poetry

[robin lee]

this is where we can put up poems

[Matty P.]

This is more of a freestyle rap session than a poem, but true poetry nonetheless. I must also mention this is not my poetry. This is an exerp from the movie CKY2K. It's called Bran's Freestyle.

Bran’s Freestyle

Who wants to taste my General Tso?
You want piece my General Tso, I’m gonna give it to you now.

Who like my chopstick? Hit you when I shit with my little-ass dick. Yellow.
If you wanna see me, eat jello.
I’ve never seen nothing like you before.
I can kick you, higher than you can kick me.
I can kick you way up into a tree.
Who wants a taste of my oo-long tea?
Ho ha ho ha ho chi chi.

Everybody in the phonebook named Chang.
Wanna see my wang? Neva.
Good God hit the gong with a bang. WHAAA!!

Everybody wanna see me throw a fireball, but that's not right not in real life.
You will fall down and break a leg.
Everybody wanna see me break a leg?
Well I don't, but I like fried rice and I got lice.
Ching chow woo ching wang woo wang.
That ain't nice.
Four for the cookie, I only charge it twice.

Delivery is free, but not from me.
I always charge a dolla fifty.
Fifty five. Wanna see me COLE GAAA? Hit you with the lang. HAI YA!

War when I hit you with the shit do a split.
Take a shit after you eat my shit. Kung-fu.
Want my buffet? You fucking gay, ah.
Wai-lo hit you with the hay. Stay the fuck away.
Hit you in the balls. Only Americans eat duck sauce.
And my soy sauce is for you. I can put it in your shoe.

Watch this:
I can tiptoe while you take a piss…
…in my bathroom spy on you while your little boy shits.
HHHAAAAAAAAI-YAH!

I can kick you if you don't pay the bill.
And if you want a little mint, that's fifty cent, bitch.
Everything cost a little bit.
So don't expect nothin’ for free, at least from me Ching Chang Chewie.

I got you from Taiwan City and Hong Kong.
I can smoke a bong and I can do it all night long.
And don't mistake me for a Viet Kong.

I can get you and tackle you, take you never see me.
When I get you and make you.
Rope you up and put you in a bamboo cage,
and make you feel all my rage.

Poke you with a little stick till you page your buddies to come napalm me.
God damnit shit burned blew away my whole city.
Ho Chi Min. Shoot a load on your chin.
God damn that’s a sad go goodbye.
And if you wanna come on in you can work into my world,
where the yellow shit begins. HAI YA!!!

Can't be tamed.
I got shit to control your brain, and it's called:
Egg Foo Yung, and Lo Main.
So come on in baby and have it just the same HAI YA! HAAAAAH!

[robin lee]

Jammed In Traffic

Jammed in traffic in the early morn,
bumper to bumper,
faces scorned.
Anxious, nervous, we’ll all be late,
got to get to our jobs
before our boss gets irate.
-Crispy clear morning,
It’s Friday, all’s well
but then without warning
the commute went to hell.
-Slowly but surely
we all slowed down;
til the line finally stopped
stretched from highway to town.
-One man honked his horn.
It got him nowhere.
Some people tried passing
but the most of us just stared.
-into the abyss, the endless, line
unforgiving torture
the squeezing torments of time.
-Still jammed in traffic,
in the early morn
the clock keeps on ticking
more lay on their horn.
-Squinting and shifting
and darting our eyes
“Fucking construction!”
one woman cries.
-Inch by inch
one pass-dash after another
start seeking holes and gaps
start to compete with eachother.
-But gaps they aren’t found.
There’s no hope in sight.
Here comes a sign
reading “merge left from right.”
-So merge we did,
we had no other option.
A cop stood in the right lane
flashing red lights of caution.
-Filtered through
4 lanes turned to two
approaching more light
flickering red and blue.
-What’s this? What’s this?
What’s happening here?
Oh, what? Pay attention
To the left we must steer.
-But what’s going on?
All the cops and fire trucks
Oh, wait, is that, an ambulance?
How? Why? What the fuck?
-Don’t look, don’t look
Keep driving straight on
My god, my god,
Something is wrong
-a bloody face
a crumpled car
a dizzy face
gazing far.
-even though
help swarms around
the face is unaware
of that which surrounds
-and takes a deep breath
from the oxygen tank,
oblivious to us
who briefly give thanks.
-That we were more lucky
than this unfortunate man,
who happened to cause
this traffic jam.
-We all forgot
about being on time
and considered the importance
of being alive.
-As we drive to our jobs
and punch into work
the accident’s image
continues to lurk,
-and remind of the time,
and remind of the instant
where perspective is changed
the old frame of mind turns old and distant.

[robin lee]

A Quest for Steve's

Need some Steve’s, need some Steve’s my goodness how we need some Steve’s.
I’ve never met a Steve that’s bad
All Steve’s I know are good and glad.
Steve, Steve where are you Steve?
A Steve is exactly what this room needs.
We only know about a Steve a piece
But he’s fucking phenomenal we all agree.
Steve, Steve could you be near?
A Steveless night is what we fear.
Stevy, StevO, Steven, Steve
We’re ready to go it’s time to leave.
Because there’s not a Steve around
But perhaps there’s a chance for one to be found
If we find our keys
And go downtown.

