2014 September : Beau Sia

love beau/ make a wish

  Posted on September 30, 2014 at 9:04 pm

how apropo that I happened to burp. I had to do a few takes to not sound like I was rejecting the words as they were coming out of my mouth. I went to that place where the armor is absolute because the pain is too shameful. I allowed myself to feel rejected on principle to execute the piece. I want to capture the energy of these moments. I know that there are many poems with this energy of pre-emptive rejection of love. I want to keep going there and digging through the nuance of it. The changes in sequence, the time in my life, the state of my supposed love life at the point of creation. I am thankful for the last line of this poem. It’s a seed I didn’t understand that just added itself to the end. why such quantity in my love demands? if these wishes were all granted, would they form a wall to protect me from having my heart broken? what did I really want that I believed all of these things provided? do I have the answer now? is it the same as it was back then? I wonder what taught this kid to think this would be an improvement in his life. that this would change the way he saw himself.

courage rising

  Posted on September 30, 2014 at 3:44 pm

your voice is the essay

that gets you into college.


your voice is the proclamation

of love at the altar.


your voice is the yes

at every turn in your life.


your voice battles the no

in every corner of the world.


your voice is the rebel yell

that silences fear.


what a gift,   this voice we possess.

what magic,   these symbols

we’ve crafted to shape our intentions

what power,   to embrace our ability

to metaphor.


for your voice

is also a dollar

in the direction humanity’s going.


your voice is clicking

drops into the bucket of change.


your voice is a hug

for those who’ve been denied.


your voice is standing in solidarity

with the marginalized.


your voice is living in solidarity

for the marginalized.


your voice is evolving in unity

so that none are marginalized.


honey, can’t you see?

we have come so far.

we have done so much.


we have continued to revise our narrative

in the face of front yard flames.


we keep returning to change,

even though obsolete systems refuse

to retire.


we don’t stop, won’t stop

working these voices

we’ve been given,

because we just can’t help it.


your voice teaches the child

that we do not let fear control us.


your voice helps the mother

rise without shame for her choices.


your voice gives a man

the courage to accept all of himself.


don’t you want to


more of that?


your voice brings loved ones

to the party.

the people to the square,

better tomorrows for all.


so more please!


‘cuz your voice

is the way

to end

all this useless suffering.


your voice

is a hammer

ready to break you free


what is breaking us.


your voice is the gift

in your hands

asking to be given

to the world.


you don’t have to spend your life


if you have

the courage.


you were born with it.

it lives in your voice.


it’s waiting for

you to show

the darkness

what the truth

looks like

when the people

decide to sing.




love beau/ in another hour it will be 6am

  Posted on September 30, 2014 at 6:30 am

The title reminds me why the poem is written the way it is.  The late night rambling of a college student trying to make sense of what he has no experience with.  The desire of a confused child to make everything us v. them, me vs. others, black vs. white.  It’s difficult for me not to judge my old poems.  To not judge the kid who wrote them.  I have to fight feeling a certain stupidity reciting the lines out loud.  I am floored by how specific I believed that I was and how that specificity is kind of shallow and myopic. These poems where I am criticizing everyone else are quite revealing as to how invisible I thought I was.  Especially to all the women I wanted to love me.  And in my memory, there were many women invisible to me. But that wasn’t the narrative of my life in most of these love poems. It’s not the energy in them. There is a connection in my voice having to honor each time I have lived in the recitation. I am struggling with allowing that process to be full. I am resisting the strain that lived in my voice when fear controlled so much of my thinking and choosing. Did it? Am I being too hard on myself? I can hear the scared kid in the poem desperately wanting to control. I can feel his words trying to hammer the point to prove to himself as much as everyone else. I want to love this kid. I have a hard time not just dismissing everything of my youth as lame. But there is a power in willing to be perceived as foolish. There is a need to even embrace the times in my life I may have spent years running from.

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