:
"In the Tibetan philosophy, Sylvia Plath sense of the word,
I know we're all dying, right?"
Right.
If you want death or lack of time as your great motivator,
consider that every second past is a second forever gone,
and that you live through 30 million seconds
every year.
That ought to give you a good running start, no?


* Google search: "procrastination memes"

#0106 - Stockholm Syndrome

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 25}

Do you remember when,
upon a successful landing,
the passengers of a given flight
would give a round of applause to the pilot?

It's that type of unconditional respect
that is progressively becoming extinct;
it is that mutual altruism
that's being replaced with stoicism.

It's Stockholm Syndrome.
People like acknowledge each other
only when they are held inescapably
captive by one another's company.

Unequivocally self-centered
they will remain
for as long as they're offered
any means of escape:

Blasting beats,
ductile displays,
or just something to stare at
in infinite space.

But give them the motivation
of more pay or a better place,
and they'll suddenly will themselves
to speak with someone else.

#0104 - "Phobias...haze"

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 23}

Is society so anarchic
because it's people are anarchic?
Or because everyone's view is laser-focused,
but on a superficial goal?

Xenophobia, homophobia,
amongst many other phobias,
are the perpetual insomnia
of society, keeping people awake at night.

Aspirin, Aderall might help a little,
but only for a one-time headache.
If the migraines persist perpetually,
will you just keep yourself doped up perpetually?

I guess the "doped up" makes sense:
everyone sees the problem,
but they only ever stare at the elephant
in the room as if in a cloudy haze.

#0086 - Forbidden

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 5}
{Prompt: "Taboo," from Poetry Riot! on Tumblr}

Perpetual Earth:
our home and our hearth.
The disk of our sun
not turning 'round us?
Forbidden.

A dark-coloured man:
him, owning the farmland
that's littered with soil
upon which he toils?
Forbidden.

A woman well-dressed
and clever, no less:
her, raising her hand
or taking a stand?
Forbidden.

A man and a man
to walk hand in hand?
A lady and lady
in shared bed asleep?
Forbidden.

So many things that have been labeled taboo;
are you still surprised that the judgement continues?
Not surprised, I would say,
just a little irritated;
Saddened.

#0079 - To Celebrate

Celebrations are nice,

but I've never liked committing a yearly day

to something that deserves commitment every day.

A race can't be won by ramping up your effort

when finally in sight of the finish line—

for victory, a lifetime of effort is the best guarantee.

And if you think a benevolent castle you build in a single day will stand,

remember that while you may build it better each time it crumbles away,

the deep-reaching foundation is what will keep it upright.

One day may be for the one Mother Earth,

one day may be for the many mothers of Earth,

but today is for every mother and mother's mother and every not-mother in the world.

There are more women in the world than days in a year—

more women than there are days to celebrate them—

and you want to fit them all into one day?

But, a single day is infinitely better than none,

so let's put all the appreciation this year deserved

into these 24 hours, flowing unrestrained into dawn.

Happy International Women's Day, all. Have you celebrated well?

#0060 - "There is a man in the Sahara right now"

There is a man in the Sahara right now, I assure you.
He is thirsty and hungry; I can assure you of that too.
While you’re complaining about the coming rain,
His blood-red, sun-kissed arms create a world of pain
That he survives with gritted teeth, day in and day out,
Whilst you blindly fail to recognize the clout
That you’ve expressed upon the fortunes.
He trudges through fields of cacti, over desert dunes
As you walk with clear exasperation up a flight of stairs,
And while his breaths shorten and his dry, ravaged skin tears
Open, you’re traversing down a mindless path, devoid of cares.
Maybe there’s simply nothing else that you know,
But you’re not in a harsh, merciless desert right now.
If only you would acknowledge that you’re living in blissful fatuity,
Living in beautiful frivolity.

#0035 - Thought 10

I don't think ingesting chemicals would be so enticing

If they weren't served at brightly-colored restaurants.

