eyefind it hard to share anger and hatred. Cee-lo says: "Sometimes being angry is the best mood." But when frustration arises its expression is somewhat hindered by the inner peace that fills to spilling. Not sure if that's 'problematic' or knot.

"Visit the Mather's Museum or the IU Art Museum or other local musuem and write a poem about a sculture, painting or household or cultural item. Model poems: {Hapax: Implements from the "Tomb of the Poet" and The Charioteer}"




Polyphonic Rhythm

A stone stairway, and rooms of
marvels of marble and bone
and wood and feather and rope.
Pin-point places around the globe
dug up, collected and shown

next to maps and shots snapped
of sights by some well known;
Here the World is as One.
In a silent stance (sitting)
staring at the ages,

i wonder how many pages
these tall statue's tales would fill.
Take this drum, from a small ocean
island come, through waves of time and tide,
traveling wide, to now reside

as silent as i
in its glass box cage.
If one sat long, long,
to still waters within,
could they hear the drum's song?



hmmm...

just some thoughts that have dropped with the beats during my ghetto angst induced hip/hop excursions.

Sometimes Krishna is refered to as The Trickster

but "it ain't trickin' if you got it"

"Write a poem either about a family photograph or a historical photograph. Model poems: Native Gaurd: 'Photograph: Ice Storm, 1971' and 'Scenes from a Documentary History of Mississippi'"





Ode to Balance,
historical or otherwise,
lest we forget

Meditate in knowing and not knowing, existing and not existing. Then leave both aside that you may be.
                                        --Vigyan Bhirav Tantra
How can there be a now
if there never was a then?
That's unbalanced, it’s like
the yang without the yin.
        --Cee-lo Green


Balance is best when beats start bumpin’ in the heart.
    For that lock & key
  can cause the mind to flee, no more searching
    for more.
   In the past, there’s that which we can say
    we know, but
         oH!
can we in Fact&orTruth do so? Too often we play
    run through the jungle like it’s a
    Credence Revival;
    too fast to
    see, caress&be
the knower and known, let alone we.
     Where is One&theOther
    called both? (the Here, Now)
    all these moments running faster
than any could keep
  hope of staying paced with, and yet, somehow,
frequent funkuations from time spent to time given
        links it All together as the chain
    formed by many separate
   individual souls joining hands,
    sharing the load, weaving their Love
     and imbuing to the whole
    system a wondrous, dynamic
    sweet equilibrium.

wit a Goodie Mob Dessert:

"Write a poem from the point of view of a monster, orge or fairy tale character. Model poems: Borrowed Towns: 'Vampire Laments the Loss of His reflection' and 'Bigfoot'"


[{A Week Early}]

What's the chances of a waxing moon shining
even brighter than full? Just a smile is seen
rising through darkness to light the snow sheeted
earth... If i went to Werewolves Anonymous
would there be others that feel warm currents of
olfactory infiltrating aromas
licking the mind and releasing something that
few have seen and fewer can handle for long?

"Write a poem about a game that comes to mean more than it seems. Model poem: Late Wife: 'Eight Ball'"


{A Milton Bradley Life Plan?}


Life,
is it
decided
by spins of some
plastic wheel numbered
one to ten, then back
(like this poem's silly form)?
What if one wanted eleven?
Sure, life has it's disapointments, but
where's the picnics and family board game nights?
Seems to me that this game needs more parked cars
and some strolling chrome domed sticks
roaming the 2-D trees between
white washed, cookie cutter homes
of learning, faith, privilege,
industry and rest.
Got to go now,
it's time to
spin the
wheel
:-)

"Write a poem in tetrameter or blank verse (iambic pentameter)"

A Song to the High Priestess

oH my sweet Flava Puff Princess!
Mid winter winds blow wild outside,
bringing inches of falling flakes
reminiscent of this new Love:
...tumbling, only to rise, tumbling,
and sweeping in,up yet again...
to rest, alike in uniqueness.
Let's not shiver for the wind tho,
it's just the cycle's spin to spring;
where buds burst  bright, as in cool flame,
(a thousand colors and a scent
remaining as we walk the night
the smelter no longer in sight.)
We're two electrodes distant drawn
with charge&charge&charge to spare.
Let's spark a spark & spark some more,
til our arc leaps into the air
and does a little shimmy there.

"[Write a] poem in trimeter"


Where i Work

Myers Hall:
India-
na's mol-

ecular
biolo
G insti-

tute. many
smart people
go in and

out of doors
in and out.
Hallways and

sidwalks with
wise old words
carved in stone

overhead.
Such a big
building to

study such
small things as
molecules.

At night it's
strange: the lights
don't seem to

go off, and
that seems right,
'cause there's al-

ways some gra-
duate stu-
dent or such

burning the
mid-night oil;
even if

it's a might
early. For
sure, progress

is novel,
and novelty
is novel, but

let's not for-
get about
those whose face-

(es) inspire
the reasons
the lights stay.

"Anonymous worksheet poem (free poem [:-})"



Life is blest
with an open heart
and tru luv