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Poem written for Spectacular Atrophy, May 2017

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Poem written for Spectacular Atrophy

The organizers and players involved gathered in a circle, as fireworks shot into the sky; an explosion of light, dazzled and amazed, showering the land with love and praise.

That spectacle is a part of this cycle.

It was said:

Abided , alleged , anticipated
We bargained, begged, blasted
They “cross-examined” , condemned
Denied , Droned
Exposed, equivocated, echoed
It was foretold
Granted Grinned
Hoped
Implied, indicated, interrogated
Justified
Lied, listed
They narrated
They observed, observed, observed
Parroted, pledged, paraphrased
Questioned
Requested, repeated, rephrased, repeated, rhapsodized, reviewed, repeated
Sanctioned, solicited
Taunted, thundered, trumpeted
We uttered
We voiced, vowed
They wished
They whispered
We’ve yielded

by Aspiring Azul

Kaamyab Ho, the positive workflow

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Kaamyab Ho, the positive work flow, laid deep within my skin, prick pointed by peri pipkin. The crying procrastinator imprints a reminder FOREVER, only method of removal would be to sever the limb in which I lift high above my head.

Kaamyab Ho, the positive workflow..
A phrase to continue the pace for productivity, it faces me for my eyes only. Soley- but I don’t stand alone, the grind is consistent with any 21 year old.. With livers as healthy as any teenager, we convince ourselves that there’s plenty of time. To heal, bounce back and recover from the night before. Ignore the sore pains that you’ll never have the best story to explain…well, parentals..i lean upon a cane. Modern day utilities remind us of our futility in the level of functionality that matters. Morning chatters, sips on chai crackers this ink blot teaches truth..that’s the last tooth. I’ll be ready as an adult…crunching my way through youth..

Kaamyab Ho, the positive work flow, laid deep within my skin, words by brown kin I’m closer to being Hindustani , Gandhi had his code to abide by, this way chickens do fly, possibilities aren’t out the window …they exist in my scope, no need to linger… let me throw you a rope..

Rise and surface through the desert sands…originally unfamiliar lands- striving for success starved of demands unmet..this is more than shade…it’s a tent…
Tools and sustenance hits fools and reluctance. All we need is within it, how could you not make sense of this.

It’s from a steel point…torch lit to a rocker’s joint.
she walked into my room with a needle and ink..there was me sitting with a very stiff drink..
Chizzle to skin, clink..clink..think on what’s being done..this is permanent ink..

Kaamyab Ho, the positive workflow

Read by Aspiring Azul
Stage Time & Wine 88, April 15 2017

Internal Whispers

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In time together
Same direction
Pace if found
Many tribes
Mystic drum beats
Sacred ripples sound
tic, toc, tick, toc
Millions of lost souls to link
No diviner moment
than when
every heart beat is in sync
In conscious opposition
Seen is a painful truth
The bridge mending duality
for most
is shattered during youth
Oh seer of wisdom
sage of the gracious living elm
with faith
frailty
and ultimate surrender
to the eternal realm
for I am you
and you are me
In this moment
We should all see
Yet, those who flee
Only need help to see
to flee is hardly free
selfish are we
who indulge in peace
and harmony
as others are convinced
time is only a lease
for a lifetime
and many to come
call us to duty, to battle
with innocent dreams from
an indestructible heart
dancing and singing in
the land of love and art
compassion is the gift
to make whole each and every
blessed immortal soul
 

Stuart Ziegler wrote this poem at Petals of Compassion art auction event for Nepal

Moments from Stagetime & Wine: An Apology Letter to My Body

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An Apology Letter to My Body

Dear body,

I am sorry

For once hating your small Asian eyes

And your mildly yellow skin color

because everyone around you, was white

I should have been proud of my own heritage

 

I know that mom taught you beauty

is defined by society

There is a certain way

Of how we, as women, should behave

And to conform is the only way

I am sorry,

that I believed her​,

for so many years

I looked at you

And saw nothing but flaws

 

