Branch 1: Secondary Revision

Secondary Revision Notes:

 

Too Human to be Afraid of and Spirits

Can i borrow your lighter?

Sure. i say.
He is descended in his own eyes
Mulling over premeditation
Lighting the stump of a cigarette.
i look into him. He cannot remember
the last time he was more.

Can i have a cigarette?

No, I say.
Swirling drowning

Unable to keep contained and 

i did not want to get wet.
How long had he been gone
To the people of the sea?
He did not even hear language
Only felt denying wants.

I'll steal one.

you can try, i say.
now that i know what will get through
To him, i talk more with spirit than with words.
See contemplation a physical encounter,
The most human he has been.

I'll steal one.

You can try, i say.
He tries to push fear into me
Tattered flannel vest, ripped sleeves,
Dreadlocks  incoherency of
Thoughts and speech and movement.

I'll steal one.

You can try, i say.
Like an adolescent moon, he tries
To pull me into him  his tide.
i see him. for him today, i will not getting wet
My earth remains. offended
He moves down the street.
His spirit spitting off  of his tongue.
i was only potentially stronger.
he Crosses the street, walks up to a man.

Do you have any change?

No, said the man
Afraid of the questioner.

As are some families passing
not wanting to get wet.

I'll steal some!

you will what? says the man.
the questioner pulls out a chain
Whipping at the man.

I'll steal some!

stop! cries The man
With forearms
With volume  afraid
Of swirling drowning.
the questioner continues.

I'll steal some!

stop, yells The policeman
unsheathing Baton
striking the questioner
on forearms knocking the chain
skittering onto the street.

I'll steal some!  I'll steal some!

stop, Two more 
driving Two more batons and 
Two more forearms and
the questioner not possessing enough
humanity. the policemen too human
To be afraid of spirits.
===================================================================
Secondary Revision:

Human and Spirits

Can i borrow your lighter?

Sure.
He is descended in his own eyes
Mulling over premeditation
Lighting the stump of a cigarette.
He cannot remember
the last time he was more.

Can i have a cigarette?

No.
Swirling drowning

Unable to keep contained,

How long had he been gone
To the people of the sea?
He did not even hear language
Only felt denying wants.

I'll steal one.

You can try.
To him, i talked more with spirit than with words.
Saw contemplation a physical encounter. Saw
The most human he had been.

I'll steal one.

You can try.
He tries to push fear into me
Tattered flannel vest, ripped sleeves,
Dreadlocks incoherency of
Thoughts and speech and movement.

I'll steal one.

You can try.
Like an adolescent moon, he tries
To pull me into him  his tide.
for him today
My earth remains. Offended
He moves down the street.
His spirit spitting off  of his tongue.
Crosses the street, walks up to a man.

Do you have any change?

No
Afraid of the questioner.
As are families passing

I'll steal some!

Pulls out a chain
Whips at the man.

I'll steal some!

The man with forearms,
With volume,  afraid
Of swirling drowning.

I'll steal some!

The policeman
Baton striking 
The questioner on forearms 
Knocking chain skittering
To the street.

I'll steal some!  I'll steal some!

Two more 
Two more batons and 
Two more forearms and
The questioner not enough human. 
The policemen too human
To be afraid of spirits.

Branch 1: Revision #2

 Please leave a brief comment response, if you have the time (thank you):


=======================================================================

 Branch 1: Revision #2 of Too Human To Be Afraid Of Spirits
Original Draft

 

too human to be afraid of spirits

"can i borrow your lighter?"

"sure", i say.
i see how descended he is in his own eyes
as he mulls over his premeditation,
while lighting the stump of a cigarette.
i look into him and he can't remember
the last time he was more structured human,
rather than this chaotic and amateur spirit.

"can i have a cigarette?"

"no", I say.
he was swirling and drowning and unable to
keep it contained and i did not feel like getting wet.
who knows how long he has been gone
to live with the people of the sea.
he doesn't even hear my language,
only feels my spirit denying his what it wants.

"i'll steal one"

"you can try", i say.
now that i know what will get through
to him, i talk more with spirit than words.
i see the contemplation of whether he
wants to attempt a physical encounter,
and that is the most human he's been.

"i'll steal one!"

"you can try", i say
he tries to push fear into me
with his tattered flannel vest with ripped
sleeves. he tries to push fear into me
with his dreadlocks and incoherency of
speech, movement, and energy.

"i'll steal one!"

