The Non-Poem

I want to tell you what this poem is about

But I can't, I won't

I'm ashamed

I want to tell you all of the details of my life

The good, the bad

The unnamed

If I were brave, like Toni Morrison

Or I didn't give a fuck, like Sylvia Plath

or I could somehow conceal myself and still tell a compelling story, like

whoever wrote that "Go Ask Alice" book

Then this poem would be easier to write

And easier to say.

As it is, the light of day catches my face

And reflects me and my words back to a captive audience

Who may or may not listen and may or may not judge

And may or may not discard my message or carry it with them

Fuck. That's a lot of pressure.

And yet, I want to tell you. Really, really badly.

Call it human nature, or narcissism

But it's nice to tell people what you know and what you're thinking

and especially what you've done

So they can validate you or be confused by you

Or hate on you, or ridicule you

Until you feel very, very small...

Never mind, I can't do this poem at all.

I Do It for the Poetry

Money, power, fame, glory

Keep it all, give me one good story

Cuz I do it for the poetry

Poets making money got the dollars when they do it

Andrew Jackson touches palm, touches wallet

Touches palm at retail store

Where money poets go for more

Until they're broke and pens go back to paper

To the paper, from the paper, by the paper, for the paper

Going home to paper houses

Paper children, paper spouses

Papered over your coffin as you incinerate

But if you know paper, you know the rain disinegrates

Money poets -- your fate

Money, power, fame, glory

Keep it all, give me just one good story

Cuz I do it for the poetry

Other poets start out shy and profound

Power poets just start out loud

Act like more than themselves.

Audience reaction touches nerve, touches pen

Touches fire-breathing, tongue-lashing words

That riccochet back to reaction, feeds both fires

Power poets smoke hoots, hollers, cheers and boos to take them higher

And blow out toxins

Spew the garbage about strangers to their faces

Putting women and haters in their places

Yelling, cursing, fighting words

Without solutions to wit

Cuz really, power poets can't say shit

Money, power, fame, glory

Keep it all, give me just one good story

Cause I do it for the poetry

Some poets come to the mic looking and sounding tight

But these fame and glory poets tonight

Have no back story, just noise

These poets just like hearing the sound of their voice

And seeing their name in lights

Lights touching skin, touching clothes glittering

Glaring off paper, sending fears skittering into darkness

Dark hearts share nothing of substance

Pens glance and scribble to the smiles of the powerful

Who pat their backs and shoulders

Eyes shooting daggers, fame and glory poets never see boulders coming

And they get crushed.

Money, power, fame, glory

Keep it all. Give me one substantive, intricate, beautiful story

Cuz some of us still do it for the poetry....

The Freestyle

I'm a punk
Walking into a room
People acting like they wouldn't care if I left soon
I'm the one
Laughing way too loud
And you'll never have trouble picking me out of a crowd
I'm not rich
Talk is cheap, you see
But I've got all these birdies tryin to pigeonhole me
That won't fly
I'm just out to have fun
Who else u know calls a swimming pool a natatarium?
Play with words, synonyms
You're not fast, you're just slim
I'm the reaper, you're grim
You're a good antonym
Like a verbal violin
You're a screech, I'm a hymn
But nobody ever wins
When you're dust in the wind.
I'm a girl
Underneath the street lights
Hearing Mom yell at Dad until they quit for the night
Like a drug
That I take too much
I just try to leave the house when enough is enough
I'm a woman
Comfortable alone
Doesn't want to turn shelter into that kind of a home
So I go
The travel bug bit me
And I don't settle down like a hippie gypsy
Play with sentences and verbs
I'm the city, you're the burbs
I'm the bike, you're the curb
You don't move, I can swerve
If you ever get the nerve
Choice of straightaway or curve
Take the one that makes you curse
And put it in your next verse
Cuz it can't be much worse
Than what I pull out of my verbal purse

Let's Talk About Sex

There's only one message I have for a
sex-loving nation
If you don't want babies, then don't
practice condom procrastination
If you don't want diseases, get tested
before getting down in elation
And if you can't do that, then baby,
try masturbation.

My State

Iowa has always been
An outcast, a standout
An easily recognizable face from the crowd
I identify with Iowa
A girl who never seemed to find a particular
rhythm, purpose or place
But blazed her own path
Lighted only by her ambitions
And the promise of what could be.
There are other states around Iowa
Watching, waiting
teasing, baiting, sneering, hating.
But no other states facilitating.
No other states improving their situation
But Iowa integrated its schools over 80 years
before the rest of em did
So don't tell me Iowa's gonna stop
a loving couple wanting to adopt some kids
Or file joint taxes
Or get spousal benefits
Because just like I don't have to be a young
black student
to believe integrated schools are fair,
There's no one who can give me a
good reason
to disallow two women from putting flowers in
their hair
to prevent two adult men from publicly touching
hands with care.
A reason, untouched by hate and ignorance,
exists not.
You try to preach to me what Jesus taught?
Instead, watch Iowa win boldly
those victories we fought.

Why I SaYes

I SaYes because saying otherwise would prove futile

Because my imagination is too vivid,

my thoughts too brutal

to pretend my verbal works of art are just
a few doodles

I SaYes knowing full well this could all be for naught

Like, what do I have that these other poets don't got?

Or, what can I say that they haven't already taught?

But I still go out there every night and give it a shot

I SaYes because I can't say no

The rhythmic lyricism of the flow

Prevents me every night from being another no-show

I SaYes to chronicle the lives of the living

and the lies of the walking dead

To move the dialogue beyond he-said, she-said

To prove you can have something to say,

even if performing on stage you dread

To let it all just flow out of my head

I SaYes.

