Inside The Flow

my flow is fluid
like there's nothing to it
I just do it
I flow like rapids
automatic
it’s just my habit
rhymes multiply like rabbits
my flow is lavish it is just
ridiculous
an avalanche of words I bust
that hit you
you'll think something bit you
my words attack you
leave your eardrums bruised
my flow goes on cue
drowning in the rhymes I spew
my flow spirals in circles
it’s a verbal miracle
when you hear it go
my flow steams
like hot springs
and bubbles and pops
pours like waterfalls
My flow is wide as it’s tall
my fluidity is atomic
as dangerous as suicidal
fundamentalist Islamic
my flow is as beautiful as Adonis
it’s compelling
like Joe Lewis beating up Max Schemling
if words were stocks this one would be selling
so buy it and try it
my flow over flows the levee
cause it runs high and heavy
hit you with liquid rush bevy
it’s quicker then sliver flashes like sirens lights
leaves you desiring more than a cure
I evaporate like water then make my flow down pour

Slowing down time to go with the flow

A LIST POEM

A to do list is not a poem she said
This is my reply

To Do List:

1. Make Love
2. Kiss
3. Cuddle
4. Snuggle
5. Talk
6. Explore
7. Repeat All

FUCK THE SLAM

Everybody wants to part of the slam
As for me I don’t give a damn
I am who I am
Fuck the slam
And political poetry cronies
And the fake ass phonies
People packed in to stand on the stage
and spit their memorized page
To votes and number gage
It’s all just a fashion craze
The art of poetry is not a sport
That’s what I was taught
If I wanted to perform for points
I would have been a gymnast and studied acrobatics
My pros and rhymes are I, not to be judged politically
How can one poem be better than another it all depends on what you feel?
What gets touched and uncovered and revealed
Numbers serve to disrespect each other and to be called a champion because you win
Slammers stand and clamor for the glamour
Thinking they are champions and me an amateur
How do you get those high votes as you speed through poems?
So fast your words get choked?
Lost in the hoopla the words are no longer the star
It’s a sideshow poetic rodeo that’s why people go
Gasping for air battling toe to toe
Just give me zeros cause for me
Votes are not needed to boost my ego
As scores range from high to low me winning a show
would be a miracle cause I yell and go slow
I got my own flow

NEW YORK CITY INMATES

In the city millions of people are
hidden by the tallness of buildings
Covered and buried alive beneath the ground
Millions of people unseen behind walls
Sealed in apartment windows are covered
And stares and look glances at shades blinds and curtains
reveal no form no sign of life
All except the window light unseen in the daytime city
Dwellers assume no one is home
Elevated trains pour past my window
The thousands of people insides seem invisible
In the distance cars and trucks shoot past
From zero to sixty
Their drivers not seen appear ghostly
Millions of people invisible set high in the skyline
Dark windows render me blind
I hate this city because of the lie
Told me there are 8 million people
Everywhere I go I never see more than 25

Special Forces At work

This is a new way to play when I'm totally exhausted. Seven year old energetic boys will make anyone exhausted, but it's especially hard for me with the weekend schedule. The weekend comes & I'm worn out & frazzled. I just want to zone out with a ball game & have a nice glass of red wine with some good home cooked food.

This is how I amuse myself instead.

To see the video of our game click the title above!

DubbleX hits a balance ~ Dig it!

Joy calls it the boogie board cause she says I boogie on this board. Really it's just called a balance board. I dig it that she makes up her own words for a lot of things. Is that a thing that only poets do?

Can you see me...

i turn around and show you my back
so that
you can not see
can not really see me
and can maybe see me
what you see before you is easy
a man
a human being
a person
this is what you see
and you see it more when you see my face and my eyes
you see what is before you
but you forgot
as long as i see you
i can not see myself
see what you see
cause to me
i am a soul
a vision of light and energy
that is connected to everything i see and don't see
when you see me
you cannot see
the tornadoes of words that twirl in my mind endlessly
the thoughts that would sit me in the company of Plato and Nizche
when you see me
you can not tell that i can see the future and know what lies beyond the stars
when you see my face you see me a man
but truly what you cant c is that i am a soul strolling through eternity

My Son Samoa & Me Getting Ready for Halloween

My son asked me what do you like about the earth
I told him I like the sunrise and the cold raindrops
I like the rough smooth rocks
He said I like the sunshine in my eyes
to see everything and the beautiful trees
I say I like grass and the smell of burning incense
flowing in my nostrils
I like the feeling of smushed earth dirt
between my brown bear colorful painted toes
He said I like the feeling of the floor under my feet

A Starving Artist Striving

Starving artist
With a pen piercing his wrist
The pain of the sacrifices
He has made to this life as an artist
Poet or poetess
He’s starving to exist
Everybody knows most features at shows
Are not the best artists but the ones the host & or hostess know best
Those getting paid the large paper dollars aren’t the best artists either
We are forgotten in the world’s focus of who is the best artist
The real artist is poor and hopeless
Only lives for his creative bliss
So insane and ahead of his time the world assumed he was out of his mind
He would straight up panhandle and sleep on subways and streets
He lives off of words and left over break beats
He’s lonely and too strange to converse with
His fashion can be questionable while
his family is surprised he lacks the proper paper cash obsession
Call him a failure cause his mind is filled with words and music instead of dollar signs
The starving artist invents the mainstream
Then is killed before he can get credit
Cash is used only for housing body fuels and artistic tools
His art is not a labor - it’s really all he can do
He lacks skills and abilities to cope in society
The world understands physical ails but rarely pays attention to mental disabilities
Or other kinds of abnormalities
Our society is based on norms and similarities
The starving artist in most of us is killed very early
By mind control of commercial TV that teaches its citizens to think similarly
those who don’t watch are immediately deemed crazy & looked at suspiciously
The starving artist doesn’t watch TV
Mainly to keep his mind free
The starving artist lives off ingesting creativity
The starving artist survives through his ability to create