I am sorry,

that I didn’t know how to nourish you

for starving you on

gave you half an apple a day

I am sorry,

that I put you through

eating disorder for so many years

for feeling guilty to eat

and for being scared not to eat

see,

My mom ate from a plate

that was as small as your palms were

the more she shrank

the prouder she became

so I thought

that’s what a woman should be like

I learned, to see a woman’s

through her eyes

 

I apologize,

for letting the numbers on the scale

to define your worth

and that I started to lie about your weight

before having your period

I thought a size zero was the only definition

of beauty

The only way to exist

as a woman

 

I am sorry,

That I tried to make you look attractive

Before even understanding the reasons why

A short skirt and lip gloss

was the only way to attract boys at age nine

I am Sorry,

That you have been sexualized long before

understanding what being a female really means

You, are a human being

Blood and flesh

You are not born to please

Sorry,

That I compared you

with the models on front page magazines

And blamed you

for not looking like them

You should know

There is not a standard for beauty

You, can just be you

I am sorry,

That I always wanted to change you

didn’t appreciate you

didn’t want to live inside of you

 

I am sorry, that I unlearned all this too late

that I never thanked you,

for being here for me

all this time

even when I tried to hurt you

You, always took your time

To forgive me

and you never stopped holding me up

 

You, are my body

Not someone else’s property defined

by the norms of society

you, are my body

You are sacred

You are enough

And from now on

I am going to love you

 

Sincerely,

Vanessa

 

 

A note from the poet: I find it very hard to put the story behind the poem into words. But in a way, this is also a letter  I wish the teenage me could have grabbed a chance to read, and a letter to all the amazing women out there.

As women, we face the problem of body image all the time. Sexism, the objectification of women’s body and patriarchal norms of society seem to be transparent in our daily life yet sinking deep into our conscious minds.

I wrote the poem simply because I’d like to remind whoever is reading/listening to the poem that it’s okay to be different, awkward or whatever it is that they want to be. Society seems to have a tendency to attach values on all things and all people. I’d just like the ones reading / listening to my poem to know that they are all unique and valuable, no matter what others say.

Vanessa is originally from Chicago, studying Chinese here and tracing her roots, exploring the country her parents speak so highly about. Being in Taiwan has been a bliss. She am grateful for both the eastern and western sides of culture I have in her.
Vanessa has a profound passion for literature and spoken word poetry. It’s a way for her to understand the world and express myself creatively.

And she hope Taiwan continues to bring me more joy and adventures!

 

Happy Half-Decade to the Red Room, January 2015

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Happy Half-Decade to the Red Room
This five-minute time limit is good,
it makes me press my words into verse.
A masterpiece of literature this is not
and I’m not sure if it’s poetry or prose,
but in the spirit of this event,
here goes.

This piece I rapidly composed
in gratitude to the Room
they call Red,
where much is sung
and much is said.
And with the thanks I have
to the Mehtas:
Roma, Ayesha, Manav;
and a dude called Ping
who gets up here quite often
and says pretty much the same darned thing.
But it never gets old,
because there’s simply not enough listening in this world
to the stories needing,
the stories needing,
to be told.

Creativity community acceptance,
a safe place,
warm forgiving hands
to land on
when you fall
flat on your face.
Nonjudgmental shushing,
Get on stage don’t be selfish share your words.
This is a space,
in all honesty,
that at times
has bestowed upon me,
healing
by allowing
my heart
to be heard.

So with this I wish you,
Red Room and your bathroom*,
A Happy, Belated 5th Birthday to you.

(*I want to hear Holly Harrington sing the Red Room bathroom song again!)

This was written after an unexpected long day of work right after a trip abroad to see family. It was a cool, damp, winter evening under Civic Boulevard; I was wandering around looking for a late meal, and wrote this inside one of the later-closing eateries. It’s a little snapshot of life in Taipei, a place that I may or may not leave.

