tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-210019632024-03-24T01:13:11.575+07:00intrepid flameJabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.comBlogger1583125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-44357849721141766132021-12-31T15:45:00.003+07:002021-12-31T15:45:49.356+07:00365/365 <p>the sky<br />the color <br />of whales and elephants <br />heavy and thick, slow moving- <br />envelops the intermittent grumbling <br />of thunder like bullets igniting <br />in an ashen bag of wool. <br /><br />wet and bored. <br />resting lethargy- <br />in a book<br />on the phone<br />in and out of sleep. <br />drooping cat’s eyes <br />don’t feel guilty<br />from lack of productivity. <br /><br />they invite us to destigmatize<br />so much of our shame, <br />but another year is about to expire,<br />your left holding <br />a year’s worth of poems <br />worth little more than <br />a sack of magic beans. <br /><br />mix a drink<br />play a record<br />let’s gets ready<br />to celebrate. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-56612512430470887072021-12-30T20:59:00.001+07:002021-12-30T20:59:11.596+07:00364/365 <p>feels so right in the moment<br />clutching the mic stand like an anchor:<br />a jump, a headbang, a thrust<br />total freedom like in your room <br />at eight, ten, twelve, eighteen, twenty four<br />and so on and so on. a bottle of wine<br />at your feet and enough songs in your throat<br />to warrant applause. the little voice, gone<br />from your head, under the lights: the one<br />asking the obvious questions: am i good enough? <br />will they like me? is this cool or pathetic: us<br />up here, missing fifty, playing rock stars. <br /><br />there are moments- eyes closed, spinning, <br />riding the bassline, drum beat pounding, searing<br />quitar solo, when you let go and quiet the voice, <br />there is no play acting, there is no doubt. only <br />a fierce freedom too hot not to trust. there is no<br />choice but to let yourself burn and sing. a voice <br />committed to rock and roll in a small room to a small <br />crowd will always be a beautiful thing. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-90938835431344320392021-12-29T14:53:00.003+07:002021-12-29T14:53:33.705+07:00363/365 <p>thinking about underdogs all day today. <br />losers and freaks and the not so <br />popular crews. when i was college aged, <br />we played a game, where we turned our<br />names into verbs and to jabiz was to: <br />think you were going to win when it was <br />clear you had no chance of winning. there’s no <br />better way to illustrate that point that to show pride <br />in that sentiment. the humming birds lost the nest<br />for the third time in as many week this week.<br />john madden died and our team is hanging on by a thread. <br />the birds are back at attempt four. we play on monday<br />and i’m shooting for the moon. i’ll deal with the disappointment<br />when it comes- for now i’m betting it all on any misfits<br />that are willing to put it all on the line</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-60425884060552005122021-12-28T21:57:00.001+07:002021-12-28T21:57:01.027+07:00362/365 <p>playing lawn games<br />at the park<br />the sun playing<br />hide and seek <br />with the clouds. <br />casting shadows <br />to cool us down. <br />families eating<br />and drinking<br />flying kites, <br />kids in the sand love<br />with buckets and shovels. <br />she slides over<br />for a few stealth hugs, <br />i want to swallow her whole<br />to prove unconditional love. <br />why do we find it so <br />hard to communicate? <br />she points out an <br />old shirtless man<br />dismounting his bike<br />to listen to heavy metal. <br />she finds his actions cool-<br />every one of us perpetually<br />looking to build from fragile<br />to strength and back again.</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-19240401701014044892021-12-27T21:44:00.003+07:002021-12-27T21:44:37.171+07:00361/365 <p>has there ever been a group of <br />nearly fifty year old men who <br />look forward to the decades ahead<br />rather than reminiscing about the lifetimes<br />lived? sitting at the local pub with the blokes<br />sharing the same war stories of shows seen, <br />trips taken, women known- sprinkling the <br />conversations with medical woes and the <br />deterioration of their bodies. slipped discs<br />and the inevitability of eveything slowly<br />getting worse before the final call. look at us <br />at eighty, if we are lucky, looking back at these <br />days as the ones when we were still spry <br />and alive, raising teenagers and playing in bands. <br />drinking on tuesday nights planing future trips<br />wondering if there will be enough time to be <br />better dads, husbands, sons, friends- men. <br />what do you want to do next? one of them asks<br />nursing a headache and a watered down whisky: <br />a gentle tropical breeze ambling through the street.<br />each quietly contemplates an answer, unsure<br />how to respond publicly. somewhere an obligatory<br />promise-made shifts in a pocket- waiting to be set free. