Bed of Nails

3-10-00

The expectations of a parent

                 are like nails

   held to their children's back

Held just close enough to make it

                    apparent

      what will happen if they

                        slack

Because of this

                        the kids walk fine lines

                              like tight ropes

        while bearing unnecessary pressure

        and they do this all in hopes

                                  living up to their parents'

                                       measure

They're forced into invisible molds

    (an act the parent will never admit)

       and every time the children

             do exactly what they're told

       the molds become

                           a better fit

Permanently filling shoes

                 they should only

    be trying on

  As they are served

a full plate of values

  and they don't get to leave the table 

 'til every last pea is gone

Parents allow fear

   to become the source of their love

 Never meaning it to do any harm

But there's a line between guidance

      and a helpful shove

  and when it's crossed

     there is cause for alarm

But as children are

   tucked in for the night

 their parent's

       smiles hang high overhead

  Though the kids are told

      everything will be all right

    they still feel the prick of

                nails in their bed     

Sticks & Stones ~ The Untold Story

 Down below is a video of my latest performance, which was on Thursday at The Opposite, supporting Bangkok Poetry. 

 The poem is old but I've never performed it before. As I told the crowd, I wrote it in university for an assignment. I read it to the class as a part of the assignment, but this was before I was aware of or into performance poetry so I definitely didn't write it with this art form in mind. But once I got back into it these past two years, I started going back through my older stuff looking for pieces that might be somehow WORK as a live performance. This is one that caught my eye. I added it to my list a few months ago, and even recorded an audio file (as I do with anything I'm getting ready to perform) and occasionally listened to it in the playlist to start the long process of internalizing it. Because it's written in blank verse, these poems take time. But if you can start puttin little pieces in your head well in advance, that can make the crunch time (when you  know you NEED to have it ready) go a lot faster and easier. As it was with this poem. 

I've been thinking about performing it lately. It came to mind as a possible foil to the poem I did at Bed Supperclub about kids. Before I knew what Junior wanted me to do exactly (how much time/how many pieces) I was preparing myself for any possibility. So sticks and stones were on my mind. 

But that night only called for one poem, so I put it back on the back back burner. And then when I got word of the next poetry night--but only after someone nudged me when I said I wasn't sure if I would do it or not And I WOKE UP--then I finally thought about what poem I would do. I could've done the Montecristo kids poem, but...I've already done it twice now, and three times in a row.......kinda makes me turn my lip up. I have issues with repetition. Even THOUGH none of the people from the first two performances were probably even at that poetry night....it bugs me. Maybe it's cuz I think it's bad for the poem. To use it so flippantly. Like it only has so many uses in its life and I don't wanna use them all up too quick. Does that make sense to you? I really have no idea, but that's kinda how I see it. The more you use something, the more you see something, the more you are exposed to it, the more it loses its power, or its power over you. This isn't true for EVERYTHING, but a lot. I'm probably being overly cautious with this particular example, but...there is more to it than that as well.

 Anyway, so yeah, I didn't really feel like performing that poem again so soon. Which brought me to remember the poem down below. And as I soon as I thought about it, I was like, "Alright, cool. Let's do it. The time has come." And I started practicing it like a week in advance. Even changed a few words around and ADDED a whole section to it. There's a verse/paragraph that wasn't there before. I had the idea to add it months ago and it still appealed to me so I did. It's a pretty cool performance piece now. Very solid in content. And, the performance of it itself went down really well. They seemed to really like the piece. And...I messed up a little bit, but no biggie. When you mess up on a light poem, it's way more forgivable than when you mess up on a real serious or heavy poem. Speaking for myself. Even though I changed the pronouns to you for some reason. But yeah, it was cool. 

Check out the video, lemme know what you think. PEACE!

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Sticks & Stones:

The Untold Story

 

 9-24-2002

                                                        “If he only knew now
                                                                                       what he knew then”
                                                                                                            -Eddie Vedder

I remember a time
  when the word “play”
   wasn’t sexual
 and “fudge” 
was as close as I got 
     to the “F” word

  It just 
   felt 
  wrong

I remember a state of mind
  in which it was logically possible
  to jump out of tree
   while gripping the thin plastic handles
     of a white grocery bag
  and parachute 
             to the ground

  Only after the sudden landing thinking
    “I must not have been high enough”

I remember a place
   where my imagination
     was my imaginary friend
   and I spent the whole days
     outside trying to keep up
         with him
  as my real friends and I
 blew things up
     with rock grenades
 (sound effects included)
 and fearlessly
       shot ninjas out of trees
    with lethal guns made of
          sticks, toilet paper rolls
and electrical tape

  We were fighting for our lives

But I know now
we were fighting
for our childhood

I remember my friends.  They were brothers, Franky and Marcial.  They lived up the street, and I played with them almost everyday during the summers, yet the only memory I have of them being inside my house was for a birthday party.  The acre of land around my house was enough. That land was ours.  The trees, dirt, and dry, brittle bushes, were so rich and fertile, we planted our imagination in them everyday and grew battlegrounds budding with forts made from the trees’ discarded skin.  It was magical.  Sometimes when one of us had to go ask permission to go to the other’s house, which ever two stayed behind would close their eyes and chant, “I hope he can. I hope he can. I hope he can. I hope he can,” until the other came back with an answer.  And every time we did that…it worked.  It never failed us. The tighter we squeezed our eyes closed the better. “I hope he can. I hope he can. I hope he can. I hope he can.” That was how powerful we were.  That was our magic.

