Saturday, September 8, 2007

Poetry Evangelism

hey you over there
ever stopped to wonder at
The Word?

hey you
reality isn't Big Brother
or some chick shaking her ass
at some guy groping blind and blinded
no matter how sweet her ass is,
reality isn't a blonde tart with way less class
than the French city she's named for
and no matter how many times you drive to the gym
you'll never look like her
not even with surgery

wearing your hoodie
so you can't see out the sides
pretending the whole world
wants a piece of you
doesn't hide who you really are
doesn't hide
the bruises inside
your burnt out eyes
and the way you stand naked on a stage
and pretend you're not here

hey you
take your earbuds out
listen to the snap
of your synapses sparking
smell the smell of roses
pale cream
stirred through with strawberry
and see how a seagull
slides on the shore
of a blue September morning

don't look away
I'm standing on this kerb for a reason.
I'm here to spread
the Lore of the Word.
just cos I'm holding a piece of chalk
doesn't mean I'm crazy
does it?
I'm out here
on Queen St on a Saturday night
to save your soul
with the Lore of the Word.

For you
I would lay myself down on the pavement
I would wear the crown of council thorns
I would wave my palms at policemen
I would eat the dust
and spit it back out for you in Words

Don't look at me like that.
don't look at me like I'm
a short Asian chick with issues
I'm not
a social refugee
or politically correct physician
or crazy nutter
though I could be
all of those things
if I wanted.

I am
the mirror
you hold yourself up to
the one you go to bed with
and the one you wake up to
if only you could.

Crack open
your sterile supermarket soul
take a handful of my words and crunch them
better than Hubbard's cereal
and way better
than John Banks in the morning.

slide the words round on your tongue
feel them melt
taste the salty-sweet-bitterness of them
try swallowing one long and whole
or suck it slowly
you could even
go to bed with a Poem
have more than one
at the same time
make them do whatever you want

Poems are good
for all sorts of things

but most of all

This one kind of just grew out of one of those "what-if" conversations I had with my friend Kirby a few weeks ago. It's been a while in the making too - this is draft 5...


Anonymous said...

the easy, coercive sensuality of: you could even
go to bed with a Poem
have more than one
at the same time
make them do whatever you want.

j a s o n said...

fiesty Renee! I like it!

Anonymous said...

I like, defiantly. But... the verse 'crack open your supermarket soul', seems to overlook the internal monologue, so often, in its own neurotic way, poetry.

'listen to the snap of you synapses sparkling'