Poems : Beau Sia

hours of awake

  Posted on October 14, 2014 at 9:42 pm

tired in that way

I beat myself up over.


comparing use of time

in the way

super deep books state

one shouldn’t.


struggling not to insert

wanting to get this over with.


I’ve already run the course of that path.

fortunate me

has folks taking from time not guaranteed

to read what I share.


everything is honest and real, true and such.

written knowing

I may still be playing illusions

as substance.


so the body aches

in ways a mind could spend weeks figuring out



the couch be calling me, yo.

voicemail not listened to.


lazy luxury of purchased meal

a sign

in my debted state.


might as well note

the sun’s change of position.


false dilemma of indecisive.

pretending I can psychic my way

towards perfect next move.


waiting in the confines

for neuron spark

that will justify

sitting an eternity

(in my melodrama)

with this

mug of coffee.


the sun begins to cast longer shadows.


I can feel the conflict in the words.

all the teachings didn’t prepare me

for the challenges

of this patience.


in another life, maybe it was during the 90s,

I asked without knowing

the walking I’d have to do alone.


this ego still complains

about its invisibility.


though I long for comfort of practiced past,

the thousandth poem as easy to type as the first re-worded.


board games bear little fruit

after all probability explored.


I am but a child, tired of dancing

to the same song

with my hammer.


the time machine, thankfully,

is not literal.


striving for more than

onion layer declarations,

I work

to explore at the risk of

all that I fear becoming.


is this the poem?  strangers in the television.

is this the poem?  darkness around our confessions.

is this the poem?  readers stumbling through their messages.

is this the poem?  barking in the streets for pleasure.

is this the poem?  calling all from above to lie down.


the work is greater

than my want.


the will is more

than my claim.


the way is just, whatever.


I’d tell you about these connections,

but it would lack the right dots

for your brain space.


everyone who doesn’t allow me in

has to take a drink.


I refuse to die

in the cloak of perfection

and the excluding nature

of greatness.






rushing to be creative

  Posted on October 8, 2014 at 2:24 pm

departure time too present.

estimated tax payments interrupting all flow.


the sun laughs at my assumptions

it will be here tomorrow.


phone calls put off begin to encumber

like too many items on my quest.


do you hear that fellow AD&Ders?

I’m shouting out our pencil modifications

in the custom online convenience age.


my stomach is uptight

that I haven’t packed or posted yet.


my tummy is angry that I’ve neglected

my core training this afternoon.


invisible ink is a mindfuck

of a literary device.


I read truths spread out in the void.

claim myself in parts.  connecting to what’s shared

without conscious knowledge.


I can feel the pain in a line’s turn,

in a subjects’ struggle.


this is an aside: the cure is telling me

to listen to their music

with my junior high heart

and let this push be.


the creditors are so clever,

making my debt concrete shoes

in the land of freedom.


didn’t have enough time to let my parents

talk about their garden.


there’s a huge list waiting for me in the future.

it thinks it’s funny to bug me now about

yet-to-be-crossed items.


haven’t processed confederate history month

enough to go there.


the tour I haven’t even planned

has gained another day of not being addressed.


email response guilt hits me now

and I’m a gangster stereotype

professing it ain’t personal.


while the insecure I believe hidden

wonders which relationships I fucked over most.


is my silent phone a signal of my wackness,

or my lack in giving

towards the paths of others?


if I let myself embrace the toltec book I’ve been skimming,

I’ll remember this is wasteful victim attitude.


if I invoke memories of physical therapy,

I’ll deal with this more actively.


still haven’t started scanning all them photos

I promised my family I would.


I hate red eye flights and connections and

acknowledge the luxury of these complaints.


I’m not trying to let you down, guam!

I swear I want to share on your shores.


tell the stock market the gold standard

the currency exchange

to stop messing with our ability to do more

than feed its hungry asshole mouth.


I loved witnessing the happiness

in another poet’s eyes yesterday.


ain’t really that all-over-the-place.  just not

as three act traditional trained as I been.


oh, I love where sci-fi has taken me.

pay the price of its allegory gladly.


knew I could get myself typing

once I committed to share.


where was this ability

to resist being consumed in over-thinking

when the judging blondes

were in the audience, taking notes

with their laughter?


if I haven’t tagged you,

it’s not about how we’ve drifted over the years.


at least my poop didn’t come out forced today.




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.




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