Creative Commons Royalty Free Music at Tunebee

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creative commons royaly free music

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I Miss You | Poem and song by ERYK M MOORE

eyrc moore I miss you

eyrc moore I miss you

 

 

I MISS YOU

 

 

OFF THE TOP…I MISS YOU

LIKE THE DESERT MISSES THE RAIN

LIKE THE SCARECROW…MISSES A BRAIN

I… MISS…YOU

 

I MISS YOU LIKE I FOUND YOU IN A CROWDED MALL

SEARCHING FOR THE PERFECT GIFT

FOR MY SOON TO BE FANTASY

 

PUSHING THROUGH THE INSECURITIES OF YESTERDAY’S TOMORROWS

 

I FOLLOW THE SCENT OF YOUR DREAM…

INTO THE STREAM OF MY CONSCIOUSNESS

WITH THE EXPECTATION OF FINDING…YOUR SMILE

I…MISS…YOU

 

I MISS YOU LIKE I MISS THE SOUND OF HAPPINESS

PLAYING IN LIFE’S PLAYGROUND

AT THE AGE OF SIX…DANCING IN THE SUN

TO THE MELODY OF LAUGHTER

 

RIGHT AFTER A WATER BALLOON FIGHT

PROBLEMS TAKE FORM…AND TAKE FLIGHT INTO THE CLEAR NIGHT

AND DISAPPEAR LIKE BAD MEMORIES

THAT TAKE ON THE FORM OF OLD LEAVES…

AND FALL FROM MY TREE OF LIFE

I…MISS…YOU

 

I MISS YOU LIKE GOOD FOOD…COOKED ON SUNDAY

BY THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THE WORLD

 

BLESSED WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF GENERATIONS

YET DISPLAYING THE INNOCENCE AND THE SMILE…

OF MY GRAND PARENT’S SECOND LITTLE GIRL

 

WHO MADE THE SACRIFICE…

SO THAT MY LIFE WOULD BE SOMETHING MORE THAN A LAST NAME

 

SOMETHING MORE THAN 15 MINUTES OF FAME COULD EVER CLAIM

 

AND AT TIMES I FIND…WHEN I WALK THE PATHWAYS OF MY MIND

I COME ACROSS THE GIFT…THAT YOU’VE BLESSED ME WITH

AND I WONDER…

HOW COULD SOMEONE THIS FLAWED…BE SO BLESSED

 

HOW COULD SOMEONE THIS WEAK…BE SO STRONG

 

AND BEFORE LONG…

THE WALLS OF MY PREFABRICATED REALITY BEGIN TO FALL

 

AND THE OFF BEAT…UNWANTED SOUND OF THE ALARM CLOCK

 

BEGINS TO DROWN MY SENSE OF BEING

FREEING ME FROM MY DREAM…WITHIN A DREAM…WITHIN A DREAM

 

AND AS I SIT UP IN BED…

FORCING MY HEAD TO HOLD ONTO FLEEING MEMORIES

 

I SMILE AND WHISPER THREE WORDS

 

I…MISS…YOU

 

 

ERYK M MOORE

© 2010

 

http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/ErykMoore1
www.cdbaby.com/cd/erykmoore
http://www.facebook.com/eryk.moore

The Dancers, The “Narcotics Poem” by Seymour Shubin

johnny cash

 

THE DANCERS

I was a cop.
so to speak, for that night,
and followed the real ones
into the lonely places,
the dives and the homes,
and saw the children crying,
and the poor mothers crying
and later on the way home
heard a cop saying,
“It should be fun tonight,
seeing them dance
in their cells,”
and heard me
whispering to myself
“No more of this,
Dear God, no more
no more.”

Seymour Shubin is a famous writer of crime and the psychology of crime. In a short and stunning way he has put an emotional edge on a serious issue.

The incarceration of Americans in the War on Drugs has reached epidemic proportions in the Black and Hispanic communities, but the impact is on the white community too.

All of the hot debates such as the right to bear arms, jobs, social security must seem meaningless to a large percentage of our population because of felony records for non violent “crimes”. The very records which should identify violent people are being handed out like playing cards and have had a definite Jim Crow effect.

Here is an excellent article by Michelle Alexander Michelle Alexander on The New Jim Crow and the school-to-prison pipeline

We support Michelle Alexander’s efforts and thank Seymour Shubin so much for this poem which so well shows the sorrow which must be there in the police as well. Bravo! Bravo!

This subject is what my humble song is about:
Joe Clark by David Michael Jackson

The Dancers © 2014 by Seymour Shubin

Image: Johnny Cash….We are using this image because we believe Johnny would be with us 100 percent.

david michael jackson May 9, 2014

Smelling Sulphur on Nine One One, “Periodic Table of Poetry” poem by Chicago poet Janet Kuypers

Smelling Sulphur on Nine One One

Janet Kuypers

bonus poem from the “Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#016 S)
9/11/13

I’m a journalist.
I can remember
the sounds of the newsroom
as I finished my articles
at one of the computers.
I can still hear
the sounds of the bustling,
of the rushing toward a deadline.

The shuffling of papers
was a constant presence
when you worked.

Hearing that low hum,
that din of action and activity
is almost comforting
to types like us.
It was the base beat
to the symphony of our lives.

