There is no point in being here
unless
I am in love with humanity & its diversity.
There is no point in ignoring
what my legacy will be.
There is no point in creating
a blank tombstone
[You can also hear an audio version of this poem here]
I stand
against the crowd
I stand out from the crowd
I am an individual
odd
different
singular
misfit
awkward in my comfort
edgy in my skin
alive in my own little way
I live my say
I give the best shot I can
every day.
I stand against the crowd
of wasters who fritter
their life away their way.
I waste my life my way
I fritter my days into
the oblivion I fashion
every step I say.
because I am who am
me
condemned to be myself
I stand out from the crowd
comfortable in my discomforting way
that comes from every pore
every sore
every score of my expressions.
It’s my art
the heart of my song
the liver that cleans my spleen
seen in all my glory every time
I stand against the crowd
Each and every difference
friction
grating
unconforming
uncomplying
understandable me.
See that fella
hovering on the edge
the one who isn’t fitting in
the one with the shifty eyes
the glint of his own
You can smell
he’s an outsider
a weirdo
an awkward one
an individual
heart
a body of imagining
power
wealth
stealth
scheming to survive
the crowd
the collective view
the “what we all think”
thinkers.
I stand against the crowd
I stand out from the crowd
away from the crowd
proud of my own way
fiddling the melody
composed of notes
I’ve assembled from the crowd
playing the game I’ve invented
the rules I’ve annunciated
predicated on the shoulders
of giants who have fallen
in battle
against the crowd
castigated on shoulders
of heroes that have died
for the cause of being
themselves.
I reject the way of the crowd
every time my heart pumps
blood from the flat of my soul
to the peak of my imagination.
Consternation
I will cause
conflagration to
instigation of the self
opinionated
author of my fate
creator of my faith
born to be wild
not filed away in a box
I defy
I stand against the crowd
that would
categorise me
classify me
entomb me in place
where they could ignore me
where they could make me safe
from causing a splash
from making a difference
from changing
the course of history
the dreams of others
the Universe.
For such a cause
I stand against the crowd
I stand out from the crowd
to welcome you
fellow traveller
fellow awkward person
follower battler
for your way.
For your way is my way too
your way is yours
my way is mine
our way stands out from the crowd
We stand against the crowd.
We stand up for ourselves
We stand who stand.
Against the crowd
Unto death.
_________________________
Notes:
#RebelCreatives are those who rises in opposition or resistance against an established force or opinions. People who voice their opinions, want to make a change and promote social good.
Everyone is a creative. You share your creativty everyday through the way you walk, talk, interact, share and care.
The #RebelCreatives project will officially launch with epic 30 back-to-back broadcasts on Periscope. Each broadcaster will get 15 or 30mins to share their creativity about a certain topic.
The broadcasters will share their passion, knowledge and understanding of a particular issue through your creativity. “
______________
Will someone please strangle Bukowski
A disgraceful man
not worthy of the name Charles
He farts his syllables
belches his words
vomits his phrases
– his sentences smell
like festering fish
As for his verse
it’s worse.
When did Mewkowski last rhyme?
When did he not spew out his truth
as if it was personal?
If caustic Charlie didn’t drink sour milk
sucked from his Mother Nature
the inhuman race
would have no warlike bastards
inciting us all to spill blood
from eructive orifices.
Pastiching
the barely sane Bukowski
keeps my bad breath moving mindfully
in and out
in and out
through gaps between teeth
filled originally by a dumb dentist
married to his drill
addicted to screwing
holes he amalgamed.
Father, father
who will rid me of this
treacherous gurgitator
sent from that inner being
Steve Jobs
tried to connect with
on his ashram
in smelly feet.
See,
pastiche is the sincerest form of flattery
Will someone please strangle Bukowski?
disclaimer
I’m a poet.
I buy poetry books.
read poems (out loud).
run a daily poetry show
live streamed on Periscope
(The Walt Whitman Show).
And
(CNN)Quick: Name a famous living poet.
Somebody. Anybody. No, not Maya Angelou. She died last year.
Unless you’re a literary scholar or a subscriber to The New Yorker, it’s not easy. That’s because poetry, once a preeminent form of entertainment, has long since receded to the far, dusty corners of popular culture…
And
In 2003, Newsweek cried
“… Ultimately, though, there’s no one to blame. Poetry is designed for an era when people valued the written word and had the time and inclination to possess it in its highest form…”
I care
so
in December 2015, I did ethnomethodological research among an international, cross-cultural, mixed-gender, inter-generational group
https://katch.me/embed/v/f91e97bd-6af2-3d5d-8138-96fbec40d5cc?sync=1
reveals human connection
our connections through our secrets, fears
(To be continued)
First, a recording of a fine actor, Will Geer, reading “Pioneers! O Pioneers!
