da dopeness!

mr. d hart, from madison, WI wrote an incredible poem. he and his wife
have the most beautiful family! it was a joy hanging out with them while i toured
milwaukee & madison wisconsin! i posted the poem he wrote due to a conversation we
had about inspiration and lack of sources as a touring poet. touche' mr hart!




She reaches deeply
into her poetic pockets
and pulls out lent
because see she's spent
the last three hours bent
over wobbly bar tables listening
to uninspired drivel and endless
rhythmic drone

So when her name's called
she wants to use the microphone
to build linguistic structures
of poetic stone that she's
honed from kinetic energy
channeled telepathically from her head
to her
heart

And as she starts to build
she feels the microphone
between her fingers--
it is a thimble-sized phallic symbol other
poets have used to repeatedly
violate anything that resembles African history,

but the microphone transforms rapidly
into metallic pheromones that provide comfort and
therapy to the young masses that listen
at the open mic waiting to be moved, waiting for greatness

And her greatest greatness is
she knows that if the masses
hear more wacked poetry tonight
they may rise together in mutiny,
she knows
that if they hear more work not subject
to intense scrutiny, literary irony, self-edit
grammar, and spell check
they may just spray the joint

And her delivered verbs never disappoint us
but at some point her soul has to have the same
refreshment her body gives the masses
at some point her brain needs caressing,

I'm guessing

I'm guessing she wallows in
the empty hollow spaces in time created by Diogenes' mantra paraphrased,

blessed is she who keep on blessing

when all of the lessons she's learned from the sonnet
of single motherhood
are packed into a fifteen minute show
and rocked to be understood by the masses
who don't quite recognize her pain but
understand her flow

and so like Diogenes
she packs up her knapsack
heads to another venue
looking to be inspired.

(c) d. hart