#0025 - A Teacher to his Students

A
desire I have is to have you
Be
an unconquerable, unending
Sea
of ideas. I'm making a little
Dea-
-l, so lend me your
Ea-
-rs: I want your best, your greatest
Eff-
-ort. You can keep your backwards caps, your hashtags and denim
Jea-
-ns, but I want to see you use the letter
H
to reference Horatio;
I
want to know why not to kill a mocking-
-Jay.
Understood? O
K?
I want to be utterly crushed by
El-
-ephants of knowledge, leveled by atomic bombs of wisdom.
Em-
-igrate your thoughts from your mind into this world of opportunities and
En-
-d your anxious silence!
Oh!
And a little FA
Q:
if you're thinking of asking
"Are
you serious?" Yeah,
Es-
-quire, I am! Perfectly serious! So show your
Tea-
-cher that
You
don't just treat your knowledge as a le-
-Vy
to be collected by the school! Ask the five
W
s often, and when your doctors take your
X-
rays, make them wonder
Why
you're filled with so much
Zea-
-l! Be the voice that no one else will be for you.

#0018 - "I was in a courtroom the other day"

I was in a courtroom the other day.

Don't worry, I wasn't the criminal -
I'm White.

Now, if I was a politician
I would never say that,
For fear of a lynching of my reputation.

I'm not a politician.
Because,
As we all know,
Politicians are the worst kind of people.
If there was a tournament for the worst kinds of people,
Politicians would take first place.

Just look around:
Right now we have a man that wants to build a wall to keep the rapist Latinos out of our country,
Which is not much worse than the man two hundred years ago who wrote about freedom in our Declaration of Independence despite owning his own conveniently unadvertised slaves.

But I guess I shouldn't be too hard on politicians.
After all, if politicians take first place in a tournament for the worst kinds of people,
Poets must take close second.

After all,
Poets lie all the time.

But we don't call them lies.
We call them "metaphors."

So,
I use my metaphorical river of words
To describe our politicians as metaphorical mules:
The main attraction in the metaphorical circus of politics.

Their favorite thing is metaphorical white chocolate,
But they cringe at the mention of metaphorical milk chocolate
And metaphorical dark chocolate,
Despite the fact that chocolate is chocolate,
No matter the color.

They won't make a comment on metaphorical fried rice,
Though,
Because fried rice does the best in our universities
And runs 1.5 million of our businesses.

Fried rice doesn't run the country,
But it comes close.


I'll just say that while I'm happy to be living in our melting pot,
It disappoints me that some people are still afraid of throwing certain vegetables into the broth
On account of shape, size or color.

#0016 - "I saw a lady weeping in my dream"

I saw a lady weeping in my dream.
Though crowned, was not a monarch nor a queen.
Things right and wrong her ancient vision'd seen.
From what she said it seemed that she should be

The housewife of a diverse family -
A melting pot of personality;
One child counted distances in li,
Another'd crossed the trying eastern sea.

I asked her what made tears fall from her eyes.
She looked to me and gave a weary sigh.
She said she'd taught her children not to lie,
To never without reason scream or cry.

But now they screamed and cried throughout the night,
Throughout the day with one another fight.
She sought to show them back into the light,
But differences had blocked their childish sight.

#0015 - "The ancient walls of grandma's home"

The ancient walls of grandma's home
Are contrast to the halls I roam:
The doorways made of melted sand,
The corridors of metal and
The endless screens and paper reams.

I'd rather have the sun's warm beams;
The ocean blues, the forest greens;
The birds evincing morning joy;
The place where I was once a boy,
With hens and dogs exploring barns.

This place was home to carrot farms,
Was worked by men with reddened arms.
But reapers guised in suits then came
With profit as their only aim
And little care for right or wrong.

This land is here, but not for long;
The birds will sing their final song.
Rebar spreads far its concrete lair
And smog extends through once pure air -
It chokes the lungs and chills the bone.

The ancient walls of grandma's home
Are contrast to the halls I roam,
But soon I fear they'll be effaced,
With concrete towers be replaced.
And in my mind resides a fear:

That what I can no longer see
Will one day fall from memory.