[robin lee]

A Sudden Storm- this a play by play of a strong rain storm that took my dog and i by suprise

5/25/06

The rain is here again.

Listen to it.

Roars in from the distance.
The birds stop singing.
It’s still bright out.
Roaring in the distance.

Sandy, my dog, starts to get scared. She starts panting and staring at me like I have the solution to her problem. Like I have the answer to here prayers. Like I can calm her fear. But I can’t. She’s still so scared. She looks at me and pants as the dark sky rumbles in.

'Shit, my clothes are on the line.'
It’s still sunny, but it’s beginning to sprinkle.
I’m right on the border of the beast. I’m at the border of the storm. I could stencil the border from the contrast of one cloud from the other. I’m at the edge of the storm.

I quickly throw my clothes, still damp from the machine, into a basket to keep them from getting soaked. I run to the porch and throw the basket inside. Sandy follows by my side.

Roaring up above me.
The world has turned dark.

‘It’s okay Sandy. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Don’t worry. Think about how many other times this has happened and you’ve been just fine. Come on. It’s alright.’
She doesn’t believe me.

The drops of rain are more frequent. The wind whispers warning.
Wwhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
In one big breath every green leaf flips over and turns white with fear.
'Don’t worry leaves, there’s nothing to be afraid of. This will be good for you, you’ll see.'
But the growling thunder takes away the ease of my words of comfort. The wind keeps the leaves white and trembling as rain splatters it from the side.

Sandy clings to my side.
I pet her.
‘It’s okay. It’s alright.’
She wants to go inside. I’m not supposed to let her in….she’s dirty, filthy with fear.

A female sparrow jumps up to the feeder trying to get one more bite before the storm hits. It blows sideways in the wind….she shivers and twitters and gives up hope; probably returning to her home.
'Wow. It really came in fast.'
The wind keeps it blowing along the hills. Roaring over my house. The aluminum of our roof shouts from above.
"LOOK ALIVE HOUSE WE GOT A STRONG ONE COMING IN!" Says the roof.
And the window brace themselves for the worse.

Lightening crashes.

‘shit I forgot about the windows.’ I run upstairs and shut them quickly, there’s water falling in fast, soaking every bit of clutter on the windowsill.

Sandy has disappeared. She can’t keep up with this anymore. She’s freaking out. She needs to hide.
‘shit I forgot about my shoes!’
I rescue them from the bath of the front porch.
I grab my computer and run up the stairs.
I plug in the power cord.
And start writing. I need to start writing.

Before the storm finally rolls away
and the birds start singing again…..with echoes of thunder in the distance.

[robin lee]

3. The Aftermath- this is a poem about the results of national tragedies
The Aftermath

Katrina was a year ago today
and we face the aftermath
we remember those still suffering
and feel guilty when we laugh.

The president says "all is well,"
he finds hope in reconstruction.
He gloats he visited 11 times
but not even cameras hide corruption

A year ago mother nature came
and slapped our country on its face,
trying to teach us a lesson
but it mostly went to waste

We didn’t grow too much from her
those who needed refused to learn,
and now we face the aftermath
we feel the flood and fear the burn.

In two weeks time it will five years
since the planes crashed and changed our lives
5 long years so full of fear
hatred brewing from the lies.

I bet your remember that tragic day?
Remember waking up that morning?
The sun shining brightly on your face
waking happy with no warning.

But then realized it had all collapsed,
the world came crashing down
and the carefree days from before that mourn
are now impossible to be found.

So much chaos,
people frantic, gone insane
so difficult for us to grasp
from a national mind-frame.

It began the spiral downward,
sent us running in all directions.
Patriotism, skepticism, vengeance, terror
plagued us like an infection.

The president forewarned the terror of war.
He said “hope is on the way,”
Sputtered words like freedom
spread the “democracy” of the U.S.A.

And we ate it up at least it seems we did,
we bought exactly what he sold
and when he said lets go to war
we did what we were told.

In 2 weeks it will be five years,
it’s so hard to believe.
It’s been five years and we’re still not done,
who knows how long we’ll grieve?

Some time between these two tragedies
another one occurred.
Exactly when it’s hard to say
our collective memory is blurred.

I think it was in spring-time
but Denver snow fell on the ground.
We screamed our war cry, revved our engines
and dropped our biggest bombs.

Most didn’t know what to think of it
as we swift-quickly attacked.
The president called it “operation freedom”
My friend Jake called it “operation Iraqi ass pack”

We watched the bombs blow on T.V.
and we still watch them today
not thinking of the aftermath
of what we do and say.

The president says it’s necessary
for us to continue to fight
but after these auspicious years
we doubt if he is right?