Under Civic Boulevard
So on top of my jetlag, tonight
I’m overworked and underpaid,
but this night,
I accept the injustice like a filial son
stoically paying his dues to this – country society culture island –
whatever it is here that lives off the overworked, the over-desirous, the insecure and the underesteemed,
and yet still manages to care enough for enough of them.

Lao ban niang, nimen ji dian da yang? What time do you close up, I ask the matron behind the sizzling oil and rising steam, as my glazed eyes instinctively fall upon some winter miniskirts leisurely flickering across the window.

A souped up little muscle car blasts by to remind the busy strip that it’s a weekend night.

In a very simple gratitude, tonight as I wait for my food, I appreciate the gawdy colors of the LED strings draped over a KTV palace not far in the distance.

I eat. Pedestrians thin out.

Soon my sauce-filled but otherwise empty plates brusquely levitate with a plastic clanking and I wonder how long before I’ll be hinted at, strongly, non-verbally and rudely in a polite kind of way, to vacate the premises.

Two days ago I was ten time zones away, and tonight my body isn’t quite supporting my brain.
I have slightly new eyes for these scenes after the well-worn screen of routine has been temporarily lifted from my mind.
But it’s alright, I like this state, I’m riding this cheap, weak drug while it lasts.

The aftertaste of MSG lingers and I realize, damn, I’ve eaten too full. But tonight it’s all OK, after a long unexpected evening of work this simple joint has somehow hit the spot, just right.

The feet of chairs upturned on tables reach my seated eye-level as the night proceeds, so what I want to say tonight is this:
If ever I have to leave your multi-armed embrace Taipei, I’ll miss you but that’s OK, should one day I find that missing you is what is meant to be,
and I promise you here
that I’ll…savour
and enjoy
every pang of that longing,
as I know all too well by now
that that
is precisely
what you would want me
to do.

Jason Hoy

Tim Nathan Joel – June 2013

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RED READING RED

Dearest Red Room,

It’s been a painting since we last spoke. I trust you’re as healthy as ever

And getting accustomed to the freedom we seek.

My prose has been lacking, being away from you like this.

My painting on the other hand, is never without its purpose.

Feeling in the dark as it does, knowing the truth is out there.

What it feels suggests there is a roulette at play during all parts of our day.

Every now and then I take a risk and gamble,

Much to the dismay of Winston, Sophia, Loren and Mellow, (my dogs).

Like the night my motorbike rode me into a blossom tree.

Leaving me stunned on the ground then spinal tap bound.

An episode resulting in a true love found, (my nurse).

Tell me Red Room, with all one’s rehearsing, ranting, ravings and romanticizing.

What do those people in front of you, who so kindly un-shingle their chastised feet for you, have to say about where we are?

Is the enclosed writer free to read your mind? Does the view seem real to you?

What would you hear if we remain silent?

I am without a doubt a very naïve post modern expressionist by day

And a surreal impressionist by night.

A midnight toker, a self critical insomniac and a red wine prophet in need.

A thinker, a lover, a dreamer, a doer and a prover.

Am I talking to myself again or are you there with me?

A dead man once told me “Be accommodating to all those souls, but always allow time for your own.” Red to me is the colour of the soul.

It is that which flows throughout us and came from a place we have no fine knowledge of. Knowledge these days is over stated. It is tainted.

It is steered with its horns by invisible clutches.

It is a rooftop with no visible ledge. It is outside this space.

Red Room, you are coursing through all our veins. You are always here when we appear. We won’t forget to lend an ear. What we learn from you is nothing new.

We come here because of you.

And if every generation has its beat, then why wait for the stomp of feet.

Or the climate change to raise the heat.

Are we here to raise a glass?

Are we here to stop a farce? Are you the one to ask?

Should we treat your stage as our mask?

Is your wine table there to help us read our line?

