Ode to Poetry with Gary Glazner

Ode to Poetry with Gary GLAZNER:
With Gary I learn,
How to talk,
As I walk with poetry…
Hand and hand…
We, all with Gary, take a stand,
Against, fixed, As his wordsFissure the diagnosis,
An arrow shot into our sky,
Brilliantly, we all sigh…
Hand in hand…
We, all with Gary, take a stand,
Won’t be held down by the man…
That’s our plan…
Poetry rebels…
We confused minds- some old and new…Find rhythm together against the blue.

Fingertip-man (7/5/2015):

Fingertip-man (7/5/2015):

Life’s rough, isn’t it?

But we can’t hold on to free things with…

Our fingertips.

 

Although light and pink and fleshy…

Padded are finger tips pressing in and curling,

Closing-in, just like the padded rooms of the asylums.

 

Finger tips are fine,

 But not fine enough for her.

 

She doesn’t want you to be,

But wants to be her.

                                        Let go, open your hand. Release her.

Bird State Manifesto...

In the late hours,

Where the eyes hurt,

And the soul remembers,

You think of all the moments,

Where you manifested bird state,

And you Flew…

You felt the soul living in you,

Unstuck, unglued, from your shoes,

You just knew, you..

Took sight of all around you,

And still did not turn back,

Although heart, beckoned you,

To ….

But we do what we got to do,

Fly above…but never back…

Do forward shocked but not shell shocked.

Your wings, they’ll carry you,

Not much else, sometimes.

Hedging her best?

Hedging her best?

I want you,

But I stop,

In thought…

Or in my belly button.

I follow, one, OR

The Other.

Run, for cover,

But the ache in my loins stays behind,

And I take with me, my behind,

My thoughts, soon follow.

And wonder, if I keep on the run,

I will run too far up the ledge,

Hedging my bets on instinct?

Either way, far away…

 I think of you.

Powerfully

Penetrates: "I don't know."

Purposeful: : "I can."

And with just this thought, 

Premeditated outcomes, surrender.

And smile, permeates platforms that now, levitate, like that within, where:

Possibility roams free.

Spell WORLD backwards:

When a mom, forgets

Her child’s, name.

I bare witness.

Childless?

She’s still smiling…

Her body’s biological

spirit’s unquantifiable...

Like the light,

 Dancing in her eyes as she listens to Elvis,

                                                                                                  

A name, she forgets, too.

Ocean:

Ocean still…

              Never…

And every wave that crashes,

             Takes, with it, 

                                your stare…

                                            Alive

                                             upon....

                                               the crest.

                       

Glob with it:

Lob the glob,

Good god,

Don’t say that…

Glob, Glob, Glob...

Covering, the snob,

Whatever rhymes,

In the sleepless hour, sticks.

Globules upon lobules...

Upon curiosity’s hour,

The ones, made available,

When eyes, forget to shut...

One globe open to glob…

That bobs and weaves

Looking for a place to…

Stick

Glob like glue, don’t say eeww,

Just glob with it…

Summer Relief:

Pink flesh,

Sweet,

Dripping, drink…

                   Dampening summer’s heat,

Thick with humidity, collecting at my hips,

Unlike my lips,

Submerged...

                     in watermelon moment.

Core

Core:

In there,

Lives my smile.

Burning,

    like

The Ner Tamid,

The waves of a thousand breaths

Rise out of

Praying mouths,

Demoralizing, moralizing

Wash over me.

In there,

Erect,

Even when bowed.

Autumn sans leaf color

Autumn sans leaf color:

Autumn where the leaves don’t change colors

Unnatural

Like the ocean without a drop of water

How would waves amass, simply like fall does…

Without leaves,

With Imagination.

New Orlean's Trees

New Orleans landscaped with

Cement-root- mountains.

When you climb them,

Overtake, with them, the sidewalks,

The idea of dictated path

Their roots divide and mock.

Like them, you too, take hold in the earth.

Where the residue of sweat lingers, imprints of many feet carrying jazz precessions,

and dancing hips

Unbound and flowing forth

Free Bird Poetry Event, Poetry on the Fly

She smokes.

Her lighting of that cigarette

Is her silent rebellion against, everything, she should do.

Because she shouldn’t, and she knows it.

But she puts every little pain and pain in the ass
At the end of that white stem of paper
And lights it on fire,
Burns the end like she’s at burning woman:
Letting go ...
Of a minute that
Will follow her around...
For the rest of her life!

She shouldn’t, but we cant stop her.
Maybe, she will, someday.

In the meantime,
She’s pushing out a part of her
Into the air.

Somehow, in the nicotine, she looses
Something of her:
Particles of letting go sticking to the smoke.

Change

No return…
The space grows wider.

Carried off

Into the night

Dreaming…

Aching and warm....

Tucked,
Into covers....

Alive.

Unbeknown-st to you:

Unbeknown-st to you:

I couldn’t give up on you…
Even when sitting in traffic…
On the bus…that I ran to catch.

I couldn’t give up on you…
When riding a bike with a flat tire...

You heard right.
And yes,
That’s not right

Deflated like my tire...
I hit pavement, spinning with anger.

Until you...
Made me smile.

It shook bitterness out of me.
Staving off the ego,
Which broke,
Under light laughter.

Nameless one, you, caught me.

Before
I
Fell
Into an abyss of my...
I’m feeling sorry for myself shit.

Unbeknown-st to you...

You changed
My life,
A minute,
The day.

It was just that…
That…
Which you say…
Reached down to...
Pull me up.

Just because.

Forward onto the horizon...

Forward onto the horizon…
Endless.
I’m out here..
For no reason at all!
The waves take me...
I go...
Up and down too,
Like them.

No matter how I chart my course.

A poem JJ likes...

I’m tired
Trying to avoid
Thoughts
But the thoughts
Wont me

I tried to drown them in TV
But of course
It’s broken

Unlike this silent record
That spins
Me round and round

As I lay here
With sky in my eyes

Clearness
Above me
A swarm
Inside of me
Churning

I want silence
Like the white clouds

Not
Thinking of thinking

I lay here, on cement
I’m held up, won’t fall …
Into the earth…

I will post a poem a day even if it is bad. Thank you for reading my poems.

She said, I haven't worn a hat for 95yrs..
that's a long time to not wear a hat,”
I heard…
When I asked her about that one…
What a sentence, I thought,
So striking..For some reason…
Unlike what society thinks of her weathered skin, for some reason.

She tells me too…
Her joints hurt her from working so many days
The pain, real evidence of intangible views,
We call value…but what’s that…
She says, we’re pots calling the kettle black…

I listen to her, more than I’m supposed to..
I know so because her words sound profound…

Spoken poetry slips out of her 95yr. old mouth
I catch it, hold it within my two hands, and smile.

Never hidden by the shade of a floppy
I imagine her in sunlight.