"you can try", i say
like an adolescent moon he tries
to pull me into him with his tide.
unlucky for him i see him. unlucky
for him today i am not getting wet
and my earth remains me. offended
that a peasant such as myself has in him
an equivalent and antithetical establishment
he moves on down the street, frustrated.
his offended spirit spitting off his tongue.
i was only potentially stronger,
most likely simply not worth the energy.
he crossed the street and walked up to a man.

"do you have any change?"

"no", said the man
who doesn't know why, but
is afraid of the questioner.
unfortunately for the questioner
so are some of the families passing by.
they don't want to get wet.

"i'll steal some!"

"you will what?" says the man.
the questioner pulls out a chain
and begins whipping at the man.
someone calls the cops on a cellphone.

"i'll steal some!"

"stop! cries the man"
who defends himself with forearms
and volume and is afraid;
afraid of swirling and drowning, afraid.
which is why, in my opinion, the assaulter continued

"i'll steal some!"

"stop", yells the policeman
while unsheathing his baton
and striking the questioning assaulter
on his forearms knocking the chain
from his hands to skittering on the sidewalk.

"i'll steal some!"

"stop", yell two more policemen
who drive batons and forearms
upon the assaulting questioner.
the questioner did not possess enough
humanity to overpower the policemen who
were much too human to be afraid of spirits.

=====================================================================================
Revision 1 Notes: Too Human To Be Afraid Of Spirits

Too Human to be Afraid of Spirits

can i borrow your lighter?

sure, i say.
descended in his own eyes
mulling over premeditation,
lighting the stump of a cigarette.
i looked into him. he can't remember
the last time he was more
rather than this chaotic spirit.

can i have a cigarette

no, I say.
he was swirling drowning

unable to keep it contained and 

i did would not feel like getting wet.
who knows how long had he has been gone
to live with the people of the sea.
he doesn't did not even hear my language,
only felt my spirit denying his what it wants.

i'll steal one

you can try, i say.
now that i know what will get through
to him, i talk more with spirit than with words.
i see the contemplation of whether he
wants to attempt a physical encounter,
and that is the most human he has been.

i'll steal one!

you can try, i say
he tries, to push fear into me
with his tattered flannel vest with his
ripped sleeves. he tries to push fear into me
with his dreadlocks and incoherency of
speech, and thoughts, and movement and energy.

i'll steal one!

you can try, i say
like an adolescent moon he tries
to pull me into him with his tide.
unlucky for him i see him. unlucky
for him today, i will not getting wet
and my earth remains me. offended
that a peasant such as myself has in him
an at equivalent and such antithetical establishment
he moves on down the street, frustrated.
his offended spirit spitting off  of his tongue.
i was only potentially stronger,
most likely simply not worth the energy.
he crosses the street and walks up to a man.

do you have any change?

no, said the man
who doesn't know why, but
is afraid of the questioner.
unfortunately for the questioner
so are some of the families passing by.
they don't not wanting to get wet.

i'll steal some!

you will what? says the man.
the questioner pulls out a chain
and begins whipping at the man.
someone calls the police on a cellphone.

i'll steal some!

stop! cries the man
who defends himself with forearms
with volume  afraid;
afraid of swirling of drowning, afraid.
which is why, in my opinion, the assaulter continued

i'll steal some!

stop, yells the policeman
while unsheathing a baton
and striking the questioner assaulter
on his forearms knocking the chain
from his hands to skittering on the street.

i'll steal some!  i'll steal some!

stop, yell two more policemen
who driving batons and forearms
upon the assaulting questioner.
the questioner did not possessing enough
humanity to overpower. the policemen who
were much too human to be afraid of spirits.

=====================================================================================
Post Notes Revision: 

Too Human to be Afraid of Spirits

can i borrow your lighter?

sure, i say.
he's descended in his own eyes
mulling over premeditation,
lighting the stump of a cigarette.
i look into him. he cannot remember
the last time he was more.

can i have a cigarette?

no, I say.
swirling drowning

unable to keep contained and 

i did not want to get wet.
how long had he been gone
to the people of the sea?
he did not even hear language,
only felt denying wants.

i'll steal one

you can try, i say.
now that i know what will get through
to him, i talk more with spirit than with words.
i see contemplation a physical encounter,
and that is the most human he has been.

i'll steal one

you can try, i say.
he tries to push fear into me
tattered flannel vest, ripped sleeves,
dreadlocks.  incoherency of
speech and thoughts and movement.

i'll steal one!

you can try, i say.
like an adolescent moon, he tries
to pull me into him  his tide.
i see him. for him today, i will not getting wet
my earth remains. offended
he moves down the street.
his spirit spitting off  of his tongue.
i was only potentially stronger.
he crosses the street, walks up to a man.