All these questions are answered in time, and time is all it takes.

Once you’ve realized what time takes from you.

But back to the point and the point being sharp.

All the world is a stage and all in the world light up their rightful time.

Yet when the world whines not all of us hear in time.

Is this why when I need water all I want is wine?

Is it darkest just before the dawn? How would so many know,

Lost in their cities of polluted night.

Red Room, must we come here to be read?

What if I am blue and know not what to do?

What if I am green with envy?

What if my words have a silver lining?

What if my golden tongue knows no rest?

And if from darkness comes the light, then one’s truth must surely be revealed.

At which point, as a soul would state, there is no turning back.

There exists no choice.

Alive is felt once out of one’s hive.

There is more than one sky in which one must try.

Blake noted all men seeing life through narrow chinks of his cavern.

May we not let that happen.

The dead man is me, I just like projecting ahead.

And here resides my biggest clue to each and every red rumor of you.

By

J O E L

2 0 1 2

(c) Copyright 2013 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you.

Tai Mesches – May 2013

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rrweb-TaimLast Words

the last piece to the puzzle, where my mind collides with the body
a short draft of the poet’s craft, another book completed
i’m on top of the crescent moon, looking beyond the stars
a balmy past drifts away at last, so here i leave my mark
from the first page to the last, i have bled my soul clean
experiencing the epic beauty in every moment ‘n’ every scene
i have screamed with love, ‘n’ cried in justice, my words bind me
my heart ‘n’ spirit come alive as i let these rhymes define me
never hard to speak my being, out into this existence
speech completes my poetry to heal me of all sickness
my novel of therapy, where my medicine lies within one stroke
the moment my ink hits the paper, my pen slides down the slope
on a flow of verbs ‘n’ adjectives, descriptions wet with liquid
depictions raw with sex ‘n’ flaws, my madness becomes fluid
i choose to be lucid ‘n’ i choose to get drunk with dreams
for here is where i truly feel real, cuz i’m the master of my everything
a secret is instilled in my poems, one which cannot be explained
all you can do is open ‘n’ feel, ‘n’ let the emotions rain
contained in my heavenly wish, i grant you the freedom you seek
you must believe in the words you breathe ‘n’ in the passion that you leak
to become the love you stand for, you must relish in yourself
gather up your lessons in life until your soul starts to swell
then once you’re at the brink of tears, put your pen to the page
unravel, unleash, confess ‘n’ weep until you have nothing else to say
contained in this tale, is ALL of that i have been
ALL that i will ever be, here lies a new beginning
with the end of another chapter, i pack up my mind ‘n’ go
knowing that i’ve left no page unturned, once again free to find my flow
so to Po, Music, Jezzie ‘n’ Giggles, ‘n’ to my new fond bliss
to my muse or two who have helped me drool what love truly is
i leave you with this, a simple sigh to the universe
poetry has allowed me to live this life within each rhyme ‘n’ in each verse
here, i gave birth…

these are my last words…

 

(c) Copyright 2013 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you. 

Mark Caltonhill – May 2013

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Mark performed three new songs at the May Stage Time & Wine

“A Change in the Weather”, “Korean Beauty” and “Lettuce Legs Blues”

Mark is a vegetarian and recommends Taiwan as a good place for non-meat eaters. A while ago, he had a dream, however, in which his legs had turned into lettuces, and he was being chased down the street by a heard of hungry sheep. Naturally, being a poet, Mark wrote a poem about the experience, which he has recently turned into a song. Although it is not blues music, it does begin “When i woke up this morning … ” and has a sad ending.

When I woke up this morning, my legs had turned to lettuce,
completely green from my toes up to my belt-ish
that was alright, as I was feeling peckish
so I showered in vinaigrette, and ate salad for breakfast.

I opened a restaurant, called My Green World,
serving vegetarians from all over the Earth,
the leftovers I fed to packs of rabbits
from which I took wool and made alpaca jackets.

