today as i spoke with flames for breath to this calm captured collection of world changers and rule breakers and ownership takers, this small group of will-bes and are-nows and always-weres
it occurred to me
that the fire of slam poetry lit from my fuse flickering from my tongue might become a fantastic hazard
so i choose to abuse this power i have this power to capture and pull and lure them to full fiery rapture
and dangerously i can play with the words i say and the ways that the sparks roll off my tongue snapping in bursts of orange and pink and i have bright searing hope that all these tiny thoughts burning out of my timid mouth as they sink fizzling to the ground still smoldering will give off a blazing light and leave a trail of smoke will open and ignite fledgling tender throats
because right now at this moment
but i hope that if only they'd be armed with that same power to push their thoughts from their heads to the crowds for a minute, just a moment, or a goddamn flaming inferno of an hour
that these will-bes these are-nows these always-weres will set fire to the streets and completely light up this world
The L-Word (A Love Poem)
L is for librarian lovely rough fingers flipping through pages
and L is for loud because inside, I am chaos i'm a riot, i am burning inside i yell it's you! it's you!
but you are so silent so my mouth is quiet and still because
L is for limits because you shush me you know just how to push me
and L is for lament because on Wednesdays the library is closed and i stand with my hands on the glass peering in with longing glances at the desk where you should be standing scanning bar codes and demagnetizing strips which is ironic because you are so magnetic... magnetic!!!
and L is for lust librarian lust like Damn, you walk with smooth strides down those slick aisles sliding books delicately and sweetly back into their places lust like Damn, you can name every book in the Harry Potter Series in order of publication lust
and L is for love blue blue love blue like the button up cardigan you wear buttoned up all the way to the top right to the top because you want to leave me blue like the colour of a stormy sea a turbulent sea as turbulent as those iron blue eyes eyes that can shut a person's whispering mouth from fifty yards away and blue like the shivers sent up the spines of every book in the room when you finally finally speak
A Beginning Poet's Guide to Mediocrity
Start by staring blankly at a glowing computer screen. Tilt your head to one side slightly, and knit your eyebrows. Have a stare-off with the cursor. It blinks every second but it still wins.
Hang on to the notion that if you stay still long enough, inspiration will find you. Like a rotting corpse in a ditch on the side of the 305 – Eventually someone will pull over to pee and wonder what that smell is.
Write about things you know nothing about, but you know are important. Write about Donald Trump. Or intersectional feminism. Or Syria. (I think there's a lot happening in Syria.) Write about child soldiers, or your abusive father. Write about things you’ve never experienced, But you might be an expert on anyway.
Pretend that you’re more intense than you are. Carry around a leather notebook. Every so often, Lean in to it and write down astute observations About how the sound of the rain sounds like bacon frying Or about how when you shave, the goop that comes off your razor Looks a heck of a lot like honey dill sauce. Then cross out the thing about the honey dill sauce. You don’t wanna be known as “the poet who compares stuff to food.”
Wear layers. Wear scarves. And always wear black. But avoid slick fabrics like silk or organza. Wool, felt and corduroy are always better choices. Plus, they’re warmer when the landlord turns off your heat.
i want to hoard you for a rainy day.
i'll be a glutton - i'm not ashamed. I'll collect all your parts just for myself and keep you in a coffee tin high up on my shelf.
or maybe, I'll snatch your smiles and crumple them up and swallow them before they fade.
or squirrel away our conversations and keep them in a carved wooden box something that locks with a key just for me so they'll be ready whenever i need joy.
i could preserve your laugh in a clean, corked glass jar with an air-tight lid to keep it fresh and new and you
will always be here tucked away cool and safe in my refrigerator.
i'll keep a ledger a YOU inventory so I always know when my stock's getting low.
i'll find a way to capture and hold onto you in a greedy, selfish way.
I sure as hell wish i could save you for a rainy day.