To give you a true update on how my summer is going, I have worked on one of my short stories, and really just busted tail at my job. I'm only there part time, but part time is really feeling like full time, and I'm ready for next week to start so I can get a break. But I think that's enough about the summer, here's some poetry for your eyes to decide on what's good...or not. Enjoy
Ms. Stone’s Training Wheels
Round & Round
we travel with sun’s shadows
meeting us in wind’s
whisper
Connections are infectious
when one is alone…
Connections are infectious
when one is alone,
& the only friends are
a pack of Pall Mall,
& a cup of hot tea,
to tell your troubles to;
or your triumphs, as they
trickle in.
Life is good,
as long as you’re grounded.
Beauty is brown hands
wrapped around brass;
fingertips lightly touching
pearl keys.
Subtle breath breathing in & out
in rhythm to ivory tapping
fluffy like elephants
doing ballet
It is morning in Dubai
& sand grains in California
dunes, move a 7 year old’s
carefully crafted castle
to the edge of a
purple painted imagination
It is morning in Dubai
& sand grains in California
move a 7 year old’s
carefully crafted castle
to purple painted imagination
Feel the salt water
on my tongue &
nothing ever tasted
sweeter—
Movements & shadows
as planets position themselves
to another
universal adventure.
Ms. Stone’s wheels have formed,
and she is off,
off riding to find
her glory;
off riding, to find her,
glory.
(c)2014 C. Barbee
This is a piece that I placed to a track and put some sax on it. I'm currently working on trying to figure a way of doing it live, memorizing it and fitting it all together. I'm not sure which sax I want to use for it. I'm thinking BB, but she may be too big of a sound for it live, so I may try Ms. Stone...it is called Ms. Stone's Training Wheels, so I may go with her.
Tweet Poem
Followers be lookin’ for a universal tweet to change their
lives…
Fyi…it don’t exist in this madness
Got u squirmin in ur chair y it ain’t there…u speak, addin’
to the savage
And be in the cloud w/o average speakin’ to fleetin’
winds…like the scarecrow in da wiz,
u can’t win
Speaking of tweeting and such, I ran across this on my mac, and thought, what the hell. I know this was something I put out on twitter, so you can enjoy this one, it's pretty short but eh...it works, or not--you be the judge.
Rules to the Game
Our duty is
massive,
mending the membrane
of souls broken,
backsliding on
steppers stoops,
unable to scale
that crystal stair—
We snatch
lead and ink
trying to ignite
the enigmatic emotion
to attempt, one more time.
Noticing the
harbor of hurt
that hardened muscles
pumped in
from black robes;
brown eyes reveal
the bench, gavel,
and decision.
Earth ain’t easy,
life ain’t fair,
and Mars is some
far off fantasy
wishing we could
vacation there.
The
medulla oblongata
got lacerations
and is bleeding out—
Snap, snap.
Attempting to suture
that stem cell
back to the
system.
Saluting failed attempts,
it is 8 fingers and
2 digits,
with nipples crossed
hoping for
the mammals’ rise.
Like the good doctor’s
electrodes,
we unpack the chemistry
set
next to cauldrons
in scientific laboratories
laboring for our
next creation to take on life.
Rule #1—
doctors will lose good lives.
Rule #2—
doctors can’t change
rule #1.
But we ain’t
doctors with fancy degrees
and rarely used Latin language;
we are poets!
Privy to prophet’s prognosis
that anything
is possible,
when protons make contact to
the atmosphere.
Abracadabra and allacazam!!
We metaphysically speak magic
into manifested electrodes;
electrocuting the evil
which lunges at brown eyes
on Monday and Sunday.
We be damned to
take any day off—
Rule #1—
Poets Change Lives!
Rule #2—
People can’t change,
rule #1!
(c)2014 C. Barbee
I actually performed this poem last year I believe. (I've been doing that for some reason) But I'd performed it with out perfecting it, and it came off pretty good I thought. At the time I performed it, people really responded well to the piece, especially the parts about the rules. So since I don't think I had titled it at the time, I just titled it "Rules to the Game".
Because It's Never Enough
Once,
I had a guitarist tell me,
I was too much
of an artist
to be in his band.
Apparently I'm
too vocal
as a saxophonist--
so I told him,
Fuck you!
I'm more of a
poet--
anyways.
I think this one here is more of a thought than more of a poem. It's actually something that happened to me. I placed an ad on craigslist as a saxophonist looking for a band. I sent this dude mp3's, we emailed each other, and had a actual conversation. But apparently, like the poem said, his band felt I was too much of an artist to just play sax. Oh well...fuck him, maybe I'll expand this thought into a more concise poem one day, maybe not. It's getting close to 5:30 am and the sun is rising for the 5th of July. So I'm guessing this is a good time to shut it down and get back to sleep. Hope all is well in your world if you happen across this.
Peace and Blessings.
