This is SOC

against fit knew obliged how brother
beautiful meaning over use was who
anxious service manners moment walking feel
smile full likely condition distance air
sad once supposed many they share
week sooner same say having top
second glad old gate we service
sense into the first sound such
followed smile direction only break simple
sight filled round proper favour happiness

Good stuff

Apology from a Criminal to a Cash Register

I'm sorry for my crimes.
I failed to recogize that
you're not just a fire proof safe
or a simple strongbox.
You're more than that
and I respect you
for all that you have done for us.
I didn't mean to insult you when I said
"Open the motherfucking register"
to the uneducated clerk at that gas station.
The truth is that you're
worth more than that "dumbshit behind the counter".
I'm sorry that he didn't believe me
when I said I that I had a gun.
I guess he didn't speak English very well.
He should have assimilated but
he called the cops and scared me
and the bullet landed right above his lip
and that "ain't ever gonna call nobody 'gain".
The worst thing about that is
he spilled his blood all over
your precious face.
Even worse is that he locked you.
I ripped you right off the counter
and you looked in pain as your wires
flailed up from the bottom of the counter.
I didn't handle you with care.
I threw you in the back of
that stolen Astro van
which I should have scrapped instead.
We drove down that highway
with sirens blairing
and "that piece of shit van" ran out of gas.
I got out and left the door open
which I should have closed
to keep you warm.
I should have loved you
when I had the chance
The police made me lay down
and cuffed me away from you.
At my trial "fat, bitch ass nigga" behind
the bench me away
just like they did to you for life
and he wouldn't let me say goodbye.
You're evidence of my actions
but not my love
and I'm a prisoner of both.
I hope you're able
to forgive me for all
that I have put you through.
Please remember that
I love you.


I am feeling pretty good about this one. It's original. I'm trying something differnet styleisticly. I've written in a more educated sounding style with glimpses of an obsecnity-filled vernacular which I hope gives the reader a differnet picture of the speaker who should give the reader a new prospective of life. I need comments on this one.

tickets

I meant to post this here, but I also put it on my blog...



I found a pack of train tickets in the parking lot outside the station.
They were rubber-banded together, sitting there on the asphalt,
unrealistically green, as though a child had drawn a leaf there.

I picked them up. The one on the top said
'Bures-sur-Yvette
Paris'
and I noted by the machine-printed code on the back
that it was used.

They were all the same. Each ticket, a token
from the commute, home-city-city-home,
home-city-city-home,
all neatly banded together and kept,
countable and concrete.

In my hands I held nineteen days:
days no one would remember, not even the one they belonged to.
Each stamped neatly with departure and arrival,
distinguished only by a couple digits .

Accidental Slip on an Oriental Rug

I poured four cups of tea.
One for you, one for God and two for me.
And we sat all around a little wooden table.

I drunk mine and you drunk your's
and I wanted to refill all four.
I stood up and went into the kitchen.

I had the pot and it was still very hot
and you wanted something but I forgot.
I passed under the threshhold and I tripped.

I wanted to see the stars
or little tiny bluebirds.

When I woke up I
I was inside a dark and
damp room in a box

with a wooden top
and bottom and one hard side.
I slid out of it.

There was no sign of you,
of the kettel or the tea.
Just a wadded up

oriental rug
with flowers woven in it
under the threshold.


I wrote this one as sort of an experimental piece in which I transitoned from prose to a focus syllables to illustrate a point. I really want to see what you think about this one.

i like this. I think it turned out well.

"flower in the garden"
accordian keys are white beans
and green grass, blue garish
and dark seas, I am me
and you are you but tell me who's
going to watch the flowers in the garden?

there is a scene in the galaxy
that finds me standing upon a bed of roses
toes dug into the dirt
shirt discarded, melding with the barren Earth
I watch the vines wrap me up
Like smooth criminals
and pull me
(with somebody)
into serenity.

Good Friday

Four PM on a Monday

I made a little cross
out of little white rocks today
and I put a little circle
of young twigs and leaves
all around it like a little barrier
and I don't know why.

I lit a white candle
to freshen up the room
and I watched the flame dance
becuase of the fan's gusts
but the candle just became warped
and I don't know why.

I spit on top of an ant hole today
just to watch the little bugs try
to get out of the mucus that engulfs them
and then I kicked sand on them
even though they'll always come back
and I don't know why.

A part of me atrophied today.
I still feel it there
but it feels dead and useless
and soon it will atrract cockroaches
which will spread disease in me
and I don't know why.

I made a little cross
out of little white rocks today
and I don't know why.

Poem of a time dead and gone.

"Look, at me!"
The "I" is dead,
as archaic eyes,
irises smelt like
iron rings
smoke and glow
charcoal red
like molten green
copper ore
in a
night-black cauldron




This has multiple meanings, tell me what you think. I'll try to post more, by the way.

Coast to Coast AM

Consipiacy Theroy Radio Show

for George

I'm living a lie.
See, the thing is that
our damned govenrment is covering
up the truth about what is
really out there.
The truth is that
we, the people of the united states
of America, the nation that champions
freedom,
are being censored
by the government.
The media doesn't ever
report the truth at all.
As a matter of fact,
they mock the truth because
We know what we saw
down there in the swamp
and we know it wasn't a bear.
We know what we saw
that night in the clear, moonless sky
and we know that it wasn't a weather balloon.
And they just laugh and laugh.
We all don't wear
tinfoil hats.
We're going to be right.
See, the thing is that
we know the truth is really out there
and we're trying to find it.
When the world ends,
we're going to be right.
When you die and see the light,
we're going to be right.
When you can't explain those scatches,
we're going to be right.
We'd rather be right
than be rejected.
When all is said and done,
you going to wish you listened.

Weight

and then I feel this flip in my stomach
like a bat trying to escape,
its insubstantial wings beating on my ribcage
just below the heart,
and the muscles in my arms
seem to want to sink into my bones and decompose
and the arteries in the neck scream,
fearful of exposure
and the giant ball slips from atlas’ shoulders and crushes me
and I can’t hold it up.

CFHS Poetry Contest

I got third place in the CFHS Poetry contest with "A Day at a Car Dealership seen through a Vending Machine". I'd like to thank Sally and Mitch for their support. We can see that the collabortive process that is modeled at the Juanucho Cobbon Sociedad de Poesia is working.

With the majority of the Sociedad's memebers placing in the contest, it says a lot about us and what we've done yet we still have work to do.