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-34889443134166610862021-12-26T21:12:00.002+07:002021-12-26T21:14:11.330+07:00360/365 <p>too tired. <br />too full. <br />too content. <br />too late. <br />too much life<br />for poetry. <br />this is <br />all there is<br />and it is more<br />than enough.</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-46946929017371310962021-12-25T22:27:00.007+07:002021-12-25T22:27:55.229+07:00359/365 <p>just write the damn thing<br />don’t over think it:<br />mention the food and drinks<br />and naps and records and puzzles<br />and movies and how you find joy in sadness<br />and how sadness brings you joy <br />and mention gratitude and the easy<br />contentment lurking just beneath the surface,<br />within reach: so close you can almost touch it<br />and feel its warmth as it tucks you into bed<br />with a good book and the promise of another <br />day of rest and a week after that and then a whole <br />new year to get better at being better and finding <br />that elusive meaning that might help you fit into your skin<br />and look in the mirror and make it all make sense. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-65035788789566308992021-12-24T21:22:00.002+07:002021-12-24T21:22:09.931+07:00358/365 <p>breathe in these <br />moments as they pass. <br /><br />we are here. together.<br />a unit, a little of the same<br /><br />on this special night. too old <br />for letters and cookies: but the tree<br /><br />twinkles, the gifts are wrapped, <br />food is prepped, reservations are made. <br /><br />she carries the weight of expectation <br />as she does every year. a wink<br /><br />a blink. a glimmer of light. here’s<br />to hoping we’ll get it right. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-84136649094775978142021-12-23T22:14:00.003+07:002021-12-23T22:14:33.147+07:00357/365 <p>desperate for a spark<br />digging through the ashes <br />of weatherworn journals. <br />naive scribbled confessions<br />of a manchild navigating <br />a life at the climax of the century. <br />he was so often overworked and tired<br />indignant at the man and sloppy in his affairs. <br />love recklessly traded and transactional- <br />always looking for a return on careless investment. <br /><br />youth upon reflection reveals a lonely leak<br />dripping into an echoing well- when in the moment<br />it felt so much more like adventure or freedom. <br /><br />twenty four years from now, what might he unearth? <br />what might the market value be for <br />a life time of scratching at mediocrity. <br />there was a note, in the journal: to read vachel lindsay, <br />no doubt inspired by some walt whitman reverie-<br />found some orientalist bullshit and these two crumbs<br />“every soul is a circus” <br />“praise with me this masquerade?”<br />enough to keep us going another decade still. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-53987417755783751672021-12-22T22:09:00.004+07:002021-12-22T22:09:58.218+07:00356/365 <p>a creeping headache <br />near noon. drink water. <br />take a nap. wednesday. <br />show up for a beer or two. <br />a pizza. bottle of wine <br />it’s five pm. let’s play<br />some songs. jump around. <br />get in the groove. belt out<br />the lyrics, something to prove. <br />three hours later, write the set list<br />for next week. an old fashion or three. <br />look we did it. crash in bed</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-48068212574179142242021-12-21T20:54:00.004+07:002021-12-21T20:54:59.321+07:00355/365 <p>a wisp of a nest,<br />meticulously secured<br />to a finger thin branch <br />of the resurrected bougainvillea,<br />blows precariously in the<br />afternoon wind. as the two<br />tiny yellow birds, back from <br />a year of where ever they’ve been, <br />work tirelessly in tandem gathering <br />materials from the neighbourhood <br />to build a safe haven for what i’ll<br />assume will be the most indiscernible<br />egg with a translucent shell. <br /><br />last year the nest blew away before <br />they were ready. my wife wants to help<br />by erecting a shield or offering twine, <br />but you can’t mess with evolution. <br />my daughter, a few weeks, ago <br />asked about meaning in life- <br /><br />i wonder where the birds go at night<br />in the wake of the full moon light. <br />how much could we love<br />their invisible new life?</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-12679289011604837792021-12-20T21:07:00.004+07:002021-12-20T21:07:57.971+07:00354/365 <p>look at all these bodies:<br />tanned and taught <br />white and burned, flabby <br />and loose. young and old<br />fresh and faded- carrying <br />us in and out of the sea.