by James "MANGO, Bengal Timpani, Grampa Bomba Bombe Bebop" Eaton Riley
On a motorcycle jousting the setting sun
In Nirvana in my Mind in a Monastery in India
Is celebrating my Grandpa’s twenty-first with a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other
And opening my leaves to absorb the sunlight.
Serving as senator I brought together compound words and contractions,
And yes, there were a few mistakes.
Stillbirths. Blackmail. Even bagpipes hit the fan.
Who’ll ever use why’ll?
But our children will forever have bedtimes.
Superman and Batman reign in the comic book stores.
Businessmen and businesswomen alike will never go a day without briefcases.
And what about touchdowns or threesomes?
But all of these bridges are still just building blocks.
Yes, a bridge, a new bridge. A better bridge than ever built before.
My opponent likes to talk about money.
You, too, may be wondering what this great construction will cost.
And, well, would you like to know?
Nothing.
It’s something these United States still can afford!
You see, I’d like to build you a few poems.
We can’t all die alone.
But I’m here offering you a few glimpses of completeness.
Of true love.
Of heart-wrenching emotion.
I’ve got a lot of life to share, and plenty of death to muse.
As one final note this evening,
If president, I’ll push for sackpenciln’taphone and kinshipthroatknothole.
Thank you, and God bless America.
the grasshoppers prancing about are the mice that squirming
the mice that explore the ground are the hawks that navigate the sky
the hawks that travel far are the fungi that never leave home
the fungi that live are the nutrients that give life
the nutrients that feed are the grasses that feast
And make it more complex
Why should he, have a house key
When he can have a key ring
It’s not a sign of knowledge
It’s not a sign of power
Maybe it opens doors
Lets him into his house
As if he had somewhere to stay
That’s what the doctor has proscribed
We could let him into the government
Maybe he has loose change
Teach him to speak new
Oil his rusted joints
Send him to a restaurant
All they have is lobster
He irritates the chef
And we said, “No! No! No!”
We called for the cops
Fed him to the lions
Banished his corpse
And fried his brain
He creeps behind pictures when they are ready to fall
From grace to the skirmish of instant satisfaction.
Implying the subject and the silhouette correspond,
He leaves the shadow where it belongs on the wall.
The decorative mask that he wears for society’s satisfaction
Is not that face which resides within his private dimensions.
All the hollow colors of the wind will still blow.
These walls won’t fall!
No doors, no windows.
We hear how much fun the antelopes are having outside.
The birds chirping!
The worms wiggling, foxes having so much fun outside.
Everyone in this place is nuts!
This place is for hermits!
No whores, no widows.
We hear how much life the antagonists are swimming in.
The planet earth’s spinning!
The markets are mingling, the dollars buying so many lives outside.
Debts are being paid!
Paid with what the wide world was paved!
No Fab Fours, no yin-yang mojos were
We ever going to have if we didn’t fight the good fight,
Just to get some touch!
Tasting everything, fighting tools and brimstone.
O’ glory glory hallelujah!
Hell is happening!
No floors, no angles,
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions
four dimensions here in existentialist land.
Existing!
The exit.
River flowing but never changing
Carving landscapes, cradling depths, crossing the horizon
Awestruck, always, and becoming awesome
Gas in the atmosphere,
Ice hurtling past Pluto
Always and forever an infant,
Always and forever a guru
Sometimes it’s nice
On a rainy day
In a detached sort of mood
While the skies are gray
You hold it together like the clouds soon to pour
Still the air conditioning is comfortable, as usual
And you’ve driven this road before
And accomplishment leaves the heart half empty
It feels less lonely
Knowing the rain falls on everybody in the city
Broken clocks save the world just that much by removing their batteries in the morning.
Hospital visiting hours can last maybe a little bit later tonight.
We could all bear to breathe just a little deeper.
Nightmares never hurt once you’ve struck the ground.
Computers turn on by the time you’ve brushed and dressed.
What does it feel like to give birth to a baby?
Tell her the sunshine emerges from her face.
We could eat healthier foods and they taste better anyways.