So, when you hear the words
nine one one,
you think of the number to dial
when you hear of more gun violence
on these Chicago streets.
You smell the Sulfur
in the gunpowder,
another sense
that accentuates the center
of the world around us…

But on a beautifully
sunny day like today,
you come into the newsroom
in the early morning,
and the sound of action
has yet to truly penetrate the ears
of these reporters,
with a styrofoam coffee cup in one hand,
crumpled pages of edited copy in the other.

But on this sunny morning,
the din was different,
much more cacophonous,
much more rushed,
while still so hushed.
I made my way
to one of the TV sets
along the main wall,
all were on different channels
showing different bits of news,
though all suddenly seemed the same.
It looked like the newsroom
was watching a movie
as smoke poured
from one of the Twin Towers.
I tried to make out the voices
from one of the TV sets
when I witnessed a plane —
right before my eyes —
fly into the other Tower.

I stood for a moment,
transfixed like some
horror movie addict,
before I thought of our contacts
scattered along the east coast.
I pulled out my cell phone
and speed dialed Mark in New York,
he had a meeting scheduled
in the Twin Towers that morning,
but the phone was jammed,
so I dialed up Don
who was in town there this week,
but all was lost
to computer-simulated voices,
forcing me to leave messages
and scramble from afar.

As pathetic as we were,
we stared at TVs
as most forms of communication
were cut off for us.
Was this an attack on New York,
we struggled to discover
until less than forty minutes later
we saw the two-second long film
replayed repeatedly
from a D.C. security camera
that caught a collision course
crashing of a plane
through the outer rings
of the Pentagon.

Well.
Now the story has changed.

Try to get through
to Dan in D.C.,
was he in the Pentagon today.
The phones still cut me off.
So we scrambled for any data,
looking for a Chicago connection:
the Sears Tower,
the John Hancock building,
these are national icons
that may be under attack…
But before we could gain our bearings,
only twenty-five minutes passed
before a plane crashed
into the ground
near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

Shanksville, I thought,
I know someone there,
I searched, and found
Anna’s number,
but who was I kidding.
Those lines were cut off too.

#

It’s a strange feeling,
being a reporter
and not being able
to contact a single person.
Being detached from any lead,
coupled with a sinking feeling,
wondering if any
of the people you know
are physically hurt,
or even alive.

As a journalist,
you really feel hopeless,
like your hands are tied
behind your back.

We give the news.
We’re not supposed
to feel so stranded.

#

An hour after
the Pentagon was attacked,
the Sears Tower was evacuated.
This wasn’t my beat;
I had no contacts, no one
to help me through this disaster,
so I waited there
in case others
needed any assistance.

I sat back for a moment,
left there to wait,
thinking about
Mark and Don in New York,
Dan in D.C.,
even poor Anna —
I’m sure she’s not hurt,
but they’re now cut off to me.
As I said,
all I could do
was wait.

Clear your head of the people,
I could hear myself
say to myself.
You’re a reporter,
just break down the details
of what you see
instead of thinking of this
as another one of your
human interest articles…

The jet fuel,
the drywall,
all that paper
in those offices,
those people,
trapped,
they’re all
hydrogen, carbon, oxygen.
But wait a minute,
in Chicago I think
of the Sulfur smell
when it comes to gunfire.
But jet fuel is Sulfur-laden,
that burning drywall
emits Sulfur gas,
Sulfur’s even the third most common
mineral in the human body.

I mean,
I’m a newspaper reporter.
I know that Sulfur-based compounds
are used in pulp
and paper industries.

#

Yeah, I’m a newspaper reporter.
Just take a breath
and turn your head to the stats.

To clear my head
of the humanity,
the thought of so much Sulfur
being so much a part
of so many details in our lives,
made me think
of the destruction
that Sulfur was so much
a part of today.
I know I stayed here
to give a helping hand,
but with all that Sulfur
on my mind,
suddenly
all I could smell
was the burning,
and I couldn’t stop coughing
while I tried to catch my breath.

Forest Gander Poet & Translator

A writer in multiple genres, Gander is noted for his collaborations with photographers such as Sally Mann and Graciela Iturbide and with the dancers Eiko & Koma. He is a United States Artists Rockefeller Fellow and the recipient of fellowships from the Library of Congress, the National Endowment for the Arts, the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation, The Whiting Foundation, and the Howard Foundation. He is the Adele Kellenberg Seaver Professor of Literary Arts and Comparative Literatures at Brown University in Rhode Island

Gander is a translator with a particular interest in poetry from Spain, Latin America, and Japan. Besides editing two anthologies of Mexican poetry, Gander has translated discrete volumes by Mexican poets [1] Pura López Colomé, [2] Coral Bracho (PEN Translation Finalist for “Firefly Under the Tongue”), and [3] Alfonso D’Aquino. With Kyoko Yoshida, Gander translated Spectacle & Pigsty: Selected Poems of Kiwao Nomura (OmniDawn, 2011), winner of the 2012 Best Translated Book Award. The second book of his translations, with Kent Johnson, of Bolivian poet Jaime Saenz, The Night (Princeton, 2007), received a PEN Translation Award. Gander’s critically acclaimed translations of the Chilean Nobel Laureate Pablo Neruda are included in The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems (City Lights, 2004).
Wikipedia
 

 
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