REvGaMEs: Call/Response, 2+ Sequence Poems

[Photo by Paul McLean]

1

[Game program initiated by (sender) Alexandre Carvalho]

Solo or collective meditationdance, process whereupon the awakening being feels the streams of the universe intermeshing with body and body politik, streaming to and from, here and there, improving and exercising creation-meditation with no fucking mediation.

Microfilaments play, histories stream about: converge, merge, diverge, merge - and Emerge. 

#OWS? Not an organization. An idea-organism. Faith that manifests. By making the invisible visible, desmystifying space-time, we nourish a new reality. 

!!kaleydoscope.

{{@vortex,,,,,of a free,,,,square,,,we,,spiral.  spin the wheels of

!!kaleydoscope.

got it? no need for it. it's there at the funhouse where all mirrors lie.

#novads = #novas + #nomads. Crossing event-horizons all day all week, not for people but with people, through people. 

all can be to ride lifestreams

let you body loose

feel the streams 

leave the space void

unoccupied

ride the streams

if you like dreams

2

[Notation]:

Look at the response of this dude, inspired by our poetry! I think we might be indeed making art in the way that Paul mentioned. Amazing.

Alex

Photo by Paul McLean

3

Hello, my name is Skyglider Daydream and I received Alexandre's poem "Dance of Streams" through another listserv and it inspired me to write the following poem in response to it. If you like it, please forward it to the OWS S17 listserv and any others. Thank you!

[Response]:

flipperty ten-dance tree-tops = breakdown joy
wafting floating breezing keening
thinking moon thoughts for a dead dreamer
butterfly chrysalis transform love

0uf75jak j7k5flsa 39jo ksfn u3 ukg mfel
glory u-topia u-topos no place no time
no chains no bonds no work no hate
no thought

why worry? (??)

why fret why frown why look down?

just blue skies

are all I see

        .-~~~~-. |\\_
     @_/        /  oo\_
       |    \   \   _(")
        \   /-| ||'--'
         \_\  \_\\

smash a pig

piggy pig piggy pig piggy piggy pig pig

do you want to hit me? i know you do

come on mister pig

take your best shot

please

I know you want to feel your knuckles crunch my face break my skull

well

let me tell you a secret

I want it too

because that will make it all worthwhile

(right?)

you define me

come on in (take a spot)
sit down

doesn’t matter where

it’s all the same, who really cares?

not another march! oh bore

- let’s wax rhapsodical and discuss our privilege

forget about the community forum  right here right now this is what matters

what we’re doing at this very moment 

(what are we doing?)

doesn’t matter

just go - free

we the people of the occupied squares of America, in order to form a more perfect autonomous horizontal collective, establish organic food-shares, insure eternal drum circles, provide for the common mystification of our objectives, promote general disorganization, and secure the blessings of liberty to our idealized selves and our posteriors, do ordain and establish this reconstitution of transcendent fabulistic conceptual paradigms

job schmob war shmor health care belf pair

I'm not the one with

     mortgage payments

          rent

               $5 an hour

                     dead end job

                          doctor’s bills

                               out of food

                                   crying kids

                                        gotta go to work

                                             car won’t start

                                                  godDAMN!

(just free your mind –

your body is not my concern; who is this person? i don’t know them)

smick smack clickety clack                                

floating free morphing transforming no shape always changing beautiful

a new world (who am i?)

GENERAL STRIKE!

vortex transgress transgress transgress

revolution of the mind

not the world (there is no world)

owing no one but me

no obligations (the invisible committee, isn’t it so very pretty?)

just occupy always occupy everywhere occupy

here an occupy there an occupy everywhere an occu-pie-pie

autonomy

is a beautiful word to me

i imagine myself free

because i say i am

no matter what happens

in afghanistan

smash a window, smash a mind

eat a beer, drink the rind

don't worry what we leave behind

let's have a toy revolution

we are the occupiers
we are the occupiers
we are the occupiers

and we don't care

[fin sequence]



Occupy

A Poem by Christopher Moylan

(Photo: Paul McLean)

Next has a hole in it

You can’t see across…

The horizon slips further away,

But it was always that way…

Clouds tear from clouds,

Light falls to pieces, sky

loses its parts of speech…

Deadwood advances on

springtime, a warm breeze

getting warmer all the time…

The sun is in eclipse,

looking with the naked eye,

Everyone else goes blind.

The river is cold and swift.

kneeling to take a sip,

Everyone else gets tipsy…

Turn out your pockets,

compassion needs a loan…

The old words are worn thin,

The new ones require faith

one doesn’t have: swaps and

Derivatives, securities for

Houses under water…

Take care the quiet neighbor,

beware the friendly banker

and job creator…Beware

the savior monetized like

an inspirational movie…

The planes are taking off

Again, the silos are dilating

From the Rockies to Iran…

Watches synchronized; on

their wrists, it’s always midnight…

Time to reassess; the air

We breathe is free, what

to do with it? The spot we

stand on was staked with

light once. It can be again.

