Rounds of slam poetry


Third round poem they expounded on.
these people?
Yes!! These people!!
Debates on validity.

How is it, that a round is a poem?
1st round poem, a bad taste of coffee.
stale at noon. Enough to get you thru
Rounds of words.
To be judged by the sitters of such high standards.

All these rounds of poem, make a spin
they make moves, that are not better
why must it be judged?!
does the poem thats graded,
not lose it vital viscous nectar Not to be consume.

1st round of poems
Tossed, Lost, Recycled with the heap by the door.
judges by the waste on the shore
the tsumani approaches, watch it grow

Because this is my 1st, 2nd, 3rd round poem
Give me your ones.
I rather taste the clarity of solitude


3rd Cigarette of the Year


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I heard that Stephen Kings said the best stories he ever wrote he was high on nicotine. That his cigarette addition fueled many of his stories.. i can see how that is…

The man was obviously homeless, i had seen him at the cafe a couple of days earlier. I caught he’s presences a couple of yards ahead. I was sitting outside the cafe in the pomade. Smoking a cigarette. Smoking the 3rd cigarette of the year, this being autumn now. I was blissfully enjoying the rush.

I noticed him a couple of days early bouncing about outside the cafe , asking question and asking for handouts tofthe patrons outside. I eyed him as i sat inside and knew he was not going to come in. I could tell from the way he wore his clothes. The clothes of someone now allowed to come into cafe’s. A mutual understanding between Him and all establishments. I today did not want to be bothered by him and wished him no entrance this day.

But today was different, today i was outside smoking my 3rd cigarette of the year, enjoying the clarity and bliss it was giving me. I knew not to make eye contact with him as he moved closer to me in the pomade, under the trees of the cafe. I noticed his clothes. They were stained, oily, hanging off his slim frame.


His shirt was not just dirty but unbearable.  I have often wore shirts, sweated on them, placed them back in the closet and wore them another day. I have shirts i have probably sweated into a couple of times depending on the day, the sweat, the evaporation.

But this mans shirt had surpassed all my previous  poor hygiene. His shirt had been sweated into everyday this year, it could not longer soak sweat and evaporate it. The shirt was oily. He staggered into the pomade. I could not tell if it was a disorder or a High that caused his gait.

The girl at the table , the girl that sat between me and him. Had previously glanced over at me in a warm manner. She had a good sense about her, a gentle soul for all i knew. He came crashing into the pomade and he neutralized her. I have no ill animosity towards him, i only observed and did not judge. Or so i tell myself.

I smoked my cigarette

He came towards me and asked me

“Hey man, can i have a cigarette”

I told him

” Sorry man, i bum’d this off of someone.”

It was the truth.

This was my 3rd cigarette of the year, it being autumn now. Earlier i had walked my way over to the counter at the cafe and asked the two baristas if they smoked. I knew they did. They of course said “Yes,we all do.”

After some fumbling of the situation by us, patron and baristas. I got a cigarette from the dreaded, blue hair, tattoo, good spirit barista who wore the cap that was truly a part of him. I offered to pay, but he insisted i have it.

I told them how it was my 3rd cigarette of the year.

” No need to explain yourself, we all work at a coffee shop, we all smoke”

I smoked today the 3rd cigarette of the year, if i hadn’t. I would have had a different experience with the homeless man. I don’t offer what it would be, but it would have been different. I would not have noticed him as he was.

I don’t confess to know why he is homeless, but he did not strike me as being mentally ill. It could be the ill of drugs, society, or rebellion.

I admit he did feel dangerous, not only by the way he looked , but by the way he looked like a shark, looking for prey. I hope he does not find it. I hope he is found by a good soul who can take him in, harbor him, help him, release him from the life of looking for the next free cigarette.

PS.. I encourage to interact / comment.. if you like… like,  if you dont like, that’s cool too.   I write / muse on the go, for my benefit. Spelling errors, run-ons, and all

Season of Impermanence


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A season for no reason

a loss non-impermance

thoughts of wonder of how you look


Video of what never was

worried of things never said

Walking on tundra ice

it never breaks

considering all the pondering

A season should never be a reason

to change

life impermanence

as much

as the outline of a sea

Cafe Chat about Scabies with Scurvy


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Scabies.. why is it you have Scabies?

not the one that makes one toss and growl

but the one with crawling crowls

one hopes to not toss

Live a life unpleasant

yet it is always a maybe

sometime we live like trolls

men didn’t mean it

he live with scabies

not the one that makes one toss and crowl

but the one with crawlings scowls 

Scurvy i would like instead

sailors dancing the dream of death

A picture i might as well not have said 

little of use now.

limes lemons make your face sour

the look i have

To know men have scabies


Three for me, Three for them

I’ve thought on how?

Knowledge can i impart

to the new me

to the three

to the remants of my effects

I am responsible

realized it, yet i did not

how to help

on their little journeys

i placed faith in

that which is beyond my reach

I know, I’ve reaped


How do i tell thee

My young little beings


i stop believing that.

At the spot where two points meet

where is it?

gasping for answers

will be yours soon enough.

Whispers that never left my lips

Questions you sense forgotten?

maybe its best to not say

the task is on the list

do you see it!

don’t worry.

Write your own

let the crumbling to me

you have sky over green


The Beetle Awakens


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Thinking about

I’ve listen to beetles

attachement and domestication

climb a tree

present yet, I’m not

its only in the now

knowing is an accomplishment

its the most awaken sentient

how not to forget

that all that matters

when i remember

is whats in front of the beetle,

attachement is fear.

its present: like the light in space

Awaken: Like this NOW. 




It Burns


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Feeling well

Smoking a cigar

i sit still

yet i don’t know how

it fills the air.


and i act as if.

The weather is clear

I grip it.

Press my tongue at its end

gradually it melts

i sit still not knowing.

How to be or what it means

Feeling well.

i sit still

smoking a cigar

i chomped at its end

wet it with my tongue.

at its end.

it burns.

smoking a cigar