Interesting Blog – Please Spread the Word!

Dear Readers, Share the gift of blogging with your incarcerated loved ones by telling them about inmateblogger.com. Every person has a voice that deserves to be heard. We support & believe that writing can be a great source of rehabilitation, growth, and healing. This site is a collection of blogs written by inmates. It serves as a […]

via The Gift of Blogging — Inmate Blogger

Advertisements

Spring Rain

Spring Rain

Right before the rain, the cat came, slinky soft,

curving around the corner of the house, arching a greeting to my ankles.

The clouds waltzed and tangoed across the horizon to the arms of the sun –

they danced and this is how it started.

 

The maples decided to give it a whirl,

little by little the lilacs and currents joined, ducking and bending each branch and leaf.

Winging away were a robin, a sparrow,

a goose or two, and a cardinal.

 

Rich! what-cheer, cheer, cheer! purty-purty-purty-purty

After the rain – plum blossom – sweet and heavy on the breeze

and I could swear I heard the earthworms, glistening through the grass roots.

Lilac gratitude goes to Simon from the Lawless Poetry group on Facebook.

WP_20150513_10_37_33_Pro

To the Community of Poets

To the Community of Poets

“For every atom belonging to me as good
belongs to you…”

The Barbaric Yawp Open Mic Reading Series is a monthly event, curated and hosted by Christopher Title, and held in St. Paul, the twin sister of Minneapolis.

Tonight was the 10th Anniversary of the series, and I gotta say – we all did it up right tonight. What a blast! Energy levels were high, the poetry and stories were fresh and edgy and fun. We had a *great time.

All the performers read their own work, and then each took one of the stanzas of Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.”

“I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips
and gently turn’d over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and
plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart…”

I took my place at the mic tonight, and I had verse 19 from Whitman’s “Song.”

19
This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,
It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointments with all,
I will not have a single person slighted or left away,
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,
The heavy-lipp’d slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;

There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,

This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,
This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,

This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?

Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish?

Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods?

Do I astonish more than they?

This hour I tell things in confidence,

I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

But first I read a piece that I wrote in Wendy Brown-Baez’s most recent poetry workshop. Wendy’s a really good teacher – I’ve learned so much from her. So, I’ll share here the unexpurgated version of the poem I read tonight at the celebration.

To the Community of Poets

Praise to the community of poets!
The writers, toiling away,
creating pictures in words,
crafted from the weavings and leavings of the Muse.
They are like lyrical ants,
antennae pressing into each letter,
every word a grain of wheat
gathered and arranged
and offered up.
Plopping ladles of alphabet soup into each bowl,
the reader tastes,
and like unfolding clouds of incense,
wonder rises like steam from the plate.

Praise to the community of poets!

On social media, in meeting rooms –
a gathering storm of wordsmiths
sits around restaurant tables,
sprawls on couches and pillows and chairs,
writing and laughter rising and falling,
and tears in turn.

Praise to the community of poets!
Praise to them
and these hearths of faces and keyboards too,
crackling with villanelles,
and sonnets rising up like charmed snakes from the midst of them.
Shoulder to shoulder they seek for the perfect word
to hymn of love gained and lost,
of new cars skimming along streets,
of rusty cars left behind,
of weevils teeming in bags of spilled grain
of mountains thundering with trees,
of children birthed, grown and gone.

Praise to the community of poets!
Praise to the giddy company of poets
Who learnt the trick of breaking into the places where fire is stored.
Like wild monks, they guzzle the wine there,
and then bring some back to spike the punch
with words that slip through the barricades
around the souls of the sleepers,
bringing hearts to heal
and beat and throb with the perfection of the world
as it is –
only better.

Mastering the Thirty Aires Submitted!

My good friend Scott Michael Stenwick has submitted the manuscript for his final book in the Enochian trilogy. Well done, brother Stenwick. Time to celebrate!

S C O T T   M I C H A E L   S T E N W I C K

30_aires_color_500
It took a lot longer than I ever expected, but my draft manuscript for Mastering the Thirty Aires has finally been submitted to my publisher. Editing and book production usually run around six months or so, which means that the book should be available sometime next fall.

Mastering the Thirty Aires completes my trilogy of books on the mostly-Dee-purist-with-some-additions system of Enochian magick that I have worked out over the last twenty-five years. It focuses on practical results, and uses what I consider the best interpretation of the material in the Dee diaries for attributions and powers of the all the spirits and other components of the system. It deals with how to use the Aires and Parts of the Earth to effect political change, and also includes some valuable and practical material on zodiacal magick.

I’m looking forward to making this final piece of my base Enochian system available…

View original post 30 more words

Sing Along With Dada

Sing Along With Dada

Sing Along with Dada
by Michele Montserrat

 

As dear Tzara said,
“…if we reveal the crime, it’s to please you, dear audience.”

AND! dear Tzara didn’t say,
but I believe he would have, if dear Tzara were alive –
“Lick here,
you might be one of the lucky 25.”

Dada is
world soul without end,
and Dada is
revolution without a pawnshop,
and Dada is
a learned denunciator
currently working the sign without a net.

h’um dear dada,
h’um dear dada!

Dada can be found
whistling at your friends,
and Dada is
yelling at Fellini,
and Dada can be found
feeling up the surrealists.

dada m’dada,
dada m’DAda!
dada m’dada
bordello m’DAda!

Dada is
teatime for burglars,
and Dada is
a scandal to the ants,
and Dada finds a happy ending
in tank traps especially.

h’um dear dada,
h’um dear dada!

Dada is
firing your neurons,
and Dada is the one
who said goodbye,
and Dada can be found
pulling the strings,
and Dada is the one
who stole your paint-by-number picture
and put it in the Louvre.

dada m’dada, dada m’DAda!
dada m’dada bordello m’DAda!

Dada is
kissing the wind,
and Dada can be found
with a gleam in its eye,
and Dada is
drinking the milk
of manufacturers
and evangelists.

dada m’dada, dada m’DAda!
dada m’dada, bordello m’DAda!
hu’um dear dada,
umhum dear dada,
in bordello Jesus!

Sunday Morning Music for April Snow

Sunday Morning Music for April Snow

I live in Minneapolis, and the city got a total of 15.5 inches of snow yesterday.

Yes, I know it’s April. This is actually the *second largest accumulation for an April. We are hardcore up here in the tundra!

Gonna be chilling at the house today, since I can’t make it out of my street, so I thought I’d make the the best of it by writing and listening to music. Found a beauty in Low Light Mixes latest show on Mixcloud.

Check it out here –