We can be better. We can be

New. From now until the end

Next is always at hand.

We can fill it with what

Could be. So much want

To unwrap and pass around

One strong hand to another.

If the higher ground is cluttered,

Overgrown with neglect,

Or lit up like a carnival,

Then come down,

The open ordinary is just fine.

Pick a spot, and occupy.



The Claudius App

Click the image to visit this beautiful site.

A Journal of Fast Poetry



99 Poems for the 99 Percent

ABOUT THE PROJECT - 99 POEMS IN 99 DAYS

Since Walt Whitman, American poetry has been about democracy. It's been about reaching people on issues they care about in a voice they recognize.

99 Poems for the 99 Percent demonstrates how the aims of poetry are in concert with the aims and ambitions of the vast majority of Americans. It is proof that poetry can speak in a vital, robust, and meaningful way about real issues to real people.

These poems are for you.

The OWS Poetry Assembly: October 14, 2011

The Blanket

I hear change.
Pressing my ear to the earth and its stirring bones,
baby vibrations kiss my skull,
I close my eyes and smile;
I detect approaching footfalls.
In conversations, the sketchy sparks of electrified embryos,
these restless hatchlings of hybrid hopes
spring from incubation, fall from lips and
onto my shirt, shoes and into the dirt we walk on.
They are not lost shards of fragmented dreams.
I choose to believe they are seeds.

I hear change.
Surrounds me: a lyric of tongue spoken with hands and feet,
a melody of ideas, philosophy, theology
married to passion in search of a savior
fashions a harmony, this whispered anthem
scratches my ear.
It is not an elegant sound, these staccato pinging
sutures of suffering sewn into faces
of mommies and daddies staring at babies
unconscious to thundering ticks of time
countdown seconds to roll call;
masses lined up for closeted stations in Purgatorio Nuevo.
And notes of simpatico silence as cellos
mourning the passing of faith in the night,
struggle to harmonize poorly with courage,
that blood of the ages which oils fear and flight;
I hear it.

I sense change.
I cannot feel it. The wind won’t reveal it. I’m numb to its presence.
I find no evidence trail on my tongue,
nor DNA refugees hiding in fingertips.
These trained eyes strain to identify
its invisible silhouette walking among us, and fail.
Yet, it is coming.
I know this because it is cold in here.
I should be shivering but I am not.
An other-earthly cloak has fallen,
cast around myself, its warmth just barely
coats me with a holy intuition.
Wrapped and huddled on front porch step,
eyes fixed upon that dark horizon
expectation welds me to this patient space
where, as prodigal children returning to rescue,
christening streaks of breaking light
will herald our transformation.

2011 Sojourner109

WE ARE THE NINETY-NINE PERCENT!/ by Firestone Feinberg

WE ARE THE NINETY-NINE PERCENT!/ by Firestone Feinberg

For corporate castles crowned in greed,
There is no way to pay the rent —
Except by robbing those in need;
We are the ninety-nine percent!

In gilded gates that guard the way
To hallowed halls — we’ve made no dent —
Yet funded them our hard-earned pay;
We are the ninety-nine percent!

Wake up! wake up! O woeful world!
And face the force, the fierce intent —
Of they forsake our flag unfurled;
We are the ninety-nine percent!

For tyranny who’s paid the cost?
We live in neither house nor tent —
And who the homeless, tempest-tossed?
We are the ninety-nine percent!

Whose land is this?  Whose times have changed?
Whose power and glory will be spent
To keep the order pre-arranged;
We are the ninety-nine percent!

Tho’ things are seldom what they seem,
Our mission’s clear — our good intent:
We are the world — we have a dream —
We are the ninety-nine percent!

occupy Wall Street , or the accretion of the pearl

occupy Wall Street , or  
the accretion of the pearl


The accretion of the pearl begins with
a miniscule intrusion
into the body of the animal,
which resists but cannot dislodge it.  
As the point of irritation persists
in the body of the bivalve
a thing of beauty occurs,  a swelling
circle of hard nacre and steady light.  

But first some  small thing has to slip between
the oyster’s mantle  
and its shell,
and it must stay there for a long enough time
to really irritate
the damn oyster.



Jonathan Moore
nyc 10-8-2011

day 23                                                                                                                                                       

apikoyrus@igc.org

A Little Noise/ by N. Generalovich

A Little Noise 

by N. Generalovich 

I always played by the rules

A most reliable tool

I got what’s given in spite of my choice

I feel my effort marooned

I sit in back of the room

And hide my voice

I need to make a little noise

I’m gonna make a little noise

They’re not hearing it at ten

I’m gonna raise it to eleven

Because they can’t ignore what’s underscored with a roar heard by the heavens

They keep you pacified to ward a riot

Until your dreams rely upon their diet

When the curtain blows, get a glimpse of those, who then will say you chose to buy it.