do you have any change?

no, said the man
afraid of the questioner.
so are some families passing
not wanting to get wet.

i'll steal some!

you will what? says the man.
the questioner pulls out a chain
whipping at the man.

i'll steal some!

stop! cries the man
with forearms
with volume  afraid
of swirling drowning.
the questioner continues.

i'll steal some!

stop, yells the policeman
unsheathing baton
striking the questioner
on forearms knocking the chain
skittering onto the street.

i'll steal some!  i'll steal some!

stop, two more 
driving batons and forearms
the questioner not possessing enough
humanity. the policemen too human
to be afraid of spirits.

 

Branch 1: Revisions

 Please leave a brief comment response to one the following if you have the time (thank you):
-capitalization
-punctuation
-title
-numbered sections
-pronouns
-ending stanza and stanza three

=======================================================================

Branch 1: Revision #1 of Frog Song
Original Draft

Frog Song
    I
Brothel madam setting up well-breasted gosling-girls
to fall into an oversexed beauty;
that runs hasty down mascara faces,
puddles in elbow pits, pools in knee crooks,
and lilts
                between toes staining the courtyard
before tinkling down street gutters;
where glazed, glowering, tourists
are offended at the smell of a broken dream.

    II
Quilting a curtain of Nat Sherman
privacy,

We find pockets in Louisiana storm clouds.
We rummage for loose change, loose marbles.

We take the beautiful ordinary, that we are,
and place
each for each
one for one
                      and the other
into those sky pockets;
honoring God, Zeus, The Spirit of New Orleans,
and our Lady of Guadalupe.

    III
Our coffee sings between our lips
between intermissions of cigarettes
and serenading pond frogs.

Frogs in the bottom of a well in dance.
Wet amphibious dreaming of sky and smoke.
Polliwogs waterlogged on well-liquor and smoke.
An egg underwater, a formless mass.

Even the insects hum a plump tune
as they boogaloo from vein
to sweet nectared vein.

    IV
We talk and don’t talk
until the shadows of the shadows
of the crowds have dispersed.
And the silent blue law lights
cause buildings to blink,
seem tired, and fall asleep.

    V
An evolution as slow as love.



=====================================================================================
Revision 1 Notes: Frog Song  ? Pockets ?

Frog Song ? Pockets
    I
Brothel madam setting up well-breasted gosling-girls
to fall into an oversexed beauty;
runs (hands?) hasty (hands ?) down mascara faces,
puddles in elbow pits,

pools in knee crooks,

and lilts.

between toes 

Toes staining the courtyard bricks and

before tinkling down street gutters,

where glazed  glowering, travelers  

are offended at the smell of a broken. dream.

    II
Quilting a curtain of Nat Sherman
privacy,

We They find pockets in Louisiana's storm clouds
We rummaging for loose change, loose marbles.

We Take the beautiful ordinary  that we they are,
and place (them ?)
each for each
one for one
                      and the other
into those sky pockets;
honoring God, Zeus, The Spirit of New Orleans,
and our Lady of Guadalupe.

    III
Our Coffee sings between our their lips
between intermissions of cigarettes
and serenading pond frogs.

Frogs in the bottom of a well in dance.
Wet amphibious dreaming of sky and smoke.
Polliwogs waterlogged on well-liquor and smoke.
An egg underwater, a formless mass.

Even the insects hum a plump tune
as they boogaloo from vein
to sweet nectared veins.

    IV
We  They talk and don’t talk.
until the shadows of the shadows
of the crowds have dispersed.
and the silent blue law lights

cause buildings to blink,
seem tired, and fall asleep.
    V
An evolution as slow as love.


=====================================================================================
Post Notes Revision:

Frog Song
    I
Brothel madam setting up well-breasted gosling-girls
to fall into an oversexed beauty;
runs hasty down mascaraed faces,
puddles in elbow pits,

pools in knee crooks,

and lilts.

Toes staining courtyard bricks and

tinkling down street gutters

where glazed  glowering travelers  

smell of broken.

    II
They find pockets in Louisiana's storm clouds
rummaging for loose change, loose marbles.
Taking the beautiful ordinary  that they are and
place themselves into those sky pockets.

    III

Whiskey, wings between their lips

between intermissions of cigarettes

and serenading pond frogs.

Frogs in the bottom of a well in dance.
Wet, amphibious, dreaming of sky and smoke.
Polliwogs waterlogged on well-liquor and smoke.
An egg underwater, a formless mass.