Iraq, Katrina, elections,
the day the tower fell
there horrific significance
the history books will tell.
And the aftermath of them all together
will haunt the past, confuse the present
and teach the future forever.

Hurricane Katrina was a year ago.
I weep when I listen to the news
and I think of all the aftermath
and how much more we have to lose.

[robin lee]

4. *Chillin with th Jedi- this a poem about smoking pot with yoda

Smokin’ a bong with yoda,
hell yeah man pass that shit!
He passes it with telepathic powers
and I take another hit.

“Good bud this is.”
‘Yeah it’s homegrown.’
“Ripped I get.”
‘Yeah, I’m pretty stoned.’

“Get food we should.”
‘Where do we go?’
“Wendy’s how bout?”
‘No, man no!”

“Too many commercials I’ve watched,
they make me crave.
Burgers I want
From Thomas Dave.”

‘I don’t feel like going out,
we could make something here?’
“Good idea that sounds,
have you pizza and beer?”

‘Yeah, I got a frozen supreme
and a case of Point.’
“So good that sounds.”
‘You should roll a joint.’

“A joint I roll?
Already blitzed are we.”
‘Fuck it man,
I got the weed.’

“Preheat the oven I will.”
But he doesn’t leave his chair.
“Roll the joint I will.”
The pot and paper float up in the air.

I put in the pizza
I bring over the beer.
Happy my good friend
Yoda is here!

The tops pop themselves.
The joint sparks in his lips.
It hovers back and forth,
as we take glugs and sips.

“Pizza smells good.
To eat I can’t wait.”
And he suddenly starts
to levitate!

‘Heh ha you’re levitating Yoda!’
I giggle and yell.
‘It makes me happy
when pizza I smell.’

And -DING-goes the timer
His eyes crinkle when he smiles
He picks up the telephone
“Obi-wan I dial.”

I take out the pizza.
Grab a couple more brews
I hear Yoda with Kenobi
“Yeah, come over here dude.”

He hangs up the phone.
I set down the pie
“To you for the pizza
Give thanks do I.”

‘Yeah, no problem,
Obi’s gonna come?’
“Yes, he arrives
when from work he is done.”

We finish the pizza
as we watch Dave Chapelle,
then there’s a ring
from my screaming door bell.

‘That must be Obi-wan’
“don’t worry about it”
and he answers the door with the force
from right where he sits.

“Hullo guys.” Says Obi-Wan
as he walks through the door.
‘What’s goin’ on?’
He sighs, “Oh, a rough day at the store.”

‘Well help yourself to a beer.
And pull up a seat.’
“Pizza there still is
if you have not yet eat.”

He cracks open a bottle
And pulls up a chair.
He says “some people are real assholes.”
I say, ‘well, life’s not fair.’

The rest of the night
is spent smoking and drinking.
Telling each other
what we’ve been doing and thinking.

It’s a regular night
for this couple of Jedi,
but it’s a special occasion
When include they I.

5. Culture of Hate- this is a poem about how shitty this world can be

The culture of hate,
The culture of hate,
Breeding
Eating
Culture of hate.

Culture of hate
Culture of crime
Ticktock
Ticktock
BOOM! SLAP! TIME!

Culture of hate
+fear
+corruption
Culture of sprawl
deconstructing construction.

Culture of nothing
And everything too.
Culture of ME
Not culture of you.

-Culture of greed
+speed
+change
passing the torch
culture of blame.

Culture of hate
Culture of fat
Culture of ignorance.
Our king is a rat.

Culture of buttons
+switches
+wires
clickity clacks+tippity taps
snippity snaps of electrical fire.

Culture of fear
Culture of sorrow
Unconfident confidence
of a better tomorrow.

Culture of hate
+ reality T.V.
Culture of YOU
Not culture of me.

Culture of manipulation
Culture of lies
Sparing the guilty
Let the innocent die.

Culture of guns
+tanks
+bombs
wronging our rights
and righting our wrongs.

Culture of consumption
Buy! Buy! Buy!
Just hand them the money
Don’t dare ask why.
You want it! You need it!
You must have it now!
Get it here quick!
You don’t care how!
Doodads and gizmos
And thingymabobs,
You can afford them
You have a job.
You want it.
You need it.
You can’t live without.
You’ll love it forever
but in a month throw it out.

Culture of waste
Culture of junk.
It’s too late
The ship has sunk
litter and garbage
and leftoverbags
dance their dance
round the pole of the flag.

Culture of hate
Of empty eyes
We’ve shed all our tears
We’ve no time to cry.
There’s smoke in our lungs
There’s meth in our brains
Our minds are the locks
the drugs are our chains.
Culture of addicts
Culture of fiends
We’ve made our mistakes
They can’t be redeemed
Wasted culture
With film on the face
Turn them away
When they feel misplaced.
Turn them away
To the streets
And the drugs
Culture of snakes
+spiders
+bugs
Culture of intolerance
Where everyone’s sick
What you don’t belong?
Lunatic! Lunatic!

