New Poem up on "Drunks in a Midnight Choir"

... which is a stellar site and you should go there and read everyone's stuff.

There... there is NO bad stuff there... at. all.

https://drunkinamidnightchoir.com/2016/04/30/hank-williams-the-ghost-train-ryk-mcintyre/#more-7006

The End of Things #12/30

(Another song lyric...in which our Author seems to be channeling Early Black Sabbath, maybe Dio. Then again, maybe Uriah Heep, so let's keep things in perspective, eh? Odd, me'thinks)


Lights are falling.
Heaven's come undone.
End of the universe,
or maybe just this one.
Either way, unsteady legs
knocked out from under us.
Turn off the radio,
I need someone else

that agrees with me.
Endings, beginnings, both
had little to do with this,
we just ran out of rope
when we got down to the end of our coping skills.
No need to hang ourselves,
just let go of everything.
Turn off the radio in case
the sirens start to sing.

(chorus)
Bloody skies overhead.
Beautiful, fiery red.
Apocalyptic myth.
But all I can think of
is your goodbye kiss
to all of this...

We can watch the falling,
cities into wreckage, ruined.
We can wave at horsemen
joking "How you four doin'?"
We could enjoy little deaths
waiting for the big one.
We could swallow Jesus,
and wait for Him to come.

(chorus)
Bloody skies overhead.
Beautiful, fiery red.
Apocalyptics predict.
But all I can think of
is your goodbye kiss
out of all of this...

Heaven is unraveling,
you can wear it like a wreath
The universe is being consumed
out from underneath,
and from the inside out.
entropy at the end of things.
If we could find a whole radio
we could hear the angels sing
goodbye to everything

Chorus
Bloody skies overhead.
Beautiful, fiery bright
In the end, unworthy
of Apocalyptic hype.
Still, the only place
I want to feel safe
is your goodbye kiss
to all of this...

Real Life Story: Trying to Be an Ally #11/30

Pardon the formatting. I cut/pasted this from a FB post I made that seem to resonate with a lot of people, shared many times. I share it here, again, not to be the hero of the piece, but merely to show how easy it is to try and be an ally to POC (and not just appoint yourself the title) and also, just how mundane and common systemic racism really is.
________________________________________________


"So, earlier today, a group of young black women (teens maybe?) knocked on my door and said "Hi, we're a group of kids that have rented out the space next door. We're going to have a party and wanted to say we might get a little loud if that's ok. We won't be here later than midnight."

Very appreciated. I've lived here for over two years and no-one has ever, ever politely informed me (or anyone) of their presence beforehand. And they were hardly that loud, even when groups of them were hanging outside. There have been heavy rock shows there that were much louder, with drinking outside (and bottles left on the lawn of my building) and none of them ever went around, introducing themselves to local residents as a courtesy.

I'm surprised later (and probably shouldn't have been, after all these kids were CLEARLY GWY&B-ing* (Gathering While Young & Black) all over the place they rented legally), when I see police cars show up. I see the young woman outside, talking to two cops who were acting as if they'd never seen the Mediator before. "Do you have permission to be here? You seem kind of young to sign a rental agreement. Is this an abandoned building? Is there electricity and running water in there?" You could tell he was kind of playing with her and/or trying to get her to blurt out enough info so he could have cause to shut the party down. He looked like he'd put in some years in the police force, so his claim that "I thought this place was abandoned" was pretty suspect as, The Mediator Stage is rented out nearly every night and a few times during the week (Also available for function rentals and I hear it's cheap. Guy who owns it is a nice guy. So... shout out to The Mediator Stage (who were not there and had nothing to do with this story, save renting the hall to the people.)

So, I go outside and say, "Officers, these fine youth actually went door-to-door earlier today, politely informing us of their party. This building is rented out frequently for a number of uses, among them open mic nights and a regular Sunday morning worship group. This is actually a Unitarian Congregation, and they are registered, as is the building, with the Unitarian Universalist Association, in Boston, MA."

Afterwards, I gave the woman my name and number and told her to call me if she needed a witness to that interaction, or if the police arrived again.