Even the insects hum a plum tune
as they boogaloo from
sweet nectared veins.

    IV
They talk and don’t talk.
shadows of the shadows
of the crowds and
the silent blue law lights


 

Branch 3: Holiday Dance Performance

Branch 1: The Pretty Painter Girl

Branch 1 (and maybe 4): The Pretty Painter Girl

          I have been finding my way back into poetry, or at least finding more time to and for that place.  I have been compiling my work and prepping for the goals of working publication objectives.  In my compilation I have two pieces where I was traveling and I saw, meet, or experienced something to write about.  It has been a long time since a piece like that has be drawn out of me.
          Today, I was having a terrible journey home.  Tickets, money issues, bus riding...  Finally, I got to the train.  Even then, I could not find a table, a solitary seat, or someone interesting to sit by.  Eventually, I found a chair and wandered to the back car to get something to eat.  On the first try, I saw a young girl who had here entire art painting supplies (including a canvas) strewn all about.

She had her ear buds in and was painting a beautiful pastoral scene.  I ventured to that back car a few times to check the food line and to see how the girl's painting was coming.  Finally I tapped her on the shouldered, waited for her to take her ear buds out and asked her if I could take a picture of her for my blog. (I've thinking of adding a branch 4 for artists I meet.)  I complimented her painting, did not make much conversation, and headed back to my seat.  And then it hit me.  I have two poems that I have written in similar moments of inspiration: Girl on a Grey Hound ( http://www.facebook.com/notes/cid-galicia/girl-on-a-grey-hound/10150431170447407 )and an untitled piece.  It's a reoccurring theme I find in my poetry.  The traveling on tracks or poems about bus settings. Here are the setting I experienced today.

 So between the girl and the two above settings, here is the rough draft of the piece I wrote today:


Tracks Again

Tracks again
and tunneling,
time turns and waits turns
and waits.
As we pass trees
blowing pushes

thoughts through parts of tracks
through parts of trees
through the window and
gusts into the woman painting.
Pressed bottles upon the seat tray
pressed water cup
pressed brush strokes
pressed thoughts from the outside air
through her brush hands into
and against me.

And as the turning train tumbles
across tracks and into my steps
my eyes stop my body
stop my thighs and feet.
And silently I ask her
to take the music out of her ears
step into the air pushing through her window
and her sense of traveling self
from her feet to my feet
from painting hands to hands of writing.

An ebbing push
that turns and waits and
turns and waits.


























        

Branches 1&3: Travels Through the Past

   Braches3: Writers      
          There is something so very enjoyable about stepping out onto my hotel balcony in the morning, looking out onto the city, and having a cigarette.  It is so rare that I get moments like these.  So rare that I have time--a few moments to myself.  It has been quite lovely, each day has.
          Yesterday, I spent time with my good friend Finn.  I found out he is doing amazing actions as a writer and an upcoming college professor of English.  I am very impressed and happy with him.  He has sent out a novel for publication and introduced me to a great website in which I can work on the same for my poetry.
http://duotrope.com/index.aspx
  We had a good lunch at an old favorite place of mine, visited a friends new chiropractic office, shared writing, and got in a good scrabble game. 


Branch 3: Paper Glenn of Willows and Words

Branch 1: Poetree

Braches 1,2, & 3: Winter Break

Branch 3: Chico California
          It has felt so interesting to be back in my old college town.  It has been about two years since I have adventured back.  Running through Bidwell Park and seeing the trees and the liver was such a warming feeling.  I went for a good 40min run this morning.  I remembered all the times I had ventured through on old runs, solitary and accompanied walks, and gone swimming.  All the old cafes are still there:


Naked Lounge
http://www.facebook.com/NLCHICO?sk=info


HasBeans
http://www.hasbeans.com/


I have fond memories of both of them.  I used to host a Poetry Night at HasBeans (way) back in the day.  They still have an open mic on Thursdays which I am planning to attend.  =)
          All this work got dune to this great music mix website 8track http://8tracks.com/  .  It is an awesome site where DJs and Music Lovers can list their own created or just personally like music interests.
                                                             

Branch 2: ILEAP
          I got a good start on 7th grade ELA ILEAP work.