I don’t expect that we’ll be heard

Until we say it as a crowd

They won’t be listening at first

We’re gonna have to say it loud

We can’t expect to have a choice

If we’re afraid to raise our voice

We need to make a little noise… 4x’s

All that I want is to be heard

And all my singing’s not enough

Nobody listens to the words

So I will turn the volume up

You can’t expect to have a choice

If your desire isn’t voiced

We need to make a little noise… (4x’s)

We always played by the rules

Raised as reliable tools

We got what’s given despite our own choice

We’re sacrificed by their laws

We need to rise to the cause, and find our voice…

We need to make a little… we need to make a little…

Noise

We need to make a little noise

A Poem by Joy Leftow

My blog address is http://joyleftowsblog.blogspot.com

I have worked my entire life as a professional licensed social worker - mostly with students at the New York City Dept of Ed and I could never afford my own home. As a single mom, I worked hard to survive. And now things are even worse and people can barely survive. The 99 percent have given me the first hope I've had in years that things may change for the better for future generations. I hope you will publish my bluetry poem, Billie's Consumerism Blues. I actually got to perform this at an open people's stage and Uncle Eddie backed me up on his banjo.

I am hoping to have the opportunity to do more with you - certainly as a poet and artist, but I have many skills and have helped people my entire life. I was helping people before I became a social worker. Back in those days - I knew I had to do something to make a living - so I became a social worker. I attended College grad and undergrad at Columbia under the auspices of the Higher Education Opportunity Program. I was the only white one in the program and out of the dozen of us who entered at the same time, only two of us made it through to graduation. Then I attended social work school.

I have written poetry, stories and articles since my childhood since writing is my true love. Now that I'm retired from the dept of ed, (horrid place to work) after 21 years, I can spend my time as I like.

Below is the second bluetry poem I am submitting to you. I thank you for your time and reading. I attended several meeting of the arts and culture meetings as well.

Welfare’s Still A Bitch

Back in the day I burned loquacious at welfare’s fair hearings
But soon I learned that when you went to your worker you only speak when you’re spoken to Everything will be held against you
And twice more if you’re white
You’ll be accountable for every damn penny you didn’t spend
How dare you go to Columbia University on our money
You’ll see white bitch hoe
Now I’m at the welfare center again
I’m still the only white one there
thank god it’s not for me I wait here
I watch as everyone demands entitlements
They have their appointments they’ll not leave with disappointment
The brothers and sisters and me we see others get special treatment
waiting on names and numbers to be called
Liars they say first come first served but everything seems stalled
I want mine and I want it now - Latinos and Blacks uprising.
The guards are watchful but do nothing
Those who yell loudest – their workers came out and usher them
through glass doors to get what’s theirs
they come back smiling
After that it didn’t quiet down till the room emptied out
After they all got what was coming to them
I wish it had been like that for me
I fought at so many fair hearings
To get my claims accepted back in the day
Each time I recertified they cut my food stamps to zero
If you’re white you get less
if you’re Jewish it’s double less because you know all those jews are rich they don’t come from any Warsaw ghettos and it’s a damn lie any of them were killed in any fucking holocaust

those kikes are Fucking Christ killers is what they are
heard it all my life
A voice inside my head
Each way I turn
Sometimes I forget who I am

And it all comes rushing home like a river overflowing with leaves silt memories
Someone will bring it home to me no matter how long I live

Ladies and Gentlemen: we’ve gone back in time to the 60’s – prejudice crackles like fire in the air.

We need to get our heads turned back to the streets to take back what’s rightfully ours

We need we need we need – medical care money a place to live and survive
So sad - right back at you with the blues tonight

Common Ground by Zipporah Lomax

'Common Ground'
by Zipporah Lomax
 
everything has gone awry
a great divide has grown
between the hands that hoard the pie
and the measly crumbs we're thrown
 
they enjoy their privileged lives
while our homes are foreclosed
they're keeping us in line
with all the wealth that they withhold
 
they profit off our ignorance
expecting us to play the part
of obedient indifference
robots, with shopping carts
 
well-designed to distract
and keep us misinformed
the media's been hijacked
by those who bank offshore
 
they've poisoned our sea and sky
through oil-driven greed
they contaminate our food supply
with their modified seeds
 
they've stolen our autonomy
and our right to choose
they perpetuate inequality
through narrow-minded rules
 
they've made health a business
selling pills to those in need
they benefit from illness
growing rich off our disease
 
we know it won't be long
before they try to buy our souls
before our lives have been withdrawn
exchanged, for fool's gold
 
they've kept us on our knees
believing change would never come
but down on wall street
the revolution's just begun
 
we're waking from our slumber
it's time to stand up strong
take back what they have plundered
we've held our tongues too long
 
we'll shout until our cause is heard the whole world 'round...
they may tie our hands, but our voices cannot be bound...
something's gotta give...the wall has gotta come down...
...we all deserve to live on common ground...