Culture of hate
Culture of hate
Breeding
Eating
How much more can we take?
==

6. Culture of Love- this is a poem about how great this world could be


Culture of love
Culture of love
Sharing
Caring
Culture of love.

Culture of love
Culture of love
With the stars
+ the moon
+the sun
up above.

Culture of love
Of sunshine and color
Culture of love
We smile at eachother.

Culture of love
+hugs
+kisses
culture of answers
to our prayers and our wishes

Culture of love
Of Knowing
+Growing
Culture of love
of telling
+ showing.

Culture of love
Where things are fair
Where nobody’s angry
And nobody’s scared.

Culture of love
Where we’re close with our friends
Where we feel the same way
And forget there’s an end.

Culture of love
Where trees outnumber skyscrapers
Where we borrow our time
And recycle our paper.
We’ll recycle everything
All our bottles and cans
We all take responsibility
Every boy, girl and man.
And our walks through the parks
Will look spic and span.
We’ll smile with pride
As things go as we planned.
Because we planned, we planned
We thought it all through
We looked back at our mistakes
And learned not what to do.
Then we did it we did it
We did it all right
Now we can smile
And finally not fight.

Culture of love
With no smog in the sky
There’ll be shimmers of innocence
in our children’s eyes.
They won’t be exposed
To the filth and the greed
They’ll get what they deserve
Not just what they need
And there won’t be any robbers
Of their brains and their souls
They’ll shut them off themselves
And do what they’re told.
And when they have their own kids
They’ll treat them the same
And we’ll look forward to the future
Without any shame.

Culture of love
We’ll sing happy songs
Culture of love
We’ll all belong.
Culture of love
Culture of love
Caring
Sharing
Culture of love.

Culture of love
We’ll smoke pot everyday.
Then we’ll go out to the woods
Run ‘round and play.
And we won’t have to worry
About the narcs and the cops
They’ll come out with us
There’s nothing to stop.
We’ll build a big tree fort
Or maybe play tag
If someone lets us use their jacket
We’ll play capture the flag.
Yes the cops and the criminals
Will run hand and hand
There’ll be no hate
We’ll all understand.

Culture of love
We’ll all work so hard
we won’t punch in and out
Or worry about
Our precious time cards.
We’ll work cause we want to
And we do what we feel
But we’ll work hard
Cause we know what is real
And if none of us work
Then nothing will get done
Without a little work
We can’t really have fun.

Culture of love
Of family
+friends
Culture of love
Will never end.
It will go on forever
If we all do it right
Culture of love
It’s in everyone’s sight.

Culture of love
Will it be what it seems?
Culture of love
It lives in my dreams.

7. An Honest Hypocrisy- this poem is about how stupid poems are

An Honest Hypocrisy

I’m getting kind of sick of poets.
Don’t worry, not you guys.
I’m starting to get bothered by “real” poets.
The ones who get published in magazines and get paid for it.
The ones who say, “I….am a poet!” and then expect the world to try to understand them.

I’m starting to get tired of the ambiguity.
Beating around the bush (I don’t care if I used a cliché!)
Just say what you need to say.
I’m starting to get kind of sick of poets.

I’m getting kind of sick of poets.
But seriously not any of you guys.
I’m getting sick of the ones that think that their eye is keener than mine.
That they, and only they, notice the little things in life.
Maybe other people notice little things too Yevtushenko
Maybe they just have tougher time stopping to write about every single one of them because they have jobs and homework.
Maybe other people have just as much insight, but because they’re not “poets” they feel it doesn’t matter.
I’m starting to get sick of poets.

I’m starting to get sick of poets.
I(1)’m (2) get (3) ting (4) sick(5) of (6) count(7)ing(8) syl(9)a(10)bles(11).
I never count my syllables when I think or speak.
I thought poetry was supposed to be an expression of the soul,
I don’t even think my soul knows what a syllable is, and if it does, it surely doesn’t count them.
My soul has better things to do.
My soul is too busy imagining springtime, cotton candy, and naked women.

I’m starting to get sick of devices.
Like repetition
Like repetition.
Like repetition
And I’m annoyed and aggravated with alliteration.
And if these walls could talk they’d say, “quit personifying me asshole!”
I’m starting to get sick of poets.

Can’t we just say: “Hey, there’s a tree. A beautiful one at that, and I love and respect it because it is part of this world that I am learning to love and respect.”
Or must we say: A tree.
It stands alone, as the winds jostle it without mercy,
Like a daughter being fought over in a custody battle.
And this tree.
This tree is a part of me.
This tree is my brother, my mother, my uncle, my second cousin, my great aunt.
A tree.
It stands alone.
But it is not lonely, for I am with it.
Together,
I and the tree,
The tree and me.
Forever.

I’m getting kind of sick of poets.
But, for the record, not anyone in this room.
For we, even you teacher, are still learning,
And we acknowledge that we’re still learning
And probably realize that we’ll be learning forever.
I’m getting sick of the ones that think that they know everything already.
The ones with phenomenal posture and an ego to the moon.
I’m getting sick of the staunchy ones,
The one’s that can’t stop talking about how much they “looooooooooooooove poetry”
but haven’t had a real feeling since they were in college.