We hallow our own ground;
Yes, you would still walk around.
and those that make it
stick around for the whipping
a whiplash so injurious it leaves them clinging for more
enduring the depths of the deepest oceans
they’ll learn what it is to fly
my wingspans reach and I am free
to explore in length this endless endeavor
so I write this letter all at once
for it is my resignation from irreality
into the liberating abyss of structure
Now I know my life is not my own.
It is myself who is the estranged foreigner.
The shriveling garden is a sign
That the wilting responsibility is all mine.
What a child sees
Is what the family will come to be.
However it is consumed, forever the universe is something different.
I used to think we lived and died alone;
Now I know my life is not my own.
I am the design on the Jaguar's back.
I think in thoughts that will be said
I act in deeds I hope to spread
I am half of my every relationship
I am a vote defining my citizenship
I am the change I want to see in the world that changes me.
But the grandma and grandpa loving their grandchild grow.
I used to think we lived and died alone;
Now I know my life is not my own.
Days are not water drops wasted
but coupled with sand and dribbled into
drip castles dabbling into memories,
the way water falls forever
is how love exists.
Even lullabies the children sing
are less familiar than your touch.
As paintings convey reality,
I look to the world and everything is my girl,
I look to you and see everything in the world.
Dusty walls anchoring
Rusty nails suspending
Simple picture frames housing
Convivial pictures reminding
The older people forgetting
Golden memories playing
Childhood games laughing
While wood beams were shaping
The home where they are grandparents today.
It feels like they first met, justly yesterday.
Reaping the returns of a life 'someone else' lived.
Creaking of the wheelchair
It's still warming to this brisk morning, too
I and it, waiting on the 'other side' of busy city intersections.
I pretend it still smells of partners long gone
Unreeling the memories of lives dear ones lived
And the winds whirling through the lines of my face
Still stir a smile, a faint brush with grace
vinyl records fill my ears with parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
before my eyes my parents travel through time
raindrops pit and patter as the dark of night settles in
the temperature drops and cools my skin
an aroma of moist earth is refreshing
and to the beat my heart is swept
forever my comfort in the music will be kept
bass slaps and thunder cracks shake my stomach to sleep
I lay and let the moment steep
still I’ll hum along to Scarborough Fair
listening for answers to life’s same questions
(we know enough to know how little we know)
resting my eyes
mom, dad, the music, the rain,
this lullaby I will always remember
by Emily "Pandy Valley Moonbeam" Elizabeth Riley
A woman walks past
With her little girl
They wonder why I’m in their lawn
by Emily "Pandy Valley Moonbeam" E. Riley
“Hippopotomonstrosesquidliaphobia,”
I reply to the teacher
Correct
Billy punches me in the
Face
by Erin "Otter Sundance Horizon" K. Riley
More green.
All around, everywhere.
Five shouts from the head of Pippy Long Stocking.
We’re separated by cones of orange and white.
10 ft. maybe more, maybe less.
Tangled in the minds of the disturbed.
Then spilled out like the blood across the floor.
Mixed in emotions of color.
They trap us.
Cages around lions like lions in cages.
From the words of Pathway to Providence you say?
Says what? You hear? You say? I say? Who says?
Journeys passed packed up soaring across
Birds follow.
Who learns?
by Erin "Otter Sundance Horizon" K. Riley
Like droplets of rain beating down on your skin.
Like a giant pulling out your insides.
Like a majician with the wrong box.
The blades slice.
Like a broken jack-in-the-box.
Like a shark who won’t let go.
Like a dead-end.
The rain stops.
The giant leaves.
The box breaks.
The doll pops out of the box.
The shark lets go.
It’s an open road.
Hello.
by Wayne "Jake" Eaton Riley
Café au lait
Lake Ella glistens
Morning cool air
Fountains spouting
Cool misty water
Blowing in the breeze…
North Florida but deep south
Scattered palm trees
But mostly moss draped oaks
Sipping coffee
While old and young
Walk around the lake
Dogs and babies
Students and residents
Poets and folksingers…
Vibrant Tallahassee morning!
No comments:
Post a Comment