Birth of The Poet

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“Who dares disturb my slumber?”

The boom rattles me to my very core

as the thunderous rumble threatens to tear me asunder.

But, I refuse to reveal the fear that has bored

itself deep into my essence.

_____________________________

It seems that ever since

I began this bond with my pen,

I’ve been scraping and peeling

at this onion that the masses can’t comprehend,

and…it’s a shame, because I have a feeling

that after this encounter, staying the same

_____________________________

is what they’ll wish I did.

“It is I, a poet. DJ is the name,”

but something gives away that I haven’t ditched

every false aspect of me. I was still ashamed

of that which I can’t seem to hide

_____________________________

from this being. As I recognize the curious desire

of present company, its patience fades

and continues to withhold that I wish to acquire

due to my spurious claims.

It starts to thin and freeze the air.

_____________________________

“What do you fear?” I merely stared.

The all-knowing silence that follows

as I gulp and swallow was everything compared

to the legends told of this hallow

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spirit. I tried not to feel it,

but a compulsion forces me to confess

or I’ll just stay in this mess due to the limits

I’ve established, encouraging an eventual regress-

_____________________________

ion in my development. “Fine,” I said, I lose my dreary

composure and admit, “my name is David.” An eerie

shiver runs down my spine

as this divine creature entwines

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with me and, now, I can channel my misery

as it seeps into the delivery of my poetry

as long as I consume the leaves of these poet tress

carefully planted by my fusion with this Chaotic Entity.

Night Owl

Here’s one of the first times I ever hinted at “The Poet”.

The chirping has

long since silenced.

My eyes

roam

the landscape,

searching.

Searching and waiting.

Minutes crawl by

with nary a whisper to

follow.

A patch of

grass

welcomes me

as I remove my

equipment from

my pack and

begin the

all too familiar

ritual, and

wait.

The deepest nerves

buried in marrow

shiver. Focusing,

I force my spirit

to retain my

hand.

It guides

my friend as

it races

across the

pages. Spilling

secrets that none

will ever witness

as long as the sky glows

and the sheep

seek and peak

looking to

find my last

bit of sanctuary.

Perspective

I debutted this poem at a slam last Thursday!

We have lived in a world where there is no ‘we’

and it’s partly because I’m a different me.

It’s crazy when you think on how you think it can be

that you clearly still have love for me.

You love me,

I loved him, you loved her,

we loved so much even when the love hurt.

I used to not sleep thinking about what could occur

and as time went on we both questioned our words.

Was it possible that we both still felt

the same as before? Can you please help?

_________________________________________

I guess you couldn’t understand these things

you loved so much that it slowly turned to hate

you hated how much our moods would swing,

you hated every one of my ‘cute little things’,

you hated how you was way too late

to admit to me what it really was

you never understood that your action really does

have consequences on my personal health

I would stress, be depressed and plain hurt myself

you claim ‘love’ but please put that back on the shelf

because what’s love got to do with it when you don’t love yourself?

2014 in review (Better late!)

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here's an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,300 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 22 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

A Freebie!

Because I haven’t posted any new content in so long, I decided to give a preview of a non Fiction essay I was just transferring to my computer.
Hope you enjoy my attempt at fitting in!

Flo Fashion

I have soon discovered that I have entered a never-ending game of catch-up around age six.

If Jansen gets a SEGA Genesis console, I will get one two-three months later, without a game. When a certain clothing brand starts trending, I acquire something similar maybe six months later thanks, usually, to my dad’s brother, Frank.

For about a month, I would see Jansen socialize with a group of boys I’ve never seen at school before. He and his older brother, Justin, have grown a fan base overnight and it is steadily killing our play time together. I have already made a few attempts at joining the groupies and eventually, I unwittingly become the butt of a few jokes.

The other kids would question my friendship with Jansen, wondering why he’d bother even talking to me. Being the friend he is, he has asked me, begged me to come with him on a Saturday morning to a park he and his brother visit.

I reluctantly oblige, and show up wishing I could have recorded my cartoons before leaving.

“Oh grow up, D.J. Look, the coach is already here!” Jansen replies to my troubles.

“Coach?” I look around, “coach for what?”

At this moment, a tall man carrying a bag of brown balls and a large stomach calls my friend and his brother as he throws a ball high into the air. The brothers take off, pushing each other as they race down the way. I half expect their tongues to hang out their mouths as they run. Justin outruns his younger brother and catches it, then for some reason he throws it back.

“Go ahead and catch that for me, young blood,” the coach says as it rotates slowly in the air.

Being new to this idea, I realize I have no idea what to do and I panic. My eyes grow as the fear-seeking missile points its nose at me; accelerating after identifying its target. Holding back my very manly scream, I throw both hands palm-side out, ready to embrace the rocket…

I feel weightless, a strange and curious sense of floating grabs my attention as I hear a voice echo across what feels like miles of nothingness.

“D.J.! Get up!” My eyelids struggle to open as I feel a hand continuously slap against my cheeks.

“Did I catch it?” I ask, blood trickling down my face with my glasses which are bent inwards.

“I think you should try being a tight end,” the coach declares.

Let’s Have a Quick Update

Since it has been about a month since I completed a blog entry (I am working on something else!) I think now, right before the Holidays hit, I’ll let you guys know what I’m working on.

1) Part 3 is on its way. I hinted at this through various social media sites but here is the “official” announcement:
I am returning to my Generational Anxiety blog series. Part 3 will be soon!

2) Has anyone heard of seen.is? It’s a brand new social media site. I decided to check it out and I’ll let you know via fb/twitter what I think.

3) The Spoke’n’Word Festival on Nov 29! It was….okay. I performed the 28th Amendment (had to start off with fire) and went slower than you see in Frankfurt (click here to watch!). Yet, it wasn’t as appreciated as it was in Germany. Different people praised it and stated their opinions regarding the audience who voted (5 randomly selected members) and how tired people were by the time I stepped on stage being 1 out of 2 people speaking English.
Whatever, I did accomplish my main objective; impress the international poets. This leads to…

4) I met a poet from Italy who really liked the 28th Amendment – the words and my performance – and he invited me to Torino where he hosts some slam events.
Today, he just gave me the dates for 4 different cities! Assuming I don’t attend the one in Alghero on the 28th (it’s pretty last minute when I still have an obligation to visit Ukraine first), 2015 will be the next…er…stage for Daedalus Chaos!

Debuting in Germany

Well!

I have Youtube’d (that’s a verb, PROMISE) my performance in Frankfurt am Main, Germany.

First, here is the 28th Amendment (sometimes known as Poetry Constitution).

and Ode to Public Transportation (German version)

The Warsaw Spoke’N’Word Festival is THIS Saturday! I’m so excited to impress people!!!!