#0007 - "I see a woman and her dog"

I see a woman and her dog;
her dog is black, and so is she.
She holds herself with wooden rod,
provides a smile and nod to me.

Her dog, he wags his furry tail
with flopping ears and hanging tongue.
But in her eyes I see a tale
that stops the air within my lungs.

To him they'd shift their gaze and say,
"Why, there he walks along the street;
he doesn't whine, he won't complain,
exactly as a pup should be!"

To her they'd shift their gaze and say,
"Why, there she walks along the street;
she won't revolt, she won't complain,
exactly as a Black should be!"

While he would always find is scraps
and garner water from a bowl,
she'd fear her iron will's collapse
and guard 'gainst water from a hose.

They're both dark-skinned mammalians,
but one is nursed and one is marred.
They both have limbs - one paws, one hands,
but one has fur and one has scars.

#0002 - "In the 1970s"

In the 1970s,
a song was released where the chorus asks
"war, what is it good for?"
and the singer responds with
"absolutely nothing."

There's this reggae band that I like
because I like the way they align their notes
and in one of their songs
a man sings,
"world leaders, what are your priorities?
So many wars, and yet none end world poverty."

Over the past thousand years,
and the past million years,
and the past billion years,

fish have learned to swim together,
birds have learned to soar together,
bison have learned to run together,
but humans still haven't learned to exist together.

And take note of that word that I chose to use:
Exist.
To be.

I'm not citing the Bible and saying that one must love thy neighbor.
I'm not saying that you should give a hug and kiss
to every stranger that you meet.
I'm not saying that everyone should throw their stuff out on the street in order to
help out those in need
- that comes next -
what I'm simply asking for is that everyone be
in the same place, at the same time, peacefully.

Why is it
that when we fly our million-dollar planes over Afghanistan
we're dropping bombs instead of food?

Why is it
that when the 1000-ton chains of institutionalized social injustice finally fell to the ground,
the Blacks,
the gays,
the poor,
the queer
only had a moment of relief
- only a breath of relief -
before they realized that even if fists didn't shower them with hits and bruises
and signs no longer told them where they could and could not go,
eyes still stared at them with the sharp edge of a knife
coated in venom that burns your soul even if it doesn't burn your skin?

Why is it that just because I'm a straight,
white
male,
for every dollar that I make a Hispanic woman will make forty-six cents less?

And I wonder if you wonder why I switch from war to the home front.
It's because war is not just about borders.
War is about racism, and sexism, and economic success-ism.
War is not just about the people that live in the 195 countries
that aren't the one we're standing in right now;
war is about our friends and our neighbors.

The only problem being
that those that matter aren't always near,
because even though we say we're not segregated,
we live in White communities,
we live in Black communities,
and we live in Brown communities.

And although those three colors may exist on the easel of the painter,
until we can learn to paint something other than
White lines,
and Black lines,
and Brown lines,
the canvas may not be blank, but it is most definitely up to par.

We have easels and brushes and painters ready to use them;
The only phrase they're waiting for is "ready, set, go"
as opposed to "ready, set, wait, let's see how this affects our budget."

I'm talking to you now, men up top -
men in suits
and men in ties.

You're shifting digits and you're pushing numbers,
but even numbers have limits,
and although you're holding the sands of unrest in a tight grip,
the sand is still falling through the cracks in your fingers.
You've been holding the sands for a long time,
and although all you're holding is little yellow grains,
the grains are adding up.

Every Black man shot in city streets just for being Black,
every Hispanic woman that has to work 3 jobs to feed her 3 starving children,
every White man that makes 3
million dollars just for the color of the melanin in his skin
is another grain of sand
- another reason -
to take the sword that you won't brandish
and wage the war that you won't declare -

a war that ends not with cities and borders burned,
but with a White kid,
a Black kid,
and a Brown kid
playing and talking together
because they realize that what you think and what you feel
is more important than the color of your skin,
or,
speaking of color,
how much green your parents make.