Brach 1: Poetry Revision

Final Revision: Mass

Mass
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven...
    -Ophelia: act 1 scene 3

         I
Walking into weight,
Bread and blood
Leave a taste of wood and woods
On the palate of a patron tongue.

An organ, like drums,
Beats into the holy ground.
Raising the faithful to fall
To become dolls within the shape
Of a crossed cathedral--
Small, difficult to create, yet
Easy to break.

             II
Next to me a woman grows leaves
In homily.  A dryad of the cross,
Screening being seasons.

First fall and prayer.
Second spring, as eyes
Become the color of perennial seeds.
Next summer, warmth becoming a leaking heat.
Finally winter, as she dream sleeps
Her pillow a stone.

She, like Ophelia,
falls to rock.

Revision: Dreamscape

Final Draft::

Dreamscape

Que sueñes con los angelitos.
As I slip to sleep upon a pillow of stones
Waking in a dream to an ocean sounding,
I hover only toe-tips beyond the crests of waves.
Each set of dreamwater sending
Information and images in parallel.

The sister-side of waking whispers in voices parallel,
Que sueñes con los angelitos.
Milkwater  minds calciumate a sending.
Each time, the voice is heard-- tumbling stones
and dropping them into the waves.
It is a mixture of weight and relief sounding.

It is a mixture of muted garbled horn-voices sounding.
The sleep sent ocean playing in parallel
A harmony of horns and sea-strings waves
Which whisper,que sueñes con los angelitos.
But ascension is steep for those whose mindmake is stones.
The ocean seeks to pull and sink weight from one seeking sending.

Sea froth between toes tickle-takes me from a sending.
Her tongue is a tentacle and I taste of trumpets sounding.
I do not want to contaminate her with the consumptions of stones,
For they raise the water, ruin the sky, and we should stay in parallel.
Still she whispers, que sueñes con los angelitos,
And it is Daedalus' lament, as he apparates among the waves.

But how does one change the sea? What would replace the waves?
What would push water into air and onto land in sending?
Who would whisper so well as mother water, que sueñes con los angelitos?
So much of the unwoken earth would be empty without the ocean sounding.
The dreamscape sea, like the angels hierarchies, are a beauty and terrifying parallel.
The rough human soul dropped from sky, tumbled by sea, and smoothed by stone.

One among many, all the same of something else, are stones.
One among many, all the same of something else, are waves.
                                                                                           a parallel
                                                                                         in sending
                                                                            is heard sounding
From the lips of water to the ears of stones, que sueñes con los angelitos.

On a beach, inside the water, lie parallel stones
Across them, que sueñes con los angelitos coasts and waves
Sending and sounding    sending and sounding    sending and sounding.

Branch 3: A Teacher, Dancer, Poet New Year

Branch 3: New Year's Eve         

           My Holiday was the most wonderful I can remember having in such a long time.  When I l think back to everything I have experienced since moving to New Orleans, my struggles have been deep and bearing--yet my life has been lived high and hard and the balance equal.  As an extremest, i suppose, my struggles are mighty: near death, lost heart, the failing of the educational system.  Still, my beauties have been legendary as well.  Living in a powerful, spiritual, and historical city filled with powerful and spiritual people: musicians, dancers, writers, teachers, students, family, lovers, and experiences.  I know myself well through the pleasures and the pains of this last year and a half.

No great art has ever been made without the artist having known danger.

-rilke

          My holiday was so much, it takes a past look in this tired moment to briefly understand how blessed I am.  I spent a week filled with the people of my past who helped guide, build and love me into being the man I find and have chosen to be  I spent a week with a family who has loved me, supported me, fought me, yet always welcomed me back to home I know that I always have.
           And I spent my New Year's Eve with the most decadent group of people I could have: My brother, Leslie, Josephine, and Michelle.

Girls, you made my eve most wonderful.

     thank you so very much.

           Cid Galicia

Revision #3:Original Draft

(This is an old piece)

Sister Willows

You each, can alone, touch me and through that

give me clear veins for thought to travel through.

On a floor, or on a bed, of leaves, I will trust you;

hang my armor upon your willow tree branches.

But together you are a forest, a dark place.

A canopy I cannot see within, but still must cross.

So I eat metal, grind copper and steel with broken teeth

[and bleeding] gums and grind my skin upon the stone until my soul is sharp.

So that I can pierce you, break you, each of you, only a piece though, to carve a space,

for myself; through which I am protected from your united touch.

For there are times when it, your touch, sends phoenix-fire through those veins [and they burn through tearing and snapping] them--

spilling unsegregated blood into regions that cannot bear its burden,

cannot force it through the system.

And I am left in a place that reminds me of thorns; reminds-- me of dry

half- living things that refuse to die.

Things I should far transcend and remain unaffected by. 

For I will see you, tomorrow, each of you, and chose to have to let you touch me.

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

Revised Draft
I would have like to keep couplets 4-8 the same size as 1-3, but I cannot seem to find to do it in a desirable way.  For the last should I find a way to make it two lines as all the others or is it good to end it with a singular line?

Sister Willows

You each, can alone, touch me and through that
Give me clear veins for thought to travel through.

On a floor, or on a bed, of leaves, I will trust you
Hang my armor upon your willow tree branches.

But together you are a forest, a dark place.
A canopy I cannot see within, but still must cross.


So I eat metal, grind copper and steel with broken teeth and
Bleeding gums, grind my skin upon the stone until my soul is sharp.

So that I can pierce you, break you, each of you, only a piece though, 
To carve a space for myself. Through which I am protected from your united touch.


For there are times when it, your touch, sends phoenix-fire through those veins.
And they burn through tearing and snapping them.

Spilling unsegregated blood into regions that cannot bear its burden,
Cannot force it through the  system.

And I am left in a place that reminds me of thorns, reminds me of dry,
half- living things that refuse to die.

For I will see you, tomorrow, each of you and chose to have to let you touch me.

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

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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