Later, when the night was over and youth were waiting for their rides, I heard some of them yelling at others "Get off those steps! You don't know those people!" so I went down and told them I lived there, and they were welcome to wait there, out of the rain. I understood their caution, but I was stating they were welcome to wait there, and if anyone asked, they could knock on the door, I'd be up for a while.

All this is not about me being the hero. I'm saying that it took so little to see something not right was about to happen and no real effort to help, and when I took the cops' attention away from her and other organizers (and where their line of questioning might be going) it was nice to be able to use a little of my white privilege to confound the system. Organic Judo, whatever.

But do you see America, how easy it is to be ok with each other?

So easy, a crippled old white dude can do it.

A Heaven of Starfish and Coffee #10/30

"I think when anyone dies now, we just say Rest w/Prince bc...Prince"

                                                                                        - Rachel Wiley
There are deaths that merely cease

a life, and there are deaths that change

the whole shape and cloth of living.

I wonder was the word genius easy to wear;

it would have to be, right? So many

people throwing it over your shoulders.

But you knew it is better to be naked &

those shoulders of yours smoldered molten

as you guitared, the way u sing, everything

you held in your hands given exact magic

you wanted it to become. Your mystery? Magic.

Every instrument quicksilver blessed;

how your throat caressed every sexy part; 

your heart was orchestra, your vision rocked

in every purple shade of praise and fire.

The first time I heard your music, I didn’t

know what to fall in love with first, I was

too busy shedding tight hetero-normal,

and dancing like a Kinsey 3. I don’t know

there’s another artist that was something

to everybody and everybody got something

My friend said your passing should redefine

the afterlife, and now, when someone we love

dies, we should say “Rest with Prince, bc…

Prince.” I agree. We can say “Dearly beloved”

we can say “Electric Word: Life” we can say

“They’ve gone to a better place, a place

of Starfish and coffee, of maple syrup and Jam…”

Eulogy #9/30

(In-class assignment: suffer through writing a villanelle...)

In the end, everything comes back to us.
No one wants their end to come this way,
ashes to ashes, mortal dust to dust.

Hypothetical God, in Thee we trust.
We pray this life is not a false charade.
In the end, everything comes back to us:

prodigal sons, bad pennies, dangerous
chances we worried would turn out this way:
ashes to ashes, mortal dust to dust

in the wind, scattered by sudden gusts
and false summer calms that mask hurricanes.
In the end, everything returns to us

as if we placed good intentions in a trust.
Now the terrible dividends are paid:
ashes to ashes, mortal dust to dust.

Life is a wheel; Karma, is a wheel. Trust
all things will be balanced; all debts get paid
in the end. Everything comes back to us--
ashes to mortal ashes, dust to dust.

All Points Bulletin #7/30

(in-class exercise: the Simile)

Calling all those concerned,

be on lookout for a suspect

in several criminal complaints.

The culprit identified as “Life”

is described as “something

as empty as mystery; green

as a bird’s dream; personal

as blood; regular as midnight;

reluctant as a swollen cloud;

nervous as bad dreams caught

peeking; smooth as silence;

quick as already; as certain

as sure; pretty as a possibility;

as lonely as mercy; willing

to do anything imaginable

as one drowning should, slicker

than owl shit; desperate as

a second youth; crying like

November; pale as pale as pale as...

Should you see Life, please,

be cautious as blood-letting;

careful as cats; and quiet

as real rain. Be as certain

as heartbeats; call for help

like wind changing direction,

then be as gone as last

night, when you were not

able to even voice similes;

it was like…like…like…

Luscious #8/30

(Class assignment: alliteration; word given to me - luscious)

Like almost all words, it is rooted in Latin;

delicere, meaning, to entice by attraction

or charm; its mouth-feel, liquid like satin;

a warm lullaby, a promise of satisfaction

for the senses; loving, lazy mouthfuls

of umami and cream. Litanies lifting

luscious languidly, lingering; doubtful

there is a better reason for our existing

than moments lost to lust and laughter,

and layered cakes of chocolate. Look,

let Luscious! be our call to action. After

sifting lore and legend from every book,

Mastering the Art of French Cooking

or Karma Sutra, both are lush tomes

of all the Luscious we are looking

to learn, so we can really cook at home