Summer Update for Your Eyes to Decide (Poetry Inside)

Sorry folks, got no doodles, because it's summer, so I got little time to doodle.  However, I have gotten back to writing some poetry, doing a bit of music, and enjoying the warm sunshine.  I have decided to take a break from facebook and just do some posting over here.  I'm doing this mostly because for the last several weeks, no one has checked this, I haven't tweeted anything out about it, so to the majority of the world, this site remains dead.

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.