overlay

*
many of our efforts
end up going wayward
as attempts to saddle life
with an overlay

or some template
sought to be fit upon life
like a tattered straightjacket
designed to restrain,

even choke off wayward impulses;
said to be for the wearer’s safety.

but life –
that evanescent,
freedom-loving, slippery eel
of an inhale & exhalate

does not well abide
constraints on naturally derived ease
or mundane necessities
in the name of tradition, vanity,
mere peer pressure…

best we heed the self-evident;
remain in our lane,

expend effort to become
our very best self & leave life be;

simply that we learn to live it well.
*
4/30 – lebuc – overlay

with a swerving touch

*
alcohol –
may send you ‘back’
(whatever that means)
in spirit
when you imbibe & too much;

but, cannibus –
sends you forward – every time
& with a swerve.
*

4/24 – lebuc – with a swerving touch

silly me

*
Silly me –
sitting here racking brain and soul
to come up with a new poem, a new idea
distinct from the myriads
written before.

Silly me –
who’s chosen  a variety of topics, genres,
voices & forms over these months and years,
trying to show versatility & courage to experiment, try –
risking seeming foolish in attempts 
that just may flat-out fail 
as works of art.

Silly me – 
in all my intellect, awareness and heart
failing to detect, or glean any inkling 
of the now-evident fact 
( when it comes right down to it )

that i’ve only ever really written *one* poem:
from myself to you.

One question still bothers me, tho…

Who are you?
*
7.13 – lebuc – silly me

lone wolf

*
growling, howling,
deep into the night

moonlight dappled,
no one in sight – most times…

eschewing any facile crew
or organization to kowtow to

& their sick, self-serving politick -ew!

lone wolf, stalking the dawn
seeking sustenance to feed upon

amidst shadows, beyond the shaded
windows of the, among us, clueless or jaded

& souls & spirits similarly situated for succor
likewise lurking undercover

in their singular, separate hovels.

this tale’s not so very novel,
is it, now?
*
4/24 – lebuc – lone wolf

sunsets

*
so, i love to watch sunsets
whenever possible

keep it between us,
just this once.

seriously,

the western sky
is unfailing in its ability
to change a brother’s mentality

removing all residue remaining
at the busy day’s waning
from my spirit & soul

after all,
isn’t that really the goal?
*
4/24 – lebuc – sunsets

weaponized

*
I really don’t have any illusion
about the importance of these words
most will ignore them, favoring what’s heard
or seen with their two eyes – imo, a lazy fusion

if asked how we gather knowledge
or how we decide what we know
we’re lo-fi, tl;dr to the max, yo
flip’n off the metaphorical college.

i know weapons helped to clear
the founding of this, or any nation
there really is no other explication
& the importance of this is very dear;

sticks & stones can break some bones
but names will never hurt them
’ less weaponized to convert them
& extract them from their fleshly homes

by heartless, yoking legislation
designed to deprive some folk of life
to deny access to anything nice
& wakes of endless deprivation

with nary a bone that’s smashed
& no real punches thrown their way
only edicts from what authorities say
being valued as though they’re cash.

so remember this poetic ditty
with its questionable wit though pithy
& this stanzas’ changed rhyme scheme:

good weapons are never what they seem.
*
4/24 – lebuc – weaponized

old house blues

*
if it ain’t one thang
it’s another

make you want to call home,
and cry to your mother

(but I can’t yall, she’s in the great by & by).

heat goes out,
gotta fire up the ceramics,
fridge funking out too, skimping on the artic,
water pipe leaking, can’t find the source

if this house was my woman
i’d be filin’ for divorce.

new day’s a dawning,
sun sends me the news

shining on my whining,
living these old house blues.

i think the roof is leaking
sound like squirrels tweaking,
tellin’ you the truth
( …know how i was freakin’, back then in my youth )

the gutter’s overflowing
fillin’ every rain – dreading any stormin
you know what i’m say’n;

cool breeze flowing floorward,
needs keep on some shoes

just pining moving foward,
with these old house blues

(…do i smell gas? )

think some grey’s now showing – damn!
tho’ younger than this crib,

if i could just reverse time,
back to high chairs & a bib

but since i’m right here servin mine
on an annual bid ( …blessed, i guess )

guess i’d best suck up this time
get myself some specialists, kid:

‘lectrical – check
plumber – check
heat/cooling – check
roofing – check
lawncare – check
therapist – check

me = lo-key nervous wreck
that last one ain’t no news,

an inch from sayin: what the heck*,
checking off these old house blues.
*
4/24 – lebuc – old house blues

*…

limitations of the platform

*
limitations of the platform –
throw ‘em in the fire for kindling
& keep your body warm.

not gonna claim they do you actual harm
but they nag you like an insect swarm
you try to wave off with a flck of your arm

vexatious mediations
‘tween what you’re trying to say
when clicking on an open space – no go,
didn’t notice it was gray.

so low –
the depths to which they’ll sink a flow,
whose peaks were culled to make you blink
& leaks from your id to the ego
get swept away in the undertow;

the isht you have to undergo
just to scribe your so & so…

just know –
the creative source vibed is infinite
cruising on a course in a ride chez intimate,
a power force in spades that pervades all

if only we can hear its clarion call
beyond the platform’s slay-to-play wall.
*
4/24 – lebuc – limitations of the platform

make spaces

*
anytime, anywhere –

if the place is spacious, interesting & gracious,
to kindle friendly intent even with your pocket lint,
weaving among kindreds

not alone, no unturned stone
rolled into rhyme,
bumpin phones & tabs for the umpteenth time,
doing the verbal humpty is no crime
just a relief from the grief
with grimy teeth from word mumblers

…wonder if ya hear me, Tumblrs?

i’m a nerd with verse, (my curse) unrehearsed –
tho ‘not the one to ‘splay it first;
i stan the Roots, hip-drop rapscallions
beyond dispute & i’m nah here to refute,

but to shmooze with the everlovin blues
that infuse me in various hues,
as much as I love thee & them:

to be free & live – shout out to roy g biv…

taken to the river for an anointing,
hand-clapping, not finger-pointing
for a rap given in ink-stained poetic,
trains of thought on track & noetic,
prophetically tossed grains by default
to stave off old humanity’s draught;

drunk straight with a melodious thunk
of trip hopping, jaw dropping, bard-core funk
non-stop & paging, lit-hop raving
in havens imbued with brew, kava, tea
& tree goo – for the craving crew;

knee deep in the drains,
prayin’ for souls in chains, asleep –
awaken & one-two step like Imhotep,

keep on ringing bowls, opening doors,
making spaces for displayin’
forevermore

…just sayin.
*
4/24 – lebuc – make spaces

here to stay

*
here we* are
& we’re here to stay.

evolving, ever aware,
creating, searching,
reaching for that distant star

always will we ‘be being’ – somehow, free-
where we are;
or at least aiming to…surely.

it’s what we
why we
how we

swim thru the thickest, murkiest sea

to emerge sun kissed
& resplendently.

no other way,
no ordinary play are we staging,

surging without fraying
(…much , jus’ sayin’)
sometimes even self-amazing

in this phase with the phrasing
y’all be praising.

you know what i’m laying down,
we not playing

& we staying,
we slaying – in style;

& gon’ be here for a while
with a smile;

…deal.
*
3/24 – lebuc – here to stay

*u kno hoo