B-boy Cipher Poem

B-boy Cipher Poem

B-boy with sword and laced tight shoes
Dj Good Day on the ones and twos
That heart break, pump-skip, cymbal/clash/smash
proud sponsor of the James Brown hundred mile dash
clap, clap your hand everybody of you get what you got
you seen before, you want some more and you know this shit is hot
swift-swift is my shuffle, and smoooooth is my step
on the job and working and I never break no sweat
Empty spaces on the floor so you know I came and went to it.
people stand from their chairs, applaud like I invented it
fresh styles, no denial, moves get a look-look
don’t even bother dialing cuz this set is off the hook
took this, borrowed that, understand all I see
don't be mad that your style looks much better on me

In Context, The 2008 Election Cycle as Understood by a Twenty-Something

In Context,
The 2008 Election Cycle as Understood by a Twenty-Something

Balanced news broadcasts reflect the despair of hope
the fervor of expectation, the throng and pomp and mania
anemic hands clamor for the hem of this garment
some touch silken Jubbah
others a Brook Brother’s three piece
some recognize themselves
while others see only their own ignorance
this tongue and cheek messiah
this father for bastards of the electorate
this first term senator from Illinois

Voices cry out-
He loves you back
He loves you black but not black enough
He loves America for the first time in his wife’s life
His middle name is Hussein

Old heads prattle
depictions of renditions, subtraction and distractions
wounded by their bleeding heart years
burned by Nixon’s sardonic grin
and Regannomics’ wind-fall sin
palms slapped, knuckles wrapped
PTSD politik
this Ambassador Hotel remembrance
this Texas Observatory nightmare
cutting their jaded teeth and filing down their nail to nubs
this 401k of bitter, bitter disappointments
this broken and dreamless sleep of the Boomers
finally assuaged
a spell finally repealed by something
looked for but as unexpected as a sudden break in the clouds
dawn’s newly birthed light

There is power in young minds
to long neglected
there is power in young minds
to long unexpressed
the new generation of participation
an indication of revelation and revolution
I voted for the man and would have done so twice or thrice



And if I am given children one day
and am asked by them
what I remember about the year 2008
the year cynicism was out of step and out of style
the year Obama ran

I will tell them, what I tell you now
that in that year was hope
that 2008 was the year I held my breath
and I wanted that dream for America, for myself and my fellow citizens
a country deserving of it founding documents

That year
was the year
I held
my breath
and wanted

Statesman Written by Tobin G. Johnston May, The 22nd, 2008

Statesman Written by Tobin G. Johnston
May, The 22nd, 2008


A man. He is first and foremost that. A man, made of the same stuff as all men.
The malleable clay and silt of river beds, shaped by currents and seasons.

He, like all, is supplicant to the passage of time, to the flag of youthfulness,
to tenderness and the ache of our bodily destiny. He is a man.

Sharing in that divine spark which teaches dreams to thoughts and generosity to actions.
Attentive student to the benevolent teacher. But not alone, he is

and has become other. Is brother, son, father, steward, servant and inhabitant.
Citizen of this good country. The flesh of this expansive body.

Nascent hope of this soil. Resident of ourselves. He becomes to us, risks greatly
for us and for his own faith. He knows he takes his life and gives it peril.

Greater men have failed. Men more capable have been overcome. In goodness
there is little guarantee. But still he offers to us a knowledge of himself

and with this offering asks us to know ourselves. He is a decision.
He is a watershed. He is this or that. He is possibility.

This American saga retold before our eyes. This story of our nation- corporeal.
log cabin, cherry tree, rough rider and polio survivor. This myth,

flesh-dressed before us. This statesman of promise. Much is changing,
much is left to us to change, but much is changing. Yet do not fear.

There have been times before when it was like this, when spirits were moved,
when words were restored their dangerous and meaningful power,

when people trembled to see different. But finally in my life time a moment worthy of poetry. Finally a man for this moment. And finally an man worth writing poetry of.

R. Kelly is a Child Molester

R. Kelly is a Child Molester.

That’s it.
That’s the poem.
R.
Kelly
is a
Child
Molester.

Past-Tense Blues

Never happier sadder
The only cure for the blues are the blues
this far down the road from sober, I
am confident I could
play guitar
with these tender fingers
with these callused palms
I could sing tin-pan
stomp and shake and sweat this feelin' out

Not drunk just enthusiastic
gett'in real social
not because I hope you will hear
rumors of my defaming myself but
because I have a lot of catching up to do
You kept me on the straight and narrow
but given the way things ended
it's a miracle I am still straight

Two pints past peace of mind
I am drunk and drunks should not write
they should not do anything but drink.
but who knows maybe I am sober
that is to say not drunk enough
you're not here to tell I had to much
The bartender with the mid-drift tattoo knows me
but not as well as you did

I can remember being young but am old enough to have to remember
and I knew you before
I knew you before me
I knew you before me

Then
Every day I learned you new
I promised I would
stay the same but
knew you needed me to change
I promised I would work hard
but I knew I could not keep a job
I promised I would not fuck us over
but I knew just as much the man you married

This late hour counts years in the place of seconds
I am too old for a broken heart
but seeing it only make it so
and it's to late to know better
it's too late
and I have to work in the morning
but I’m up
trying to learn how to sing
and play guitar
something I swear I always knew

What if it is not loneliness
this ghost that haunts us
this heart ache beat beat beat
What if it is not loneliness
but the nagging suspicion
that we
were meant to love
we were meant for love
every last one of us including me

I was meant to love
I was

This far down the road from sober
I am having difficulty finishing my words
but swear I remember their meaning
there was never a when
when I did not remember
you

You were meant for love
you were

An Act of Raising a Glass

An Act of Raising a Glass

To sickness and hopefulness
To be on the mend and still inflicted
To wishing otherwise and to dreaming
To lying awake and sleeping and then awaking again

To before sunrise and waiting
To in twilight stand
To look out, to be expectant
and remain

To stagger and hide
To look down and be ashamed
To stillness and harmony
To speak but whisper as well

To this regretful hour
how I inhabit you
seeking, stretching out in you and at moments
finding

To both grief
and kindness unexpected
To recognition and
and gratitude to you who know me

This, an act of raising a glass and drinking.

Beverly

Heavenly Beverly
looked at me evenly
wondering why I was leering at her

Beverly Heavenly
told to me openly
what by her look I could plainly infer