The weight of the pen in my hand yields flashbacks, Quick, like government sponsored shock therapy on unruly, un-American, starving for life, aching for pleasure, artists of another galaxy, Profiteers of smoky rooms, napkins full of poetry, poetry filled with life! Life abundant! Life questioned! Life motioned! Scribbled! Spit! Came on! Sweaty with sentient beings! Head dressed and toe dressed with belts and bells around them, tired and wired with cups of coffee, collectors of jazz a la midnight , protectors of love, neglectors of everything, travelers of lonesome roads, climbing mountains, underground, rucksack, diaphragm, jug-o-wine, itching in restriction, main restriction: Clothes, Wandering below city lights, stopping for music or cigarettes, smoking those cigarettes until you’ve smoked them all! More music! More cigarettes! Visiting Dirty Mary, reading to her after a rendezvous, being read to, calling out to Hairy Mary, walking only among strangers and then with none at all Look, there’s Scary Mary! Craving the crackles and pops in a slow down, hold down, head back, back scoop, stop and feel the air kind of record, Dancing in the rain and silence, stomping in the rain and bathing in it, perfecting chants and coolness, shivering in the winter, masturbating lonely, instruments good and sexed: guitar, needle, throat, pen, inspired by every sensation, past, present and future, Tempted by it all, Dabbling and dipping their conscience in the universal bath tub! Illustrating what could be; all steps, smiles, cocks, breath, spectacles, babies, boots, voice running over, tangled hair, scruffy skin, stained blouse, all ten fingers and toes in a boiling pot of collective existence, Destroyers of everything set in place by the good code of normal, never asking for respect only space, never killing only dying, full stomachs, full minds, full groins, aura’s floating, karma mounting, good people, cosmic public defenders, leaders in a bloodless revolution, fighting for nothing but their own mind
A contest entry
- Beat Generation by GirlAnachronism.
475 points, ended September 29, 2008, 18 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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You be one of Jack's unknown illegitimate children son!?!?! Wow . . . you tapped into the Beat vernacular with both feet trudging along some dusty old road heading for nirvana with a massive blister on your tongue . . . Congrates on the gold and oh man, I will be back to read more of your future and past ravings . . .
Marc
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Oops . . . make that read daughter and tell me how in the hell you tapped into such an expansive form of language at such a young age . . . I'm bloody impressed!!!
Marc -
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my body's been here only 20 years but my soul's been dancin for decades.. ha
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Yep! That'll do it!
Congratulations on the gold trophy.
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This blew me away. Pure Beat. I'm digging it. I agree with Lucy. It reminded me of Jack.
- Aly
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Thanks man! I got to say, I had more fun writing this than anything I've written recently. I look forward to reading more of your poems! Thanks again, peace
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this is perfect. you have managed to capture kerouac's style of writing and voice in your own way and it is beautiful. this is exactly what i was looking for. thanks for entering and keep up the good work!
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