I even remember one time where we wanted to go up to their house so I had to ask permission but I didn’t wannu cuz my mom was in such a foul mood that day that I knew she’d say no and then just by being near her I might spontaneously end up in trouble. But they really wanted me to come over, so I was like “alright, I’ll go ask but don’t do it, don’t do I hope he can.” Cuz I knew it wasn’t gonna work and we were so amazed by this power’s existence that…I didn’t want to break it, and if there was anything more powerful than our collective hopes it was definitely my mother’s anger. And we really only used it in the most urgent situations, like…a new toy, and that day wasn’t anything special so I didn’t think it was worth it. So I was like don’t do it, and they said, okay, we won’t. So I went inside and asked my mom and was like Hey mommmm, do you think I could go up to Frankie’s for a little bit and she said…“Sure,” and I was like !!!!!  but I couldn’t do that so I was like 0_0, and kinda slowly backed out the door and as soon as I got outside I ran like crazy to Frankie and Marcial like OH MY GOSH, YOU GUYS, YOU WONT BELIEVE....and as soon as I got over the hill I see them sittin there…

“I hope he can I hope he can I hope he can I hope he can I hope he can…”

It worked every time

I remember when they moved.  I remember thinking how strange it was that families would just “move.”  It made me happy to know that my family would never do that.  I knew we weren’t like them.  We would always live in that house that we moved out of a year later.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know I would never see Franky and Marcial ever again.  I didn’t know what we had, that we were magicians.  I didn’t know that power would weaken like the bite of guilt hidden behind each curse word, or what “innocence” even was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I'm not sure exactly when this was, but it is the house that is in this poem. I took this pic the last time I visited that town in...late 2004/early 2005, somewhere around there.  When we lived there (15 years earlier) it looked so different. Grass in the yards with climbing rose bushes and various other flowers and small trees. Quite beautiful. But at least you get to see somethin of what I'm talking about. I still love that house. Still wish I could teleport it, just like I did when I was a kid.

Like Water, Like Son

This is a poem that I recently performed at a charity event raising money for an orphanage in North-Western Thailand. The story behind the poem can be found here. The video is of the actual performance, it's not without its flaws, there are a handful of tiny changes I would make if I could do it again, but overall I'm pretty happy with it, so check it out, lemme know what you think! And the words are down below.  PEACE! 

Like Water, Like Son 

       
We have to be more careful
with this power that we wield
over every living child
whose fate has not been sealed
whose life still has a purpose
that has yet to be revealed
We have to warn them of the darkest parts
and be their human shields
teach them all about the world
and the greed that it instills
show them there’s two sides to life
and each and every thrill
Cuz kids are like cups
just waiting to be filled
you should know that every drop
you put in is gonna build
a bridge to this feeling
a link to some sensation
in no time they will be reeling
between peace and titillation
with no idea that life is stealing
the most Pristine Natural Formation…

The Mind of an Innocent Being

…free from fear’s indoctrination

Free from that persistent feeling
that we live in suffocation
free to feel their own souls breathing
without the heat of condemnation
free to know the healing powers
of their childish elation
Free to Be a Human Being…

before the bullshit’s saturation

before the mind hits maturation

and they don’t believe in anything
besides success and masturbation
at the expense of everything

…the world’s bastardization

We don’t talk to children enough
we still don’t talk to our kids about love or sex
we don’t talk to our teens about rape
we don’t talk to our sons about arrogance
we don’t talk to our daughters about strength
like we don’t want them to know how strong they could be

we hardly ever explain why we do what we do
like they don’t need to know…like we don’t even know
like there’s no meaning in any of it

Our denial
Our fear-laden inability to be honest with ourselves stops us
from being honest with them

about the most important things

our weaknesses throughout life
our struggle within
our regrets
and all those fears
that we couldn’t even put into words until our early twenties

…and so the weaknesses of the father are visited upon the son
over and over again

I see it all the time
I know a father who has never acknowledged the scars on his own daughter’s wrists
I know a father who has never spoken the word love to any of his children
I know a mother who has never talked to her son about why he ran away from home
…like it never happened, even though it changed everything

How can we protect em if we lie to ourselves
How can we prepare them for reality, when we can’t even face it

We have to be more honest with them
about what we believe and what we’ve learned
and what we have no fucking clue about
before they miss the point of all of this
so caught up in what they’re “supposed to do”
and they think what they have on the outside
is more important than what’s in here

Let’s be a little more aware
of this cycle that exists
of the echoes it puts out
and the way that it can twist
every thing we never say
into tiny catalysts
that cause our kids
to think it’s normal
to solve problems with their fists
to live a life that’s nothing more
than a number on a list
and distrust every single difference
til no one can coexist

We’re like water,
WE’RE LIKE WATER
you can treat this like a fact
because whatever you put in
I promise you will get it back

we’re like water, we’re like water
and kids are the clearest springs
and whatever WE put in them
is what the future brings

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

These Streets

Please beware of these streets.
And please be aware
of all their tricks and treats.

And don’t be scared to reach for more
than what’s at your feet.
Don’t learn what they teach,
don’t take what they hold,
these streets can be a leech on
each of our souls,
like bleach on our clothes—
leave holes that won’t close—
they reap but don’t sow,
they preach but don’t know.

And if you get too deep,
you’ll be a seed that won’t grow.
But if you make that leap
you’ll become a hero,
for all the people
down at the depot,
sittin’ front-row,
waitin’ for a bus that’s comin’
but don’t show.
For all the people runnin and runnin
but don’t go—
ANYWHERE EVER!

Plenty men sever their dreams whenever it seems
they’ll never achieve the better they need,
whatever believed would breathe Godspeed
into a life that breeds darkness!
The heartless beget the heartless
in an artless cycle
where the smartest only get the farthest
if their sharpness can cut through the harness
HOLDING ALL OF US BACK,
under a sky that looks starless and Black
as if it
were our
Reflection.