As a distillation of life, my poetry is the starting point, the bare bones of my solo plays. Below is a culling of poems that appear in my current solo play, A GIFT OF MADNESS.
For more information about the play visit
www.agiftofmadness.com
CARAMELO
Singing face
Face of honey, sweet song
Dear sweetness, precious tune
My dear, I gave it to myself
Tawny honey song day
CREDO
What is greatness?
If not the shedding of lesser stuff
If not the daring to be alone
content simply to play
fool around with divine mischief?
A burst here, a sigh there
Scribbling, slow and fast
And lingering long enough
For all to join the fun,
The wonder.
Will my old man care for,
take care of my child?
Will my child me?
Will he put her in a box,
in a box to play?
Will she then me?
OUR FIRST DYING DARLING STOP
SECOND CRYING STOP
OUR THIRD KICKS TURNS WIGGLES STOP
UNTIL THE SHOCK STOP
THEN AWHILE I AM ME STOP
ALL’S WELL STOP
ALL LOVE STOP
Sometimes being spacious
requires much room
Sometimes being spacious
makes room for others
Sometimes being spacious
vibrates great gatherings
Sometimes only the spacious
feel those frequencies, hollow within.
A vessel, is all.
Where are you my Mother?
Do you cry in your sleep?
Once again your baby,
Can’t I cry too?
Mother let me tell you
Mother let me hear you, see you
Mother let me see you, tell you.
Mother let me touch you.
Mother. Your secret. Tell me. Mum, now.
How. On earth. Do I do. This.
SONG:
When
When she he said
She looked at me he said
My life as I he said
Had known it ended
Hello darling. You there?
Stay with me, the only way.
Now now, dear, just say yes.
Oh, yes, we still are!
Slow, slow. Stay. Stay. Here. Now.
Just choose it is all.
Hm? What else, darling, LIFE!
Why? Why not?
Just for you, just for them.
And me, my sweet.
I already chose. Yes I’m scared.
So? You? So?
You see, I’m a singing inger.
Beginninger ringer of a
ping ponging springer,
silvering, shining humdinger
of a swinger known for
flinging my glittering, glimmering
strings of ringing tingling
dingodangling dingaling bling bling
spin, spin, spinnering in a ring
as I spit, spit it, sping.
Forever keening, pining, lingering,
sometimes on some dinging cringing binge,
winging meaning, I impinge, lunge, sssinge.
Then clinging, cajoling, slinging, finagling,
I oh-so-gingerly finger splintering kingly anger.
Twinkling and crinkling, (nary an inkling of thinking)
with a singular tinge of fringe
I’m a humming shimmering innering hinge
being the simmering, shivering, slivering,
slithering, simpering, sniggering,
singering, seeing, be-er that I am.
This a Forest? Tree. Tree, tree, tree. Tree tree. Trees.
If in it I can’t see it am I still sight unseen, far from IT?
Above: trees, below: trees. Divinity breathes, rustling leaves.
As far as the eye can see, trees. But The Forest?
SONG:
I can? Can I? I can. I can. I can.
Can I? We can. I can. I can. I can.
I can. He can. They can.
I can. I can. You can.
I can? Can I? I can I can I can
I can They can He can I can
We can I can I can I can.
“Look for signs” he said:
“as you sleep, when you wake, they linger.”
But blinded by the light we, deaf to their whispers,
careen off kilter, our dreams thrumming under,
our feet feeling not.
Ears hearing not
the mist falls on our noses
smelling not the must
of winter dying for light’s warmth
to caress the maybe of Spring.
So! Let it be.
So, just be.
So, be it so you be.
So it be, sow it so.
Sow it, so it be so.
So–so? So–so–”so”!
So? Be it.