I had to take care though, when going out of doors,
else I’d be chased by herds of herbivores,
by cows and sheep and other animals,
and by long-haired drug-crazed hippy cannibals.

With my lettuce ankles and lettuce knees,
I have to hide my legs from Cantonese,
from Japanese politely saying “itadakimasu”,
and Koreans hoping to make a little kimchi at last.

A salad-mad French artist named Toulouse,
screamed “Je voudrais manger your bloody lett-ouse.”
while a gentle German afraid of getting fat
asked if he could buy “ein bission kopfsalat”

With my lettuce stalk, sex can be quite hellish,
going from crisp to limp is a constant menace,
I still hope to find love, perhaps in Venice,
from a kinky Italian with a green-foot fetish.

Sometimes I hide my legs when I go on a date,
elsetimes, I just lean back and spread them on a plate,
nonchalantly saying to my sweetie,
“Darlin’, If you’re hungry, don’t wait, just eat me.”

At this point I finally awoke from my dream,
and from under the blankets, I heard a muffled scream,
“No, I won’t suck your toes, even doused in sauce,
in fact, get a lawyer, I want a divorce.”

The moral of this story, I’m sorry to say,
is that being a vegetarian, doesn’t always pay,
I kept the restaurant, but my wife got the rabbits,
which she cooked and ate, so there’ll be no more jackets.

Mark performs stand-up comedy and comic poetry and song under the names Mark Malarkey and 胡說馬克 at various locations around Taiwan. For more details refer to Mark Malarkey on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/mark.malarkey.9

 

(c) Copyright 2013 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you. 

ST&W sharing 3.16 Manav Mehta

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March 17th, sometime 5th Century

In the promising land, with a not so promising name.
A man was born in KILPATRICK, who preached his way to fame.
His charm was willing yet flexible, knowledge bombs undefendable.
Died south of DOWNPATRICK, today we praise ST.PATRICK.

To quote the merry:
“We raise our mugs to the oldest of drinks,
those who need a hurl look out for clear sinks.
Let’s crunch on Irish bacon, and alcoholic cabbage.
Wear green & rid our minds of all heavy baggage.”

Due to an individual’s existence, we all practice persistence, regardless of where you’re home is ; tomorrow we’re all Irish.

 

(c) Copyright 2013 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you. 

A Nook for Rhyme Crooks

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nooks-posteras the mainstream masses, hack away at the roots
certain tribes ‘n’ clans, crack their hands to prove…that
they use words to bring purpose, delivered in verses
burst wise blurbs as it’s hip-hop we wor-ship
on the surface we work, we grind, ‘n’ we dig
but once you enter the nook, yo, our priority is ink
this joint here is to preserve, a lost ancient art
where the pen bends all lessons as we teach with each mark
this is a duty call for all slippery lyricists, ‘n’ quick-spittin’ beat-boxers
bold-inked warrior poets, ‘n’ wise free-stylin’ doctors
operating by choppin’ blocks of bass with bars that give birth
switchin’ bitchin’ verbs with whispers that’ll quake your earth
we come here to work in a world where wordsmiths roam free
to boast spoken poetry as our form of speech graffiti
hear my fat words swallow fear ‘n’ press a presence upon you
notice my voice ‘n’ my choice, to turn up the volume
this is the grand ball for mad hatters, jesters, ‘n’ dreamers
for prophets ‘n’ fools, for geniuses ‘n’ schemers
but beneath the surface of words, the labels ‘n’ terms
lies a truth so powerful it makes our pages burn
which is earned by preserving this culture to write
ink be our blood as words be our life
so tonight we rise together, ‘n’ around we take a look
ladies ‘n’ gents, welcome, to the nook for true rhyme crooks…

http://www.redroom.com.tw/events/event/a-nook-for-rhyme-crooks-april-27-2013/

(c) Copyright 2013 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you.