What is freedom?

They say we live in America,

land of the free

But tell me how many people you see

growing up poor and hungry

Livin like it's a third-world country

A developing nation

That couldn't develop past the fixation

Of making money, money, money

Honey I know it's a capitalist elation

That a person can go from poor to rich

But why don't the rich ever aspire to be poor?

Maybe that could settle the score

Cuz right now all this money's an endless chore

Rich people don't live here, so rob from the poor

Hold up another late-night convenience store

One dude robs six different banks and never gets caught

Another girl is beaten to death in a parking lot.

They say it's gotta stop

But they're not telling the cops

Cause family loyalties is apparently all we got

But it really stems from cash

You want security? Here's your stash.

It's not a sickness but an infected gash

That's not yet bad enough to amputate

Like an infection, the money permeates the skin

And only bad stuff gets in

The arm says, "I'm not the leg

And I don't hurt, so I won't beg."

And the wounds begin to fester

And the rich ones in their restorated

homes on Prospect Boulevard

Don't care anymore that life is hard

They've got their million-dollar cars

And drive real fast past Sullivan Park

And scoff at newspapers telling of the city's scars

"they chose that life," they say

And far below,

in places those from Prospect never go

Americans are free to choose their fate

Between slinging drugs or paying the rent late

Going in one unemployment line and out the other

And the leg looks up at the arm and pleads,

"My brother, my brother."

This may be a freedom from which we'll never recover.

Where I'm From (Written for Waterloo ECHOES program)

I'm from a little town that was built with pearl buttons

and musk melon

Shaped from the sand and silt the Mississippi River

brought down from the glaciers

I saw that place first when I was four

That wide river seemed to soar along quick

like my childhood

My dad took me to ride on the snow grooming machines

at the ski resort

My mom hushed me as we listened to college students give
hasty reports

I'm from a family that believed education could save you,

shape you, make you strong.

Though he only finished high school, my dad said college

was where us kids belonged

It wasn't long before we left Muscatine and our parents

Off to run what we considered "life's errands"

The possibilities not yet apparent

But our beginnings proved our inherent worth

It's funny how the place where we've run from nearly birth

becomes where we're from on earth.

Skoold

To the gentlemen who think they are extremely educated

About what the gentle woman wants

You think your kisses and your touches are so soft and cool

But you're a high school dropout

So let's enroll your ass in night school.

Forget the Golden Rule

And yes, rules were made to be broken

But you learn the rules so you can learn to break them properly

So Rule #1:

Respect the woman.

Rule #2: Don't forget Rule #1.

You may say that you and I are gonna have some fun

But before you think of coming near me
with that thumb

Ask yourself: Would you want that?

I mean reverse Beyonce -- If u were a girl

And you had a sensitive, flexible,

soft, delicate, blossoming vahina

And I, being man, proceeded to soak its roots into too much water,

stomp on its stem and tear its petals up

mas rapida, andale! andale!

You would say, "Mi amor, ay papi, mi amor!"

But inside you'll be thinking, "I'm a whore."

Cuz that's what whores all -- all torn up

I'm not saying a woman doesn't like it rough

But if u ever get the slightest inkling that maybe her
moans are too much

And she says things like, "Ooh baby, your
body's so buff! I just can't get enough!"

Guess what? She fakin

Her earth ur not quakin

You're up to 350, but she's not even bakin

I mean the moves that ur makin

aren't anything close to elation.

If they were, trust me, she'd be whooping and
hollering and giving u a standing ovation

And your fellow man would entrust you

to freely give out your secrets to the nation
Of how u pleasured here, and all her sensations

She came over and over and...

Wake up! You're not in Fantasyland yet!

You're not even allowed there for vacation, fool.

U think you're some love god? Ur about to get skoold.

Rule #3: Touch me.

Now I don't mean fuck me,
suck me, bump me, twist me or bite

We'll talk about all that a bit later tonight

But for now, I want to be touched so damn light

That I can't tell if it's you or a breeze in the night

If u want to do right by me, here comes Rule #4:

Don't stop the light touching until I'm writhing,
panting, whining and begging for more

But boy, this is no time to run in and score

Like a lockpicker who hears the first pin

click into place

If you jam in the key, it's a big mistake.

And far be it from me to give you the full combination

I'm just giving you pointers to alleviate your frustration.

Did I say your frustration?

I meant, my frustration.

If you're angry or pouty, thinking I've gone and beat your ego up

Too bad. The streets are cold. That's why we turn the heat up.

AIDS (Written for SaYes2Poetry's Speak Up and Speak Out) (1st revision)

This epidemic is like taking a sedative
Millions are dying, have died, repetitive
We are the cynics, the blowhards, the critics
Ignoring the carnage until we're the victims
We wait, count backwards, 100 to one
Till the drug takes effect, then sleep will come
Dreams aren't for everyone, not if you're poor
Or black, or young, or your country's at war
The nations of Africa fighting for life
Just like our neighbors next door
While we lie awake at night
Bribing sleep for one hour more
That's what intentions are for
Never you mind all the killing and dying
Never you mind all the orphaned kids crying
Never you mind the people you meet
Getting thinner and older and weaker each week
Just sweep it under the rug and pretend
It's not really happening, it will all end
We can't know the cost and we can't comprehend
So we take a pill, no time to spend
For once in our lives we should take a stand
For once, be humble and lend a hand
Don't say, "I can't, it's too much to do."
What if the crisis mattered to you?