I’m getting kind of sick of poets.
Especially the ones that think they’re right.
That think that they can make me feel
a cold and starry night.
The ones that think that they can make me feel.
The ones that assume that I can pay attention to them for longer than 15 minutes.
I’M GETTING SICK OF POETS MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I HAVE A.D.D!
I’m getting sick of…is it ever my fault, who’s fault is it, I once knew a man that blamed everyone for his own faults, his name was Jared and he tendered a cardigan, a yellowed yellowing cardigan , and he had steel eyes that were cold, so frigid you must tender a scarf in his presence,…..poets jumping all over the place!
I can’t pay attention for that long! I can’t follow that! You have to remember you’re writing to a generation that has spent more time playing Sega Genesis than reading books.
Cater to our A.D.D, if you want us to understand.

I’m getting kind of sick of poets.
Ranting on an on about whatever seems to be bothering them at the time.
Finding one excuse after another for their inferiority,
Going on and on and on about the shortcomings of others,
And stopping abruptly.

8. A Legend Shares his Wisdom- this poem is about a really inspiring guy

This poem was inspired by this man right here who's name is David Amran. He was a key member in the "beat generation" he travels the country spreading his wisdom and sharing his creaitvity. I wrote this poem during his performance in Stevens Point. You can visit his website through the link page.

David Amran-9/27/05

Sometimes you see a legend,
sometimes he sees you too.
He’ll try to make you happy,
but he might just make you feel blue.

He’ll remind you to remember,
although you can’t forget,
that you just might be a genius
that has not been published yet.

And America keeps changing,
at least all the people do.
But creators keep creating
And continue when legends are through.

Pencil marks will always fade.
As books are lost and burned,
disappear in desperate silence
of beauty not yet learned.

We will try to capture magic,
with words, and notes, and shapes,
and our hearts will always know and feel
Although Capote says its fake.

We might not all end up legends,
but at least we all can try
to tap our feet, sing our songs,
and smile till we die.

We can learn so much from legends.
As they learn from you and I
As we sing praises to the mother earth
And paint our father sky.

9. Elcho- this poems is about sharing a special night with a friend

I wrote this after having one of the best nights of my life. My roomate steve and i decided to go up to his cabin one random tuesday in the thick of all of our business. We pretty much said 'screw it,' got in his car and drove. It ended up being the last nice day of autumn. His family owns some bog land up there on the lake and it was so nice to just jump back into nature for an evening.

Elcho

There was no reason not to do what we just did. Or maybe there was. Either way it was worth it.

When the sun shines bright on a late October afternoon in Central Wisconsin you have no choice but to take advantage of it. To sieze it. To do whatever you can possibly do to preserve those last precious moments of warmth and freedom before the winter winds start blowing. So that’s what we did. And it was worth it.


We made the decision fast, but we went with it. We put on our hats. We grabbed our bags and our pipes and our coats and our moon boots and our keys and we left, we fucking left. Because when the sun shines bright on a late October afternoon you have but no choice but to take advantage of it.


We drove through tunnels of orange and red. Sunlight hits autumn leaves so perfectly. And the way the breeze makes them dance like that….rustle. What a great thing, leaves rustling.
We drove through oddities. Man made oddities. Oddities that can only be truly appreciated by the odd ones. Giant badgers, and chickens, and deer, and large billboards with large letters telling us to do things and to buy things, and we listen but we didn’t pay attention. As we drove through those oddities racing the to make it to Elcho before the sunset hit.


Elcho….Elcho…..Elcho……
…………………………………places like Elcho exist.
And because places like Elcho exist so do people.


In Elcho the leaves clap for you when you pull in. And the wind makes things whisper. And when we got out of the car and fought back our giggles we were only fooling ourselves, we knew that we were in Elcho and there was no way to contain our happiness.


In Elcho there is a cabin.
In Elcho there is a gator that drives us around to one miracle after another.



It really means something when a friend lets you borrow his grandma’s jacket and drives you around his families land on his gator.


It really means something when the sunset slowly settles on a lake and you can watch it’s reflection sparkle from a dock.


It really means something when you can make each other giggle until you have to hold your side and roll around for a while.


It really means something to live camp nowhere. Know where. No where. Now here.


It’s so tough to brush the horror and pain and confusion and business of everyday life away for a night and just enjoy a moon that’s just past being full and air that you can hear.
But when you do it is worth it.


It’s so tough to ignore things, and then not ignore them, but still pay attention to them and ignoring them at the same time, every single day. It’s enough to give people bags under there eyes.


But if you can go to Elcho. Or a place like Elcho , and be reminded that there is something far more powerful than humans. And it is there, in front of our faces, every single day and night. It makes the leaves dance, and angels kiss the moon. And it reminds us that we should be thankful for being able to take advantage of those last precious moments of warmth and freedom. It tickles us. It hugs us. It scares us. And it is us. And we are it. But we’re all separated by a billion different things but ties us back together through love.


