Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the poet is a hollering fish
a life wish coming from a truth storm
a hollow tree of shooting stars
a hotel of roller coasters
a typewritten page thumb tacked to the blue moon
a line of poetry that has been hanging out
between a day and a lifetime, in the ethers
a bag of cobalt medicine bottles
a pale sentence between the thought of Nietzsche
and Freud, that can only be seen as a poem
but exists in the future context whose meaning
pales beside the gigantic almond shaped ships
of the next big thing(BIG), dig?
the poet is all of this, and none
nun, the poet is like a nun, whose image
always appears somehow wrong next to a coke
like a laughing Buddha in a Mexican hat
the poet has come from history like a time bomb
and lives in books of spider webs and maze wheels
or like a rose held in the hand of an Elephant god
sometimes the words and the poet
are so finely tuned its hard to tell one from the other
the poet is like a photograph in a newspaper
of a poet, who was caught in a moment of extreme mention
nobody knows what it really means
and that is why he or she is the poet
to wander like a drunk monk in a trash heap of symbols
that appear between dimensions
that light up like cosmic hub caps
the poet flings them like a frisbee
over the heads of the people forest
the night of the writer of outlandish enigmas
has been coming for thousand of ages
and has been saying the things that really navigate
around our evolving thoughts
but nobody was crazy enough
compared to who has been compared with sanity
(even though nobody knows what that is yet)
4$3#@2!15%(whoareyou)6^7&*89(0)_+=
a thousand poems utter its letters and zeros
of the human, all too human, poet

the poet is called a poet because they can't think
of a word to apply to someone that says everything
the wrong way, even when some of it is printed
and passed from hand to mind generation after
generation, its wrong or its right, but only reminds
us of that

otherwise they are too busy killing the word with more words
that only diminish the original reason anyone attempted to say
it in the last place, the first place was the only reason that
anybody could say anything anyway

and so the poet is like a circle that connects the things
that people have been saying since language was invented
and it goes around and comes around in the breath of a poet

and usually the more you say the less the poetry
and the key word, is usually, because the other one, is unusual

Hotel of roller coasters
the hollow tree of shooting stars
by the city of sea panes
from the window of waving waves
where the poet walks
down by the used bookstore
in the dusk of purple time
settles on the wet street
neon sign splash
fade in the fogy mirror
in the dark room where
the pink reflections gritter on the far wall
like the steady beat of ritual writing
through oceans of feeling
the poem sat on a piece
of musty stationary
he is looking
looking for another
book among the isles
a book of novels
that when you open
it, birds fly out

her words waited in the dim light
for a rain of ink to wash it all away
the rain was drunk
and rainbow sun drops
in the house of diamonds
her poem floated through the soft alley
of silent memory and drugs that
make you pray to a Greek goddess

he found the book of bliss, in the last row
and her poem was tucked in it
like a blade of grass plucked
on the golden gate hippie hill
where they once sat
and gazed at the colorful breeze

The opening lines are so strong that they launch the reader through this (comparatively) long poem.

revolutionrabbit wrote:the poet is a hollering fish

otherwise they are too busy killing the word with more words

and the key word, is usually, because the other one, is unusual

The word's a four-letter word spelled "FISH"
that screams to be noticed and asks not to be uttered
and is eaten by sharks that are eaten by shark-fishers
that are eaten by other guts and graves
and it's unusual for anything to break the pattern.

That's the fish I holler, but to be called poet is given not taken. Or else? Right?

I knew of a poet years ago, that wrote a poem called Nico's Eyes, his name is F.A.Nettlebeck, he wrote very intense poetry, that was very edgy, if violent like, I just googled his name, and he has a web site.I remember getting drunk with him and other poets at a after poetry reading party.Don't know why I thought of that, just that he still writes like himself.I don't know who I write like, because i never had a certain perspective, exactly, I was Influenced by Surrealism, and if you don't read about Surrealism, then that means little, for instance the poet that I met a few times and heard read a few, was the poet that influenced Allen Ginsberg to write Howl, or he had an influence on Allen to write it, and so on, but I mean he was a Surrealist, but the meaning of Surrealism is different now, because mostly there only a few people that take an interest in who they were.And so on, but the influence is still pervasive, as far as how it shook up things.Just like the Beatles and Dylan had such an effect on how we see music and language.And I liked a poet that had been Benedictine monk for years, and then thought of himself as a naturalist, or pagan even, and so on, he said poetry was a calling or a vocation.But, if you compare it to say jazz, then you see the very big influence of bebop, or the 'Bebop Revolution" and then you can see the movements of rap and hiphop , on language, and how much jazz influenced the Beats and the Surrealists, ect.