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audio verson – set volume before clicking: Sun


Sun –by everyman jack

I shine for you
I am a sun
I vaunt not
I boast not
I am one of many suns
But I shine for you

I shine for your mercurial whirl
your effulgence, your brilliance
your quotidian butterfly rush through existence
here today, gone tomorrow
ball of energy
your desire to transmit, emit, remit, and flit
from one space to another but always
communicating and innovating
absorbing and reflecting
and you think I light up your life
but I do it just to see you shine

You are my venus
You are love and beauty
orbiting clockwise
not anticlockwise as others do
because beauty brings its own direction
I don’t ask if love is contextual
I don’t ask if beauty would be so beautiful
in some other solar system
I just shine
I shine for you
That’s what I do

You are my earthy
scratch an itchy back
in a hot sand
zephyr sniffing
hair blowing
water dripping
surf riding
snow angel
You are my optimally heeled
catamaran in a wild wind
You are my texturally consummate
I will never let you go
When you shake off the fleas of humanity
and rejuvenate yourself into the next eon
harmonizing to Joan Baez singing
Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young”
I will still shine for you
That’s what I do

When your martian bellicosity is seen
for what it is, a resentment of the hurt inflicted
by past civilizations that didn’t care about
the hurt they did to you – to their own detriment
I understand and send warm rays to help
you heal and feel again the warmth of your own
rejuvenating heart until your red anger
turns agains to green and blue
because I shine for you
that’s what I do

Your jovian magnanimity
Your saturnine tenacity
Your tipsy Uranus
Your brooding Neptune
Your mysterious Pluto
shroud yet complement the more obvious
All those things even I don’t know about
inspire me to marvel
And yes, the unknown,
the X factor bring the whole of you
into an integral completeness

and me?
I am part of you
You are part of me
We are just holons
holding on and whirling through the
on a joyride

We are a planetary system
to be precise and
I am your sun
I vaunt not that fact
I do not boast
I am one of many suns
But I shine for you

If all the grains of sand
on all the beaches
of the planet earth
were counted
that number of grains
is approximately the number of
suns in our universe
so I am one of many
but you
you are my one out of many
you are my “e pluribus unum”
all my planets comprise one you
I shine for you
That’s what I do

[from all righs reserved]

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Here is jack’s one paragraph or so guide to creating poetry. 

Beware authorities. If you find yourself in that setting try to stick around a bit for comedy’s sake. 

Don’t try to rhyme if you haven’t a gift for it. Robert Frost (most widely known US poet) though, said, “poetry without rhyme is like tennis without a net.” I suppose a dozen kinds of rhyme exist. I think my favorite is found in Emily Dickinson. She will have a stanza (say four lines) She will have a solid clear pure rhyme in every line but one. Say the last line. It may be a half rhyme: a different consonant, a short vowel,something that makes the line a little different from the rest. So one must ask, “why is that line different?” It is different e.g. to accent meaning. Perhaps like an exclamation point in punctuation. 

I love the hiphop technique of repeating a rhyme sound until it is about to scorch into monotony.

Robert Pinsky, was US poet laureate about a decade ago. He said, “there are no rules.” Some assume that removes responsibility. Rather it increases it. He is saying you can do anything you want with poetry. But, you must make it work. 

For me poetry is best thought of as jazz. That is one of the reasons I think poetry is best when performed aloud. It IS performance. Some really great poets fail in delivery. Not loud enough, poor pitch, poor enunciation, poor timing, well read, flat. The current poet laureate of San Luis Obispo, Jerry Douglas Smith, is notable for his ability to capture dialect. In one of his poems you hear the poet dialing through the radio driving along a road. Different dialects, language accents, attitude. Each voice connects to the overall poem in a vital way. 

Whatever language techniques, poetic devices, word coinage, meanings twists, ah hahs, paintings drawn, are fair game. Here is how you know a poem is good. As you deliver, check the faces of the audience members. When they are smiling, nodding, on the edge of their seats, crying, laughing, laughing and crying, ole, bravo: that is a good poem. No feeling is as great to a poet as clearly discernable audience reaction. That is true sometimes even when they are throwing tomatoes or eggs. Love every smatter, kid. You have the experience of a life time. Twist of thought will come into a vibrant poetry creation session. When you get a good one and perform it, try to play it as a kayaker plays the rapids in swift moving water. Have no fear. You may drown. No problem. You are a poet. Eternally.