I love the autumn. I use to say I hated it but I was a liar. I love the crisp of leaves. And pumpkins and gourds. I love my family. I love my friends and I love the world and sometimes I just wish I could save it all. I wish that I could just go out and help everything, but I don’t, I sit here, thinking of how I’d like to. But maybe by just sitting here and thinking about all of the different things that I love I am saving it, just a little bit, by being one human out of many many humans that is lucky enough to know that love exists, and it surrounds us even though we don’t let it sometimes.
There are children out there being raped.
Therearearea there are old men being beaten.
There are politicians poisoning our world.
Therearearearerear there are horrible horrible things going on everywhere and sometimes there’s just so many that there’s no way to even conceive of ever stopping them.
That that that they are out there and they are strong and they are powerful and ruthless…is enough to make gentlemen seem weak and insignificant.


But there is comfort knowing that a place like Elcho can exist and peace can be found.

Peace, peace, peace
Peace is the rustling leaves
Peace is the rustling leaves.

We found peace…



It was worth it.

10. I Find Myself in Poetry this poem is a reflection after outdoing yourself. I wrote this poem the day after the second fun-raiser . I was really nostalgic. I had been such a crazy-busy week and then it was all over and i took some time on sunday to lay down and relax. then i got really nostalgic like.

-i wrote this poem after the second "fun-raiser" party that we had. it had been an exhausting weekand i'd ran myself ragged. This was the day after when i just stopped and relaxed. put on some music and took a little time to reflect. it was kind of an emotional time for me because A. i couldn't believe we'd pulled it off again B. I was going to be moving out of my house in a week away from happy familiarity of college and C. i'd just had one of the best nights of my life



5/18/06

I’m in a poem right now
I kind of had a feeling about this.
I always find myself in poems like this after nights like last.
I find myself in poems
I find myself in a poem
I find myself when Bela Fleck plays the moonlight sonata.
I find myself
With smoke dancing along the smooth brown of my shirt,
The shirt noone saw last night because of the cold.
I find myself when I can forget the cold,
When everyone forgets the cold and concerns themselves with the more important warmth that is found between the soul of friends.
I find myself in poem.
I find myself in this poem.
When the phone interrupts me-
A delightful interruption of praise and graciousness
A graceful interruption
That can only be found between me, mike neumeyer, and Bela Fleck’s music.
-I’ve gone and got myself in a poem again.
Pockets spilling over-
My pockets have been accumulating shit for over a week
But now
I can sit back and let them spill with memories and humble generosity.
I find myself.
We find ourselves in poetry
We’ve gone and lived another poem-a blurry configuration of fragmented time that I’ve created and shared and try to repiece through pictures and stories and images, oh the imagery of memory
Of paranoia
And exhaustion
Enduring the consequences of our consequences
Eventually telling them to fuck off through piles of smiles and giggles
We find ourselves in poetry.
When we hug eachother and pat eachother on the back and high five eachother and clap for eachother , and laugh at eachother, and dance with eachother and and share with eachother and care with eachother and we find ourselves in poetry!
And it’s wonderful it’s so wonderful
And we know it because our eyes twinkle.
We find ourselves in poems
We find ourselves in this poem
We find ourselves finding ourselves.
We find ourselves growing up.
We find ourselves growing out.
We find ourselves as adults.
We find ourselves changed
We find ourselves changing.in poem, in poems we find change.
And growth.
-I find myself in poetry
when I whisper “I’m going to miss you” into the ears of a purring cat-and realize that’s not the only thing I’m saying goodbye to
-a sad poem
that makes me choke up a little
an emotional poem
a thankful poem
A goodbye poem to my kitten transformed to cat-
My stranger transformed to my friend
My decisions transformed into life
My opinions becoming facts
My dreams becoming ideas
My ideas becoming realities.
I find myself in poems
When the Sonata ends
And my cat sleeps on my chest
And the clock ticks
And the traffic zooms
And my eyelids grow heavy.
And I sigh
And I smile
Knowing that I have been found
Through poetry.

11. Grandpas Mad at the Government- this poem is about my Grandpa (its a little embellished for dramatic effect, artistic license.)