Branch 1: Poetry Compilation
           After that, I came home, repacked my bag, and got some poetry work done.  Here's my Rough Draft list of the poetry compilation I am working on:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Formal Poems: Villanelles, Sestinas, Sonnets

Villanelles

The Wine                                             (V)       1          (N)

Daggers                                               (V)       2          (R2)

Windvisible                                         (V)       3          (R2)

Vanish-Maker                                     (V)       4          (R2)

Gentle Night                                       (V)       5          (R2)

Self-Rise                                             (V)       6          (R2)  Poe

Contrast                                              (V)       7          (R2)

Smoke, Pray, Walk                             (V)       8          (R2)

Vast Woman Long                              (V)       9          (R)

The Color of Morning on Battle         (V)       10        (R2)

Hue                                                     (V)       11        (R2)

The Melody of Entropy                      (V)       12        (R2)

Red Rain                                             (V)       13)       (R2?) really needs work

Villanelles New Orleans

Good Morning New Orleans              (V)       14        (R2)

Mountain to Stones                             (V)       15        (R2)

Sound to Eye                                      (V)       16        (R2)

To Build with Stone                           (V)       17        (R2)

City of the Mind                                 (V)       18        (R2)

Sestinas

Night Life                                           (S)       19        (R2)

Green Sestina                                      (S)       20        (R2)

Sestina Series

1 The Willow’s Call                            (S)       21        (R2)

2 An Axe in the Glen                          (S)       22        (R2)

3 Little Sister                                      (S)       23        (R2)

Jonnnies                                              (S)       24        (R2)

Japanese                                              (S)       25        (R2)

Of the Iga and Koga Forests              (S)       26        (R2)

The Earth Leaks                                  (S)       27        (R2)

Sestina Series

1 Demeter                                           (S)       26        (R2)

2 The Slaying of Artemis                    (S)       27        (R2)

3 Rubies and Sisters                            (S)       28        (R2)

4 Sky and Sea Water                          (S)       29        (R2)

New Orleans Sestina

Dreamscape                                         (S)       30        (R2)

Sonnets

New Orleans to Atlanta                      (S)       31        (R2)

Jane                                                     (S)       33

Free Verse Poetry

Rain                                                     (FV)    34        (R2)

WithUnder the Willow Tree               (FV)    35        (R2) opening piece?

Circle of Stones                                  (FV)    36        (R2) needs revision

Brother’s Hart                                     (FV)    36        (?) needs a lot of work

Bird                                                     (FV)    37        (R2) needs revision

Café ‘Dark Horizons                           (FV)    38        (R2) open pieces

Sister Willows                                     (FV)    39        (R2) open pieces

Chasing Butterflies                             (FV)    40        (R2)

In Expectation                                                (FV)    41        (R2)

Sister Willows                                     (FV)    42        (R2) open pieces

Tracks                                                  (FV)    43        (R2)

Immature Discourse…                        (FV)    44        (R2)

Girl on a Greyhound                           (FV)    45        (R2)

Leave Taking                                      (FV)    46        (R2)

Birth of a Phoenix                               (FV)    47        (R2)

Dancing                                               (FV)    48        (R2)

Too Human to Be Afraid of Spirits    (FV)    49        (R2)

Untitled                                               (FV)    50        (R2) title/rereads/revision

Untitled #2                                          (FV)    51        (R2) same

Fasting                                                            (FV)    52        (R2)

Ode to an Angel Analytical                (FV)    53        (R2)

Am I Not (Not) a Girl                         (FV)    54        (R2) ?

Turtlenecks Invincible                         (FV)    55        (R2) ?

Tundra                                                 (FV)    56        (R2)

Love Poem                                          (FV)    57        (R2) ?

Shadow Kisses                                    (FV)    58        (R2) ?

From Within His Uterus...                  (FV)    59        (R2) ?

Peace Papers                                       (FV)    60        (R2) ?

Casual Wind                                       (FV)    61        (R2)

Unknown #3                                       (FV)    62        (R2)

The Noble Race of Porcupine             (FV)    63        (R2) ?

The Perch of Icarus                             (FV)    64        (R2)

New Orleans Free Verse

Solace of Silence                                 (FV)    65        (R2)

Frog Song                                           (FV)    66        (R2)

Morning Thoughts                              (FV)    67        (R2)

Mass                                                    (FV)    68        (R2)

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not too bad if I do say so myself.  ;)

Branch 3:  Play Time

          Now off to dinner and drinks................

Dinner was amazing, Monks in downtown Chico is an old favorite dinner and wine-bar place of mine from back in the day.
                                                   
After monks we hit up Johnnies.  Johnnies was the first place I ever had an Old Fashioned and my Ty Cobb.

 Salad and Crustinis =)
                                     and then desert!

                                                                                       

Last night was a great night.  My break is off to a good start.  Time to do it all again, starting with my run.