Category: Poetry

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Tha Turntable Chakra

IMAGINE imagine IMAGINE imagine

music could be GENerated, music could be GENerated

just by your thoughts… you think something, and BAM – tones, tambourines, tom-toms and other auditory tools tell a story, put on a show – justlikethat.

What if it was so simple, a subconscious rhapsody – radiating, rambling, rumbling rhythmically, with every breath you take, every move you make;

– just a series of vibrations that emerge from your mind.

No other external instrument, no other pre-requisite – just a pure, beautiful sound, decorating time.

Like an aura, but audible, able to be heard by all within earshot.

What would yours sound like?

Not a very fair question, cuz honestly, wtf – I just thought of this, and you’re not prepared, how rude of me – I’ll go first:

the song that would play would vary from moment to moment, and would change with how my mood sways from day-to-day in a never-ending figure eight,

and would oft play something trippy, dance-able, funky.

Right now, first thing that came to mind was ‘Oh My God’ by A Tribe Called Quest, so I’ll just go with that.

When people say “that’s my jam!” or “issa vibe” in response to a song, think about it – it matches the tune in their mind’s eye.

Not a lot to imagine at this point, is there?

Your soul’s song is real. So turn it up – RSM

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To The Young Woman With The Red Vespa:

I feel your pain.

You tried so hard, and it really was a shame.

The way you parked so fast, clipped off your helmet,

and grabbed everything from under your seat in under 5 seconds.

And when you took off running, I kinda knew the deal-

sprinting down the bike lane in wedges – shit was real.

I heard and saw the train that just came, opening it’s doors, going my opposite way-

and everyday, a straggler or two has to run for

the train heading downtown at 7:34-

She saw the grand silver snake hissing, about to head out,

she had parked her red Vespa 3 blocks away, but was still 2 blocks out.

She turned on the jets – hair and backpack bouncing around,

It was her for whom the train bells tolled, and as that infamous sound

rang, she became Usain Bolt in a jean jacket and bangs-

darting across the street with wreckless abandon,

she had to catch this train, no ‘buts,’ ‘ifs,’ or, ‘ands.’

“She’s so close!”, I was (secretly) cheering for her now,

watching to see if she caught her train as I walked down

the very same street she ran past, knowing that feeling so well-

trying to catch a train, hoping it doesn’t glide past.

She made it to the steps of the Metra Station platform,

halfway up, hustling, this is what she ran for,

I’m on the edge of my seat, but I’m actually walking, to the station’s other side,

crossing my fingers, hoping that she’ll make it,

And then the doors close.

I see it before she does, and as she rounds the last set of stairs, my heart sinks.

She stops running, and walks the rest of the way up – breathless, defeated, and probably late for work.

Half a flight of stairs and 10 feet of train platform is all that made the difference-

A fateful little stretch of distance is why the woman with the red vespa missed her train,

despite her unwavering persistence. -RSM

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The Window to My Aisle.

She prefers the window seat,

10% for the view, 90 for the sleep,

I like the aisle, so when I need to get up, I’m free, plus more shoulder room for me.

Every time we fly one of us might get the seat we want, and of course,

the other gets the middle seat, that’s just the way these things work;

Don’t ask me why airlines like to do rows of seats in 2 sets of 3s each,

unless it’s a huge plane, flying far overseas.

Either way, no matter where we go,

One of us meets other in the middle, sometimes begrudgingly so,

On the way to somewhere nice; it’s just a little compromise,

We meet each other in the middle, one adventure at a time. – RSM

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The Rabbit Hole – Several Haikus

Is it worth risking

it all, just to find out if

it will set you free?

–

Peeling back layers

of each other’s tough, hard skin-

sowing seeds of trust.

–

Slow, sweet songs, soulful.

Melancholy peace- they call

it rhythm and blues.

–

When I can’t think straight,

I wonder which chakra is

most heavily blocked.

–

Do your job, you’ll make

a living. Do what you love,

you’ll make a fortune.

– Kelvin, Local Sage at St. John’s University

–

Happiness is love.

Laughter is how the soul speaks.

Life shines within us.

–

Sleep is important.

But not so much as writing

this haiku, dammit.

–

My favorite way

to be is weird. Don’t waste time

being ‘normal’ and stuff.

–

After a long day,

how lovely it is, darling,

to come home to you.

– RSM

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Trololoneironaut / Keyboard Rapper Vol. 5

I learned lucid dreaming with hard moonlight beaming-

‘Freddie Krueger inceptions in 2019’ing.

I’ll run through your worst nightmares, shirtless-

Throwing priceless doves at you, rendering them worthless,

and just when you think that you’re safe

I jump fences like hurdles, each foot on big snapper turtles,

Using amphibious transport to travel

and torment your brain with a lyrical shower.

