Beat, opinions, poetry, Taiwan

Thoughts and Concerns

It seems like work has been taking up most of my time
the daily fight, when all I want to do is write.
I guess I
should learn to make time for what’s important,
make my own desires a predominant commitment
lest I forget, forget how to truly be alive.

Anyways, I haven’t been writing much lately. And, like an athlete who was out of commission surfing the couch for a few months I feel mentally unfit. It’s as if the words just won’t come anymore. Yes, I still get ideas. Yes, I still babble away about my opinions to anyone who is close enough to get caught in one of my rare, but deadly “introvert-trying-his-hand-at-being-an-extrovert” conversation traps. But, when I try to put my pen to paper there is a serious lack of flow. I am writer’s block incarnate, watch me…stumble for words, and then sulkily sit around exclaiming, “writing is too hard!”

Now, my brother has asked me to be the written input for the website of an Art Residency he will be managing from the new year. But before I can even start to apply myself to that, I am going to have to learn to reapply myself to writing. So without further ado, here is a poem written groggily somewhere in the waning hours of last night.


Let your mind flow-
for a moment
let go
of this fleeting emotion
that holds you trapped
in an ocean
of routine and forced structure,
become unencumbered
the dark days are numbered,
let yourself go.


am a perfect example
the dull masses the trample.
like a boot overhead,
do they dare to tread
on me?

It’s in need of sculpting, but at least I’m writing, and it might be enlighting,what’s the use in fighting, me? Slam poetry.


4/27 The Session

I haven’t had time to think of a question,
since our last session.
I’ve been busy, you see,
rediscovering me.

What’s that you’re writing there?
No, I don’t care.
I have better things to do with my time
than worry what you think of my mind.
In fact,
good day to you sir.
Let this meeting be our last.
I think I prefer
insanity to this farce.


4/25 The Dance

I love your smell
said Lion
to Gazelle
as she ran her nose along his neck.
Delectably sweet,
good enough to eat
in fact, I’ll try a bite.
So, don’t put up a fight.

His skin quivered and quaked
as her breath danced,
and though he smelled death
he stood completely entranced.
And her paw on his skin
served to sedate him
he was frozen under her glance.

But with a kick and a shake
he broke loose from her spell,
and ran ,like the hounds from hell
Were nipping at his heels.
A rustle in the grass,
Free at last,
A fleeting midday meal.

poetry, Uncategorized

4/24 Remember You, Remember Me.

remember you,
remember me,
remember memories
of my, and your poetry.
Remember the first time we met
across the bar.
We drove the same car,
yours was older,
open windows for
stale cigarette smoke
and the joke, that it was better that way
since the air outside was fresher in any case.

I remember
coming here,
leaving there,
short hair, long hair,
black hair, blonde hair.
I remember the room next to the kitchen
and the huntsman spiders making a mess of

I remember that first walk in the rain,
with the storm water sloshing around our ankles
when we slipped
the overcrowded sidewalks in our dollar store ponchos,
The bread shop,
our salvation after hours of walking, and losing our way.
I remember being lost,
but never feeling lost
with you.