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Poetry inspired by The Beatles for The Beatles Musical Extravaganza. |
Celebrating the magic of The Beatles. These entries are poems for "The Beatles Musical Extravaganza"  .
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| It's nearly impossible to see under the lights of the club but I can feel her by the way the music makes her move. Precisionally possessed in 4/4 time, around 125 BPM. She has me dancing, this faceless person, as if I too have no other choice. We move in, we move out. We groove in and we shout it all about. When she dips closer our eyes lock, only to be undone by rhythm. The unforced force. A stranger no more. That last beat drops; she is a gasp away and these eyes tell me what to do. Leant in, eyelids drawn, a swallow for confident courage and lips parted for departure like she knew I would. |
| Jojo's got a way with words the likes of which no one's heard before. Must be all that Cali grass, you know, the kind that goes puff-puff-pass; gets him on his ass like quick fast into quicksand. He thinks he'll never last here cuz blame is shameless, fitting insincere. Wants to get back but doesn't know to where when life is tongue-tangled in fear of the double-talk in his squawk box. Jojo rocks, knockin' off Loretta's socks. And sweet Loretta lives in my building, keeps to herself like the last little lost wing. A bird of many feathers but a flock to none. Got eyes for Jojo; sees too close to the sun. I watch them from a distance like fog, a smog I can't exhale and a settling bog. She's childless and child-like, fighting an urge to surge like a firefly. Thrift store dresses under her wig, and jeans that hang without a landing. Doesn't talk but high-heel walks and you'd never understand she's really a man. Jojo's getting back his share of the land, learning how to walk before taking a stand while Loretta's getting anything she can so she can get back to getting over being a man. |
| The shine of divine light in your eyes when you smile. How the grip between our fingers pulsates through the all of me as we walk. The hum in your every step. What you're really saying in saying nothing as your embrace fills the room. All these powerfully unsaid things are what I hear the most whenever you're so far from me. They tell me to know you always take me with you everywhere you go, and we're never truly apart. |
| A mutual friend said you were thinking of leaving, but didn't say to where you might be going. It'd been some time since we spoke; I should let you know I was thinking about you, and wish you success in your new adventure. But you know life has a method of playing hell with the way the world works; a fresh onslaught of new demands on the daily because we don't already have enough to do as it is. I knew it was late, but between us, that was never a problem. A far-off siren startled me, pulled me away from my pre-bedtime routine just enough for me to see my phone. It was the call going straight to voicemail that was most surprising, as I never knew you to want to miss out on anything. Left you as quick a message as I could (you know how much I despise leaving them, especially since you always answer). Saw our friend again a few weeks later. The day-to-days had been so hectic I hadn't realized you never replied. It was then he told me...you had gone to see the light. No number, no notice, and no return. Maybe I could've saved you, but I couldn't even try. |
| If it's true that your life flashes before your eyes right as you're about to die, my death will not be immediate. I'm not special but I have done some extraordinary things, true. Just as everyone has in their own way, perhaps. But fitting them into a flash sequence? The things I have memories for cannot be easily explained, not even in my long-winded roundabout storytelling problem. What we need to do is frame time differently and if we pay attention, the day begins when we're born and ends when we die. So novel a concept, there never could be any other way. |
| Take a look at these poems and tell me what you see. Is it a man-shaped notebook, as it appears to me? Sometimes these words mean something and maybe it's just pages that got torn apart by too many letters. I don't always understand the same as you, but I know when you do the way a twin may physically feel their sibling's pain. This is me, bleeding. Open and out for all to see. I'm buying and selling these feelings and many times, I can't keep up, to the point my fingers stiffen into a love I can't unfold or a control I'm unable to hold. My wish is for you to read me like gauze, soaking over my wounds while allowing me to breathe. You're the weep to my seeps; the learning to my mistakes. A diversion of my inversion. I don't know why; I just gently bleed. |
| The photograph is simple: a young couple, early twenties perhaps, sitting in a booth at the diner of life. Sharing more than just coffee; sharing time, space, touch, community. The diner is long gone but the sentiments withstand and fifty years later, you're gone as well. You got your oats, Doris, and you got all of me. A long lifetime of togetherness now lives in a picture overlain atop what's left of me. In finding your way home I take comfort in knowing soon enough I'll be joining you at our never-ending table for you. We're going home. |
| You say revolution. I say you're full of shit. We are not the same. You call it freedom; I see it as limiting the rights of everyone who doesn't look like you or agree with your misinformation. You don't want a revolution. What you really want is a revolt against everything our Constitution has long granted us- all of us. You describe yourself as a patriot. What you really are is a coward, coerced into lying trying to save what little you think you have while punishing others for wanting the bare minimums of what we should be sharing. You don't understand that you're being manipulated into giving up more of yourself to satisfy an even bigger greed than yours. You're begging for chaos. We the people desire sanity, equality, and above all, peace. Again, we are not the same. |
| This feels like the first of many firsts after a lifetime of lasts and never-lastings. You gave my soul vertigo when I was fallin' for you and it feels like there ain't nothin' we can't do 'cept that one thing I tend to think about when I think about you and everything we've been through. I don't wanna do that thing where we fall apart and try to figure out that the pieces aren't a part of some other plan like another man, an imposter, man, doin' everything he can. You got me fallin' and I don't wanna land until forever and forever and forever and when I do you'll still be next to me. When we catch each other it'll be an ecstacy like neither one of us has seen. Let's live this dream like fiends, like a team. You and I fallin', fallin', you and me. |
| The billionaires are at it again. This one's going to Mars. This one's murdering for profit. And this one's going out his damn mind. What else is there to do when you don't want to be of use to anyone? Five boarded a submarine, built MacGyver-style out of chewing gum, banana peels, and baby chick nests. Operated by a video game controller, the yellow-themed vessel set off in search of artifacts from a larger failure, a much bigger nautical disaster. An hour and a half later terms like "we lost communication", "maritime incident", and "which one will we eat first" were being thrown around, much to the chagrin of all involved in the mission. Yellow can mean many things; on that day it stood for implosion, and they all went to heaven in a yellow submarine. |
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