In the next node of my stream I will put up a poem called BLUE HAIRED POETRY. I don’t often let this one go out running around. Some myopic people might think it is stereotypical. They may be correct. And they may be right, as it were.

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(adjust sound before clicking)

grounddown  a ditty inspired by Margaret Atwood’s novel, HANDMAID’S TALE


keep on grinding up

don’t let the grind down grinders grind you down
don’t be ground down
don’t be ground round
keep on grinding up
keep on grinding up
keep on grinding up

margaret atwood wrote it down
for those ground down
in the handmaid’s tale
when the ground down frail
read the secret wall
said down ground don’t frown above all
no lite te bastardes carborumdorum

the first rung to riding a rail
when they call you frail
reply to the grind
upward bound in mind
writing’s on the wall don’t erase that call
no lite te bastardes carborumdorum

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Safe Sax

saxophonejones  Click there for the audio mp3 file. Adjust sound before clicking.

Yes, I know I should be finishing that book on Maya ‘prophecy’ with surmises as to its direst possible content and ramifications. But, the tenor sax got in the way. So, I took it for a walk. When we arrived at the boulevard bus stop, the sax was tired of walking and wanted to sit where the boulevard sound drowns out the blow job. Today the sax and I agreed on a medium of Clapton blues from the Chronicles album. I got to toss in my favorite Bob Seger tune, In Your Time, in exchange for the sax’s choice of Sultans of Swing from Dire Straits.

Then we picked up the mail from PO and walked on back thinking about a novel born of the thoughts that run through the heads of people leaving the PO who are wondering why the old man and sax choose that bus stop bench to perform. And then some neighbor says, “you must play us a song sometime.” And I think, “Yeah, that’s just what my neighbors need, me blowing their pacemakers off frequency with 150 decibels of vintage Mark Knopfler guitar as blown through a single shot tenor sax barrel.”

Then I put on Take Five and listening to Brubeck’s piano, Desmond’s alto, and Joe Morello’s drums I reverently revered the time Tobola said, “What if we got some Poly Space, a jazz band like SLO Mambo to play behind Ray Clark Dickson reading his stuff, you know his birthday is coming up? We could sell raffle tickets, The winner could ride to the gig in the limo that picks up Dickson. It could be an art council fund raiser to beat all arts council fund raisers.”

And Kate of Stuhlberg fame said yeah and everybody said yeah including Dickson and SLO Mambo. And I held out for an OK to play alto sax from the back of the room while Dickson did a jazz poem from the front.

I came out of my revery feeling good about my bank reserves. Not the financial bank, but those stored in The Bank of Reminiscences.

And that is how blog articles get written. On this keyboard, at least.

The media memories of that fund raiser are stored away. So I will put this online with an mp3 copy of my own sax poem with some simple back up from my that same tenor sax that enchanted the POed boulevardiers a little while ago.

And then I am definitely going to finish that book that no one will buy. Well, pluck’em if they can’t stand a poke.

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The Big Ahh Hah

TheBigAhhHah  (audio – adjust volume before clicking)

The Big Ah-Ha   ---by Jack Mothershed

It can come with the rain
condescending heavenly hygiene
easily detached droplet shells
Who knows?

It can come in out of the blue
maybe a subtle hue
falling down that shaft
between your iris and your brain
that tunnel of light years
just a nanosecond's travel time
before it rolls into your soul
 Continue reading The Big Ahh Hah
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Sensational Game

Whether you dislike poetry or dislike baseball I am betting you will like both with the visual, oral, and textual delivery of this sensational game in three strikes. The video presents Strike Two which sits, all nine innings, in the middle of the three strike narrative as seen in the text below the video. Enjoy!


Strike ONE

The last time I was in Memphis
was poetic Continue reading Sensational Game

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Being Born a Poet – Intro

When I was younger I never took the time to change, to edit, redact, reenact, redo, over screw, renew a poem. They usually came in a flash, done as fast as I could type them. Shoot, that is how I increased my typing speed. But that is another story. This poem is one that, Continue reading Being Born a Poet – Intro