You speak just one tongue, but hun, call me Babbel,

I’ll word my thoughts round-right until you taste gravel-

don’t leave ya subconscious ’round me, or what have you,

I’m not one to judge, but I do have this gavel,

and until you arise I’ll be popping up behind you,

Poltergeisting hard, couldn’t sleep if you tried to. – RSM

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Controlled Chaos OR Hysterical Laughter is My Love Language

A taste for thrill seeking, generally freaky,

a space for the heart rate to race and always raising the stakes,

a 6 cylinder, YOLO-powered engine, skydiving in my head, since I was like, 10,

wondering Why So many Serious moments I’ve found hilarious,

and tried REAL HARD to not bust out laughing in these Moments, Precarious.

Nothing wrong with a little anarchy contained between one’s ears,

or sprinkling a little ‘confetti di crázy’ upwards into our fine stratosphere-

Some controlled chaos to brighten up your life’s days (daze), and years.

There are mad synonyms, yo, for what I mean:

‘having fun,’ ‘just playin’/messin’/dickin’/fuckin’ around,’

‘good times,’ ‘tomfoolery,’ ‘wildin’ out,’ ‘actin’ a fool, ‘being a ‘clown.”

True disorder is what’s really frightening- like a slight miss from getting hit by lightning,

or getting stopped by the cops with contraband in your socks.

A little microdose daily of something ridiculous is what gets me through;

so that stupid smile I have on next time we meet, just might mean I’m in my own head, already making fun of YOU. – RSM

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When Anxiety Strikes

Maybe it’s a little too much coffee,

Maybe it’s just that I have to pee
and have been holding it in,

until my work here is done on this particular thing.

Maybe it’s this ‘what if’ that I’m going out of my way to neutralize,

or the way that I’ve always found it so hard to be supervised,

And from here I’m 100 feet deep now,

in the rabbit hole, at least ten levels from the street down

and for all these things that didn’t quite happen, and I went out of my way just in case to prevent them, but

I-FORGOT-THAT-ONE-THING-OH-SHIT-HURRY-UP

MAKE SURE IT GETS FIXED ASAP, MAN WHAT THE FUCK-

and eventually I breathe;

and climb back up to solid ground and sunlight.

Work-personal-love-family-friends-passions-hobbies-vacation plans-

and it copies itself like a virus,

slithers into my thoughts, paralyzes my hands.

Resetting myself sounds harder than what it takes,

riding the wind of my deep breaths

to make the hostile air swirling below slowly dissipate. – RSM

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Morning Metra Meditation

To think, and act with love in every instance of my existence is the goal I have in mind.

Cultivating a peace from within is the first step;

the second, third, and fourth is to spread love outward, back onto the beings I spend this life with.

The highest vibrations are the ones I hope to be happily humming along to

as I find yet another musical journey to take while I wait

for this train’s trip to end with the start of another work day.

With steady breathing and affirmations on repeat, I remind myself to see the good and be the good in the day ahead.

-RSM

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From Home to Home and Back

The last time I had a take-off from my hometown, I couldn’t even bare to take a look outside.

I’m glad I had the seat on the aisle,

cuz when I saw the city below

it was the hardest I had cried in a while.

 

I thought that it was more bitter than sweet

as I blinked and stared at the mini LCD TV in front of me.

I brought along with me a few extra pieces of emotional baggage that spun around the baggage-claim carousel carriage-

but when I picked them up after landing, I felt a lot less damaged.

 

I sorted through the feels,

and coiled up my memories running in my head on old school projector reels.

The second time back I felt settled, more whole, more ‘human’

To know I missed the place on Earth with my most loved humans.

This time around was a soul more sound residing in my physical frame when we touched down.

 

On the take-off back, with catharsis in mind,

I realized I was leaving home again, but going home too.

I looked out the window, and couldn’t find a reason to do anything, but smile. -RSM

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Poetry is Thought-Dancing.

It’s a freeform T-storm,

popping verbal thunder, and

locking limerick’d lightning bolts,

making the mind’s eye open wide,

sending provocative prose from the sky in multi-lettered jolts –

an ensemble effort, each word has electricity,

a hundred thousand volts in each syllable’s ability

to hit your brain’s mainframe precisely, with agility,

 

So much motion in poetry, especially considering-

-how words are really spells and can take you somewhere else,

to a time and space where you wouldn’t quite think;

these words are a transport to a leopard-print Jansport,

or skating fast around an empty hockey rink.

 

Poetry, to me, is ‘thought-dancing.’

Whether its a headspin, or ballerinas prancing.

A romantic word-tango,

a circus of high flying verses that make us nervous;

A ground-shaking, spoken-word haka,

or a line dance, chanted in unison.

 

It’s a movement class for the mind,

as we use our ideas to decorate space and time.

“May I have this thought-dance?” I ask in rhyme

to imagine with my words, and your thoughts, intertwined. -RSM