Grandpa
-Grandpa’s mad at the Government
And my grandpa does NOT get mad.
He tries not to think about it too much
because it makes him and Grandma sad.
-He doesn’t listen to Di Franco
or watch that Michael Moore
he doesn’t have the influence of canvassers
knocking at his door.
-He doesn’t think much of abortion,
or care who’s straight of gay,
he’s too busy contending
with the taxes he must pay.
-Grandpa’s mad at the government
because they won’t reply to all his letters
and it starts to make him worry that
things aren’t getting better.
-He thinks we’re going communist.
where the people’ve lost control.
and it comes at an expensive price
and freedom is our toll.
-Grandpa’s been around awhile
he’s seen and done so much
but as the changes keep on coming
he slowly loses touch.
-And Grandma tries to calm him,
but even she is scared.
In a world that should be good
they can’t even get fair.
-The hair is getting whiter
the wrinkles getting deep.
This should be retiring time
but he just can’t fall asleep.
-10,000 is too much for them.
Where would $10,000 even go?
Would it buy a brand new gun-tank
or a few more bombs to blow?
-He can’t get any more cattle
the work gets harder with years.
And it’s tough not to let bitterness
overtake the fear.
-Grandpa’s years are numbered
and he shouldn’t spend them mad.
But how is he to help it
when justice has gone bad?
-What’s to happen with his wisdom
when it’s thrown back in his face
and the house that he has made his home
becomes a burden and a waste?
-All the work that he poured into it
all the exhausting sweat and blood
the dam he spent his life building
still can’t contain the flood.
-He acts cheerful when he’s around us,
like it’s not that big of deal
but we are his grandkids and
we’re old enough to know what’s real.
-From the depression up to Nixon
from one war to the next,
Grandpa’s getting worried
Grandpa’s getting vexed.
-It’s one thing after another,
but we never seem to change.
The only thing that’s constant
is that time increases age.
-Grandpa’s mad at the Government
and that makes me mad as well
because democracy’s supposed to enforce stability
not make life a living hell.
-You may not know my Grandpa.
He doesn’t know you too,
but someday my mad old grandpa
could very well be you.

[Jon Baker]

I like cats.
I like dogs.
I don't like bags that are leftover.

[Jon Baker]

My ass.
as voluptuous as pickled herring.
but not as tasty.

[Kelly]

Gettin with the program/Made in USA

The savage do ravage
But what can we do
The savage do ravage
IT was all up to you

Your vote didn't count
though you made it to the polls
your vote didn't count
because you didn't know

You didn't know that this isn't real
You didn't know that you couldn't feel
Any real life, a reaction to the violence
Those poor kids, your family and friends

The holographic soldier-prop-actors
appear in the scene on the screen
Wavin the flag, they did it again

Who are these humans, who kill and bleed
Who die for their “country” so we can be “free”
The fleshy bots feeding the death machine
The fear files, downloaded, a new way to “see”


That those Afghanis deserve
To be gunned down and bombed
For its surely their fault
That we can't find BinLadin

and those Iraqis should be slaughtered
For insurgents are there
Just waiting to nuke our freedom to hell

They envy our freedom
Love and equality
They want to destroy
our “God-given Democracy”

But I think they hate us
because we murder their kids
We take out their leaders
and leave them in ruins

We force them to pay
their souls for our dollar

As haliburton moves in for the
thrill
the contract
expansion
and kill

Operation freedom
has freed them still
from running water, electric,
and free will

To live, to breath, to love, to laugh
In peace without fear of being attacked

Refugees living in tents
Diseased, tired, and spent


And all the children
And all the civilians
Well thats the price
When America cares

America cares, and America cries
We honor our soldiers
who sacrifice their lives

America cares, America cries
We honor our soldiers
who sacrifice their lives

America cares, America cries
The soldier dies behind insidious lies

America copes, entranced by tv
reality shows, shopping, numb the disease
Of ignorance and self-absorption,
The chronic “me”

Diets, celebrities, new technology
Overstimulate our minds
Until we can't see

America tortures
the proven innocent
America hires the
violent unenlisted
To murder at will
for fun and for sport
To find BinLadin
And and secure the oil

But will we find
this famous man
This man that they
were planning to blame

Whos family Bush flew home
On that tragic day
His training and funding
“Made in USA”


Months before the towers
Mr. Cooper made the claim
divined planned devastation
would be enough to tame
the unruly slaves of
this capitalist game

A month after
the prophecy was fullfilled
brutally shot dead,
Bill was killed
A warrant was served, and he was gunned down
Ensuring the truth would never be found

Who are these humans, who kill and bleed
Who die for their “country” so we can be “free”
The fleshy bots feeding the death machine
The fear files, downloaded, a new way to “see”

So lose the programming
Unless you want to be
Another dead animal
In an endless sea

Of brutality, destruction
Dominance, and greed.

America cares, America cries
We honor our soldiers
who sacrifice their lives

America cares, America cries
The soldier dies behind insidious lies

America cares, America cries
Fantasizing about McMansions
And their piece of the pie

America cares, America cries
While texting their friends
About Friday night

America cares, America cries
Drinking some beers to relax their minds


America cares, America cries
You can tell by the changes made in their lives
National ID, long airport lines
Land of the FREE
Wiretaps, ICE internment camps
Land of the FREE
Torture and kidnapping
Land of the FREE
The PATRIOT ACT
Land of the FREE

America cares, America cries
Sipping a latte and eating some fries



But its not their fault, America didn't know
I guess they all tuned into the wrong show
Didn't get the memo, so how could they see
How much inaction could make the world bleed

Just like in Germany
The people were weak
They knew what was right
But were afraid to speak

So what should we do, when we have some free time
Besides smoke a bowl and take life for a ride
We should get together, and share our views
Collaborate, solve, question the news

When someone tells you
that they won the vote
Take a little time
To clear out the smoke
From in front of the mirror
And look to yourself
As the next one
To rise up, respond, and speak up


By caring and crying in the way that we do
For a couple minutes when it flashes on the news
Then get distracted, and forget the plight
It leaves your mind when it leaves your sight
the civilians and soldiers, starved, programmed,alone
To fight not to feed
the oil drum bellies 
with their own flesh and bone.
And “we wanted to helped, but we didn't know.”