<br />stuffed with food and drink<br />only to shit it out to start again. <br />flexing, sucking in, and pushing out. <br /><br />having washed the salt from his hair<br />a quiet one sings a familiar song at home, <br />whispering over inaudible chords:<br />flyin' mother nature's silver seed<br />to a new home in the sun. <br /><br />satisfaction was never <br />meant to be so byzantine. <br />folding ourselves inside out <br />hoping that maybe the inside <br />feels more comfortable <br />on the outside. and these <br />rest ready husks rejuvenate<br />closer to the heart <br />and other vital organs. <br /><br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-3584286086972038202021-12-19T22:37:00.004+07:002021-12-19T22:37:32.488+07:00353/365 <p>a stale chocolate eclair<br />just before midnight<br />washed down by cold sparkling <br />water straight from the bottle. <br /><br />a tiny white head zit<br />on your lower eyelid <br />causing swelling and irritation. <br /><br />sizzling mushroom fajitas <br />for dinner<br />two margaritas <br />large and on the rocks<br />a beer at the art house movie <br />with friends. a gentle<br />walk to the taxi. <br /><br />a ruptured taste bud<br />on the tongue making <br />it challenging to pry <br />that piece of tortilla chip<br />from the hole in your molar. <br /><br />a cool breeze<br />in the tropical heat. <br /><br />another sunday night:<br />this one on the <br />forty seventh december <br />of your life. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-16040504428488514612021-12-18T21:53:00.003+07:002021-12-18T21:53:47.954+07:00352/365 <p>we are driving a few miles<br />out of our way to see the bridge <br />that was in natural born killers. <br />somewhere in new mexico <br />on the way to taos with laura<br />and her friends from mills<br />playing korn and discussing<br />second wave feminism while <br />i drink beers in the back,<br />blowing smoke out the window-<br />something takes a part of me<br />something lost and never seen-<br />on our way to a rainbow gathering. <br /><br />her septum: pierced. <br />my hair: monthold bleach job.<br />hair on their legs and pits.<br />is that bobby mcgee on the radio? <br />you know feelin' good <br />was good enough for me. <br /><br />we’ll spend <br />a few days <br />sharing a tent<br />in the foothills<br />holding hands in large circles,<br />campfires like ewok villages,<br />naked folk on horseback,<br />drums and guitars,<br />flowers and patchouli. <br /><br />can’t remember—<br />how<br />where<br />when<br />why <br />i was asked <br />to tag along, <br /><br />laying there <br />under the stars <br />absolutely certain<br />that dropping my classes<br />at the college of marin <br />was the single best decision <br />of my life up to that point. <br /><br />can't they chill <br />and let me be free? <br />freedom's just another word <br />for nothin' left to lose:<br /><br />all songs blur into one<br />on a constant loop <br />echoing through time. <br /><br />audible <br />even now.<br />in the quiet. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-28856497949181857222021-12-17T20:08:00.003+07:002021-12-17T20:08:21.002+07:00351/365 <p>one halloween<br />living in new york<br />in my late twenties <br />i grew my hair out<br />with a ramshackle beard, <br />found leather pants and aviators <br />stuffed a pillow in my shirt<br />and stumbled around the city<br />as the fat jim morrison.<br />mr. mojo risin:<br />sick of dour faces<br />staring from the tv tower. <br /><br />we were both so <br />wanton in our boredom<br />old and tired<br />at twenty eight. <br /><br />twenty years later<br />staring down forty eight<br />no need for the pillow,<br />hair mostly white. <br /><br />it’s hard to believe he died<br />at twenty eight and here<br />i still am: looking for <br />purpose. what was<br />that promise that you made? <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-3577911476445066002021-12-16T22:37:00.002+07:002021-12-16T22:37:18.537+07:00350/365 <p>standing in an alleyway<br />broken yellow bicycles and spewing <br />air conditioning units. <br />a warm brown beer in a plastic cup<br />leftover from last night, <br />talking climate change <br />and the end of the world. <br />we’re genetically programmed <br />to eat the weak he says<br />right after he points out a few <br />planets on an app on his phone. <br /><br />we eat. <br />we drink<br />we laugh. <br /><br />discuss the encroaching darkness<br />as if it has not already devoured us. <br /><br />out of a cab. alone on a sidewalk. <br />that sad song that keeps me tethered<br />to the loneliness at my core. <br /><br />i feel a warm pulse of love<br />a gentle whisper of hopefulness. <br />the moon in chunks behind some mist. <br />we are here and breathing <br />and dreaming toward peace. <br /><br />there is nothing we won’t overcome. <br />there is nothing we won’t outlast. <br /><br />beyond the alleyway<br />the sidewalk leads home. <br /><br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-52460829142986025882021-12-15T20:58:00.001+07:002021-12-15T20:58:05.015+07:00349/365 <p>left another pound of flesh <br />at the temple door. <br />don’t confuse this poet<br />with a martyr. it’s not<br />a sacrifice- when you beg to do it. <br /><br />the fever pitch has us spinning. <br />the nights are long and still<br />draining old fashions, <br />writing holiday cards,<br />ballads from the<br />nineteen seventies,<br />a soothing salve. <br /><br />we’re certain love and devotion <br />are meant to be exhausting.<br />the question is whether we’ll survive. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-35294499579456822122021-12-14T21:22:00.003+07:002021-12-14T21:22:27.653+07:00348/365<p>the poems<br />nearly fifty thousands <br />words worth<br />trail behind me<br />like snail slime:<br />an iridescent <br />protective mucus<br />secreted for protection <br />to avoid desiccation. <br /><br />i hope they look<br />good in the book.