oldmanflower:

“What you remember saves you.”

― W. S. Merwin

oldmanflower

Remembering Langston Hughes, who died on this day in 1967.

Remembering Langston Hughes, who died on this day in 1967.

Poetry Makes Nothing Happen: Thoughts on Ai Weiwei from the Indianapolis Museum of Art

“To Todd Akin” by Ellyn Touchette

Sooner or later, we are all asked to compromise ourselves and the things we care about. We define ourselves by our actions. With each decision, we tell ourselves and the world who we are. Think about what you want out of this life, and recognize that there are many kinds of success.
Bill Watterson, creator/illustrator of ‘Calvin & Hobbes’

brainpickings.org

Gregory Porter performs at the New York Transit Museum.

“God Is An American” by Terrance Hayes

I still love words. When we make love in the morning,
your skin damp from a shower, the day calms.
Schadenfreude may be the best way to name the covering
of adulthood, the powdered sugar on a black shirt. I am

alone now on the top floor pulled by obsession, the ink
on my fingers. Sometimes what I feel has a difficult name.
Sometimes it is like the world before America, the kin-
ship of God’s fools and guardians, of hooligans; the dreams

of mothers with no children. A word can be the boot print
in a square of fresh cement and the gaze of morning.
Your response to my kiss is, I have a cavity. I am in
love with incompletion. I am clinging to your moorings.

Yes, I have a pretty good idea what beauty is. It survives
all right. I aches like an open book. It makes it difficult to live.

“This Is Water” by David Foster Wallace, commencement address for Kenyon College

Loner

after Angel Nafis, after Terrance Hayes, after Jeanann Verlee

Loner is a good person.

Loner is quiet. Loner is an only child. Loner keeps things to himself.
Loner writes a lot. Loner puts his thoughts into poems. Loner recites his poems as strangers walk by.
Loner pretends he doesn’t notice. Loner wishes they stayed to listen. Loner hopes they liked what was heard.

Loner keeps things to himself.

Loner has friends. Loner has more friends than he thinks. Loner sends his friends poems.
Loner’s friends still invite him to parties. Loner is invited to bars. Loner goes to say hello.
Loner doesn’t know all the faces. Loner stares at all the eyes. Loner stares at every stare.

Loner has more friends than he thinks.

Loner tries to make conversation. Loner yanks his vocal chords. Loner smiles as he listens.
Loner thinks of words to say. Loner thinks the words are boring. Loner thinks he is boring.
Loner watches the mouths that move. Loner waits for a pause. Loner fumbles under his whisper.

Loner tries to make conversation.

Loner sits to soothe his mind. Loner says nothing’s wrong. Loner doesn’t like to lie.
                          You’re not worth knowing.
                        Everyone knows your mistakes.
                      You’re a bad person.
Loner’s head starts to spin. Loner starts walking away. Loner doesn’t say goodbye.

Loner doesn’t like to lie.

Loner runs down the street. Loner runs into the night. Loner runs.
                   They’ll never call you again.
                 You’ve really done it this time.
               She was right about you.
Loner stumbles to the ground. Loner throws the vibrating phone. Loner yells at himself.

Loner.

Loner tries to steady his hands.
               Loner feels only his thoughts.
                               You’re such an asshole.

                                  You never called Desiree back.
                                        You told Andrea she was just like everyone else.
                             You let Ashley wait for you.
                                              You kissed Chantal without feeling anything.
                        You crushed Ann’s heart when you slept with Zach.
                                                      Katelyn was right about you.
                    
                      You didn’t go to Ms. Mello’s funeral
                                             after she treated you like a grandson.
                           You hardly tell your mother you love her
                                                  when she’s someone who needs to hear it most.
                                Your father just lost a brother
                                                         and you’re out at a bar?

                          You’re a horrible son.
                        You’re pathetic.
                      You’re alone.
                     
                      You’re alone.
                         All you’ll be is alone.
                             Loner. 

         Loner breathes.

Loner says I’m a good person.
   Loner tries to believe he is.
      Loner doesn’t like to lie.

dshooker.com

“My Tiny God” by Cristian O’Keefe Aptowicz

likes balance. He has me step in dog shit today
so I might catch an express train next week. He likes
how happy I am to earn it. How suffering to me is
like loading a gift card in karma’s outlet mall.

My Tiny God knows I like established paths, following
dotted lines to my destination. My Tiny God thinks
no one learns anything that way, turns off the headlights
when we’re still racing down a road.

Still, My Tiny God is the one I pray to on a rainy tarmac,
in the waiting room, on the other end of a static-filled line.
My Tiny God doesn’t always takes my calls. I don’t know
if he listens to my voicemails. Sometimes he goes missing.

I remind myself he doesn’t have to watch over me all the time.
He doesn’t need to carry his scale everywhere. He is allowed
to gets bored. He doesn’t have to watch me write for me to know
that he likes it when I’ve written, to see the paper pile up.

These days, My Tiny God clocks in every morning. Coffee,
our favorite miracle. Work, our favorite song. Faith, our lucky number.
He pours sunlight on me like syrup, fluffs every bright cloud,
smacks the birds from the trees just so I can watch them scatter.

pankmagazine.com

7 plays

“The Voices” by Jeanann Verlee

buttonpoetry:

Sam Cook - “God in Code: The Poet Tupac Shakur” (Button Poetry First Readings)

“In this country, the poet Christ is primarily worshipped by those who wish him white… who call his murder a miracle and then oppress in his name.”

A first reading from the Saint Paul Soap Boxing Grand Slam.