[Kelly]

"Happy Thanksgiving"

I met a lady
She called herself Sandy
She didn't know what to do.

She asked for a smoke
actually two
but never money for food

Sandy is pretty
Sandy is smart
Life on the streets has made her hard

Her son is dead
Her daughter is dying
Cancer does take its toll.

She coughs up phlem
thinking of them
and offers her sypathy to me

I told her, my mom is dead
And WE'RE dying too
I got laid off and I have no food

But Sandy is pretty
And Sandy is smart
She wouldn't have a job to lose

Because Sandy has lived
out on the streets
And now she has no where to go

Except for the corner
Where she can bum
A couple of smokes in the sun

I stay with friends and I can sell some things
While I look for another job

Sandy will sleep
out in the street
And hopes she doesn't get beat

Or raped in the night
She'll put up a fight
But compared to a large man she's weak

She is so strong
She sings her song
With a sarcastic love for the streets

I hope that the gov
Can help my dear Sandy
For she has nowhere to turn

She told me this guy
Had $10,000 dollars
And wanted her for his wife

He chained her and beat her
Had sex with her too
Instead of becoming her groom

So now she hangs out
At Jack in the Box
And roams the sunny street blocks

She smiles at me
Her new “friend” Kelly
Oh, she wants to be free

But she's on drugs
And pretty crazy
And I can't take her back with me

And Sandy's “friend” Kelly
Will “care” when she speaks
Of her sympathy for life on the streets

But Sandy's “friend” Kelly
Won't care to “do”
Anything reasonable to help Sandy through

This is so hard, its easy to feel
Its harder to manifest
solutions that are real

How can I escape
the recurring hypocrisy
Of listening and walking away

Of thinking, “Oh man,
someone should DO something”
And letting it swim in my head

Maybe I should stop Talking
to people like Sandy
Until I have something to Do

Her life's not a show,
or a story or a play
She lives through that shit every day

And I just stop by
for a voyeuristic visit
Its not very kind, is it?

So Happy Thanksgiving
To Sandy and friends
I pray your suffering soon ends

[robin lee]

Sand Creek

Through the darkness we stalk and sneak

To the village of sand creek

The moon the fog the mountain peak

I tremble as we near sand creek



The grasses crunch The branches snap

The gun is pressing on my back

Sand creek it hides in secrecy

Until now, because of me..



They drink, they smoke, they celebrate

They conjure up barbaric hate

I tremble for what is to come

I tremble for the old and young.



Because up ahead they see what I see

The silhouette of small teepees

I feel the icy ball inside

as the charge is called with hateful cries.



The silhouettes are joined by shadows

Pre-Martyrs stepping to their gallows

Confused and groggy and full of fear

I feel my eyes begin to tear.



The first blow of violence is quick taken

Black Kettle swears they are mistaken

He has signed the deed of peace

From this hatred to be released.



But he soon knows the deed is broken

He soon sees just lies were spoken

As gun fire echos through the valley

And scalps are taken as their token



And I watch. I watch in horror.

I watch the blood I watch the gore

I watch the children cry and run

Just target practice for their guns



I watch the old, fold arms and pray

Accepting this as their last day

I watch the strong surround the weak

I watch the massacre at sandcreek.



The babies cry the babies wail

The bullets rain a deathly hail

The chief he waves the flag of white

He waived and waives with all his might



But surrender was not allowed

They are too blind they are too proud

A fierceness glimmers in their eyes

they smile as they watch them die.



They smile as they cut them up

Cut their balls and ripped their guts

They smile as their rapee’s squeal

They smile as they burn and steal



Sand creek sand creek

The bodies fell

Sand creek sand creek

A living hell



And i. I watch. I watch in wretched pain.

As skulls are shattered from their brains

As the corpse pile grows high and tall

I see Sandcreek’s historic fall.



Now through the morning light we ride

No need to sneak no need to hide

Victorious brays and triumphant yelps

Over the distant cries for help.



The guilt the guilt it is my own

It weighs my soul and chills my bone

And I can find no words to speak

To mourn the massacre of sand creek.

[Sean]

My Living Room:

To the east of the empty glass lies the remote,
which may be used to control the television.

Along the western edge there is a wide red davenport
of the sort designed especially for napping.

Against the northern wall a second scarlet sofa may be found.
This one is favored by the small white dog.

You may wonder what lies to south,
but I would have to get up to see that far.