Something's coming...

… hope you’re in suspense.

I love nature
But those damn birds
Keep chirping
Burping hamr outside my window
The charm of letting me know
That it’s morning.
Not quite yet, its still 5 30
But soon the sun will rise.
And the demise of my sleep
Will continue with their peep peep peep.
Good morning birds.
Thanks for the warning birds.

Carpet on my bare feet
Soft enough that dry toes meet
Little resistance, and almost no snags
As my foot drags lines
And carpet designs
For subconscious entertainment
Gliding arrangement
In the side show
Of our conversation.
Un-breaking your focus and making mine
In line preservation.

There’s something out there called corporate personhood.

My friend and fellow poet, Ariel Luckey, wrote a poem showing his frustrations with this concept. We collaborated and made a video about his poem, “Corporations are not People.” I’m curious what people think about the whole corporate personhood thing.  I own a limited liability company for doing video production, but I can’t say I get into this much.

This is the first poem I’ve recorded of someone else reading that I then edited together.  Overall I’m happy with the result.  The F-word is in this poem, so please be mindful of those around you when watching the video. Thanks.

-Andy

Mortar

As if the mortar were a sorter of bricks, shadow, and light
I went to retrieve the camera from my car.
My wife, cold from the night, smiled at the sight
Through the window of her husband, in the dark.

Finding photos of texture and angles in the wall
I watched the grit that seeped out alive.
Suspended through time in it’s failing to fall
Trapped when it tried to survive.

Really? This chair sucks.

That comfortable broken-in look is misleading

‘cause upon seating, it’s fleeting

and I’m left with that broken look

that took away the comfort projected

by a mind wanting cozy,

not broken, Broken in.

wonderin’ why I wander in

to find what I begin

with a broken chair

Inserting a broken stare

From my computer

And back again

When I realize I’m writing

Lighting a flame

From a broken chair.

This is a ping poem
To see who’s home,
Who subscribes still
To a fill of poetry
Unearthed on a screen
Where the shovel is rusted,
Needs to be dusted
With more earth…
Time for rebirth.