Second, a recording of this poem being live streamed.
The Walt Whitman Show on Periscope
(saved via Katch)
https://katch.me/embed/v/d7bce79c-57b7-328d-a2cd-40526034fc9d?sync=1
_____________________
Pioneers! O Pioneers!
COME, my tan-faced children,
Follow well in order, get your weapons ready;
Have you your pistols? have you your sharp edged axes?
Pioneers! O pioneers!
For we cannot tarry here,
We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger,
We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you youths, western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship, 10
Plain I see you, western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Have the elder races halted?
Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied, over there beyond the
seas?
We take up the task eternal, and the burden, and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the past we leave behind;
We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
We detachments steady throwing,
Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing, as we go, the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
We primeval forests felling,
We the rivers stemming, vexing we, and piercing deep the mines
within;
We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Colorado men are we,
From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high
plateaus,
From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
From Nebraska, from Arkansas,
Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the continental blood
intervein’d;
All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the
Northern,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O resistless, restless race!
O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!
O I mourn and yet exult–I am rapt with love for all,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Raise the mighty mother mistress,
Waving high the delicate mistress, over all the starry mistress,
(bend your heads all,)
Raise the fang’d and warlike mistress, stern, impassive, weapon’d
mistress,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
See, my children, resolute children,
By those swarms upon our rear, we must never yield or falter,
Ages back in ghostly millions, frowning there behind us urging,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
On and on, the compact ranks,
With accessions ever waiting, with the places of the dead quickly
fill’d,
Through the battle, through defeat, moving yet and never stopping,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O to die advancing on!
Are there some of us to droop and die? has the hour come?
Then upon the march we fittest die, soon and sure the gap is fill’d,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the pulses of the world,
Falling in, they beat for us, with the western movement beat;
Holding single or together, steady moving, to the front, all for us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Life’s involv’d and varied pageants,
All the forms and shows, all the workmen at their work,
All the seamen and the landsmen, all the masters with their slaves,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the hapless silent lovers,
All the prisoners in the prisons, all the righteous and the wicked,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing, all the living, all the dying,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
I too with my soul and body,
We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way,
Through these shores, amid the shadows, with the apparitions
pressing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Lo! the darting bowling orb!
Lo! the brother orbs around! all the clustering suns and planets,
All the dazzling days, all the mystic nights with dreams,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
These are of us, they are with us,
All for primal needed work, while the followers there in embryo wait
behind,
We to-day’s procession heading, we the route for travel clearing,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you daughters of the west!
O you young and elder daughters! O you mothers and you wives!
Never must you be divided, in our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Minstrels latent on the prairies!
(Shrouded bards of other lands! you may sleep–you have done your
work;)
Soon I hear you coming warbling, soon you rise and tramp amid us,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Not for delectations sweet;
Not the cushion and the slipper, not the peaceful and the
studious;
Not the riches safe and palling, not for us the tame enjoyment,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Do the feasters gluttonous feast?
Do the corpulent sleepers sleep? have they lock’d and bolted doors?
Still be ours the diet hard, and the blanket on the ground,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Has the night descended?
Was the road of late so toilsome? did we stop discouraged, nodding on
our way?
Yet a passing hour I yield you, in your tracks to pause oblivious,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Till with sound of trumpet,
Far, far off the day-break call–hark! how loud and clear I hear it
wind;
Swift! to the head of the army!–swift! spring to your places, Pioneers! O pioneers.
__________________
Notes:
“This is the full version of the poem that was used in the Levi “Go Forth” commercial. I added the backing music to spice it up a bit (thanks Garage Band) You can find the vocal portion of this (and other Whitman poems) on iTunes. I do not own the vocals – however to take it down for copyright violation would be to down a little piece of America… Whitman….America…think about it”
2. The Walt Whitman Show is live streamed on Periscope. I use the January 1892 “Death Bed Edition” of Leaves of Grass. Walt died on 26 March 1892
what i liked about e.e. cummings
was that he cut away from
the holiness of the
word
and with charm
and gamble
gave us lines
that sliced through the
dung.
how it was needed!
how we were withering
away
in the old
tired
manner.
of course, then came all
the e.e. cummings
copyists.
they copied him then
as the others had
copied Keats, Shelly,
Swinburne, Byron, et
al.
but there was only
one
e.e. cummings.
of course.
one sun.
one moon.