</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-25597844827107532822021-12-13T20:55:00.002+07:002021-12-13T20:55:49.270+07:00347/365 <p>the formulas here <br />are complex and impossible <br /> to remember. <br />if x is inspiration and y is motivation <br />times something to do with skill<br />(and) (or) talent…<br /><br />what’s the use?<br /><br />i never paid much attention <br />to the surrounding calculus. <br />i never get the right answers<br />and if i do, <br />i’ll refuse to show my work. <br /><br />somewhere- too- <br />in this mess:<br />are lines <br /> and planes <br /> and three dimensions. <br />what are we meant to do<br />with a lifetime of remainders?</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-86546153469332286572021-12-12T21:40:00.003+07:002021-12-12T21:40:17.038+07:00346/365 <p>woke up sunday morning <br />clenching an image i couldn’t shake:<br />a tiny rusted metal heart<br />wrapped in barbwire <br />embedded in my chest <br />like a brier or mechanical barnacle.<br />its ventricle clogged with dust and grease<br />unable to pump or move at all<br />frozen shut by time. <br />mechanical stasis.<br />a clapped-out clout. <br />but it wasn’t a heart at all<br />and there were more than one<br />a batch of jagged ballbearings<br />let loose in my body: obstructing <br />the flow of blood and air. <br /><br />throughout the day: <br />talking to my mom about <br />the joy plants can bring<br />and her poem about her friend’s dead son; <br />devouring a rosewater and pistachio donut;<br />time at the bookstore; a grilled cheese sandwich<br />with grilled onions and a flat coke; afternoon reading<br />smudged into an aggressive nap; my daughter and i<br />on her porch lodged between a playlist and some journals<br />waiting for the rain and small conversations fifteen years <br />in the making; a call with an old friend unloading<br />the shame that comes from stigmas we’re told to ignore. <br /><br />it’s late now. <br />the metal <br />parasites <br />are gone. <br /><br />i doubt they were ejected or expelled. <br />my body has absorbed them again<br />grinding them into dust to season this flesh. <br />just another mill. <br />doing what mills do. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-29998296895853719182021-12-11T21:20:00.000+07:002021-12-11T21:20:02.361+07:00345/365 <p>the night we sat on the roof<br />taking turns and dares to <br />jump into the tree. proving <br />invincibility with reckless <br />pique- the popularity we hated<br />and reluctantly chased only to ignore<br />partying down in our house now. <br />the one with the indestructible floorboards <br />and its very own harem. <br />i’ll go down soon and yell at them <br />to leave- they will not enjoy what they<br />threw away. later by a fire<br />after midnight, another quiet song<br />and the soundtrack to this memory making. <br />i’m so light i hold just one breath <br />and go back to my nest<br />sleep with innocence. all of youth <br />is one long night. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-13442006823987184552021-12-11T00:39:00.000+07:002021-12-11T00:39:00.841+07:00344/365 <p>i’m worse at what i do best<br />and for this gift i feel blessed-<br />this melody on repeat while walking home<br />after a night of pretending everything <br />will be okay. they tell me it will all make <br />sense. it should have been you, but <br />we know it’s all pretend. buried seed<br />in scorched earth. waiting for a chance. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-19511348170797448062021-12-09T21:56:00.005+07:002021-12-09T21:56:24.845+07:00343/365 <p>how futile these martyrs <br />and their attempts to matter, <br />wallowing in daily poems <br />and other fatuous exercises. <br />screaming into empty voids:<br />look at me. <br />see what i do.<br />marvel at how i care.<br /><br />listen carefully to the nihilist<br />secure in the knowledge <br />that caring never leads to <br />anything but the soft ignored<br />murmuring of a healing wound. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-38966795509541836972021-12-08T21:09:00.002+07:002021-12-08T21:09:11.172+07:00342/365 <p>it's all i have to bring today<br />this, and this stolen line<br />like a crutch propping me up. <br />this and his poem- the one about <br />his dead grandmother and the icy <br />cold floor, the one he whispered<br />to me in the classroom like a bud<br />unfurling. be sure you hear us, <br />however, plagiarised the form-<br />to be seen- we need- to be shielded <br />if we are to grow. from the storm. <br /></p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21001963.post-10012792361281784612021-12-07T20:17:00.000+07:002021-12-07T20:17:00.956+07:00341/365 <p>when you love it<br />all you can do <br />is commit to it<br />for its own sake. <br />no amount of <br />ambition or praise<br />titles or roles<br />are needed to justify <br />your love of it.</p>Jabizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15060918134697370964noreply@blogger.com0