The mind, a dormant stone

Poetry poetry poetry readings poetry meetings work work work meetings documenting explaining communicating poetry document document document walk to catch the train go underground walk walk watch watch dream daydream watch walk home home blankness nurture feed nurture ignore feed ignore poetry poetry dreaming dreams reality poetry work work poetry to dream.

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I want to do something better for you. I want to let you in so you can feel how I breathe, see how the blood spins around my organs. Inside. Outside. In me, I want you to see yourself. Your name in golden aura surrounded by my admiration for your dedication to family, your loyalty to love, to blood. Brother, hold me in this place where our hands are fused to cross the line: dead and living, body and soul, bleeding and soothing. My tears for you, unmasked and eternal. You’re my shelter. My realism and humility. You pull out the poison I feed myself, save me from another night of fatalism and resurrect me to promises of tomorrow. I live for you. Breathe in me; let it settle until the last breath falls from my tongue and our eyes lock and hands fuse as we chatter on into the unknown, together. for Anthony St. Jude Greene April 16, 1978 - July 24, 2011 written on April 16, 2013 -- Anthony's 35th Birthday 

Dear Anthony St. Jude Greene: I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry that your life ended so soon...I think we would of had a great lifetime to share. Erykah Badu's song chants in my head -- a flood of " I guess I'll see you next lifetime "s. Today is your birthday, and I am reverent. I don't want the world to forget how important you are to it. As you lay here...I imagine all the life underground that pays you homage. Now, I am wondering, were you even buried whole? Your leg missing... were you ever able to claim it? I'm so sorry, Anthony. I know you felt such great pain. I wish things would have changed to allow you to be alive today. I miss you. I love you. Always, Jessica

I'm so tired of sitting on my ass. I really feel myself extracting and replicating.

That's right! Angelenos came from far to Santa Rosa, California, a city rich in railroad history, paying homage to the beloved Charles Schultz , and birthplace of 100TPC! Since 2010, 100TPC has come together bringing the world's love for poetry, art, music, dance, and many more soon [and growing!] -- with the desire to see our world change! World is relative -- because we are all representing our own world's of thought, experiences, nuances, and gravitys, as we fuse our geographic boundaries. It all started with the Poets!  When the Poets see... they share. They want the eyes of the world to recognize...and at last, here we are. 100 Thousand plus...                                                                          ............for Change. When Mohammad Ibn Al Ajami is done unjust, in rep...

But I will make time To run my fingers across your face and make you dream. That's right. Soft, deliberate intentions. ~ Jessica M. Wilson Nothing is ever as you would've imagined.

This morning I am trying to juggle the agendas in my head tap them down into my ipad and hope i don't forget anything. Gathering myself, my artifacts and my mind. Here we go!

rhythm in my head makes me pounce on words watch them squirm under the sun as the day turns quiet and all other echoes casually follow. jmw

I think The Devil spent a lot of time courtin' me when I was young. I'd have nightmares, continuous visitations of him trying to slip inside me. Aged, I acknowledge this relationship, it pulls my hair laces up my lips. I'm now attracted to his death his doom his lust. I even like the way t(his) word is shaped, with it's hooks running up and down my eyes. Goosebumps on nipples. ( here you are) ~ Jessica M. Wilson

I am super excited to be joining the team and representing Los Angeles and Los Angeles Poets!

para matteo there once was a persistent swine who saw a tick on the tip of its tail. he'd whip away at it with a hard deliberate flick. he'd flick and flick until he dizzied himself into the mud. he coughed up a breath and snorted rolled onto to his back, hooves all spread grazing air. in the light he watched the tick pounce onto the center of his girth, humming a little tune: " i know you want me gone but i'll never say so long. i know you want me gone but you'll learn to succumb, cause i always get what i want, i get what i want:  free meals, free rides, free livin you just gotta lay there and give in." with a smile and a nod, the tick tapped around flew up to swine's snout and continued his hum. ~ Jessica M. Wilson

Welcome to the spirit of spring; join in be recognized, throw your feet out over the sprinkler swing your arms around and shout. Over your head the birds whistle around smile to inspire the freedom to listen. Elements growing, sun showing light in peace. Caramel arms glaze in the glow swing and shout to skies in sprout. ~ Jessica M. Wilson Growth in the west. Photo by Jessica M. Wilson

"Inaugurated by the Academy of American Poets in 1996, National Poetry Month is now held every April, when schools, publishers, libraries, booksellers, and poets throughout the United States band together to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of organizations participate through readings, festivals, book displays, workshops, and other events." - from  Poets.org Let's kick off National Poetry Month with "   N " by Maurya Simon N Noon. I can connect nothing with nothing. Perhaps even chaos is cause for celebration. And perhaps the astrologers are right when they chart one disaster, one propitious night, one happenstance of glory to the next so they accrue like an alphabet in the primer of each person's life. I read my horoscope each day, searching for the solitary clue, the sign signalling my journey's halt, when I might look up at last into the stars, connect-the-dots--see, at o...