Category: Uncategorized

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

professor says,
“picasso had a blue period, which was later followed by a rose period.
people tend to associate the blue period with melancholic sentiments.
& the rose period, with its opposite.”
but professor, i sense lingering melancholy
in his rose period, too.

need money? get naked.
need money? don’t paint.

1.
“red is light, red is love”
but why is the red-light district the dimly-lit
alleys where sex workers eye their clients,
& where sex shops sell dildos that
you know your parents never bought?
& why is moulin rouge so heart-wrenching?

2.
papa, red is the color of your leaving:
a blow i could never bandage. but it was
cadmium red, like my buttcheeks after a spanking
from you, for not getting math equations.

i get it—
you said life isn’t fair, not all sunshine & roses,
but i tried to leap over
the other side of the equal sign, over
the crimson massacre on the page, from never finding x
but i found x in the xena that you made me.

if you saw blood,
would you ask if it hurt?

3.
self-portrait as picasso,
heart on a montmartre easel
googling the going rate
for a titty pic,
painting portraits
of my patrons,
picasso, gertrude stein,
me, my father,
who pays so i can make
still lifes of red-distilled worlds,
sans a red-light district visit,
yes, i’ll paint a portrait,
of you, papa,
in infrared, or blue
on this scar, you etched
& will never ask about

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Little girl. You’ve carried
the burden of my name
my life, interrupted
by a car crash at my
own hands for longer
then you even knew me
on earth.

It’s time you lay down the burden
of my name, my life, my
goals that exceeded expectations
because you have surpassed
anything I would have wanted for myself
or anything I could have achieved if I survived.

The burden of my name
my life, is no longer yours
to carry. You’ve started building
your paradise in the place you feel
is home. But I keep seeing you
pause. Stop. Sit down.

You are afraid of your own power.
You don’t know how to live a life
not consumed in chaos and fear.

But little girl, you are doing that and more.
Yet you hold the burden of my name
my life and it’s unfinished work
As if you dishonor me by leaving it all down.

You are my image. Nothing more.
you’ve worked harder than I ever could.
Your time is now. Your life is yours.

My daughter, lay down the burden
of my name, my life.
Your debt is clear
I need to carry my own.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

I smoke to take the pain away
Hoping for better days
That I don’t have to stress
And just be blessed
What God blew my way

I run to take the pain away
Running just clears my brain away
Away of any negative thoughts
That I may have running through my mind at the time

Time is something we can’t get back
So why do I waste my time
Letting these negative thoughts run my mind

I write to take the pain away
Who cares what I write anyway
See, there you go
Negative thoughts running through my mind all the time

All the time like a sick rhyme
That you can’t get out of your head
These negative thoughts
They will keep you in bed

So, I smoke to take the pain away
Hoping for better days
That I can be blessed and live my days with no stress
See, I know that I am blessed
Because God has given me the best

I think it’s just time to put these negative thoughts to rest
I smoke to keep the pain away
Write to keep the pain away
Run to keep the pain away
I’ll stop hoping and I’ll start praying for better days
Stop smoking to keep the pain away
Just keep the things that cause you pain
Away
You won’t even need to pray for better days

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Shadows
(they move)

Deep breaths
(can’t breathe)

Darkness swirls
(like the madness in my mind)

Deep breaths
(can’t breathe)

Name 5 things
(but it doesn’t go away)

Deep breaths
(can’t breathe)

Tree branches caress the window
(or scratching fingers)

Deep breaths
(can’t breathe)

What’s that sound
(just the wind, love)

Deep breaths
(can’t breathe)

Who said that?

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

I wanna go home
As the dusk rises
With the sun bending down
And thus, staying there
Until it begins to rise again.

In your car
With the windows down
Does light shine dim
And bright shading the
galaxy, the sky.

Racing down the street
Goes the gas smell and
the steam of engine
rolling and curling, identified
by the neighborhood stoop
kids.

We gather,
We gather.

Our baggage is familiar
The song doesn’t free us
It simply rotates in our
Head.
& on & on
with recognition in our
Eye.

We stare ahead at our
Futures down the road
Away from the homes
Our guts have ever known.

It is dusk quieting us down.
We’re silent now.
No singing
Just dreaming staring
At the center.
The core
Like the hot inside of
The Earth.

We burn
Like a towering inferno
Settling into the far
Distance.

Genre : Futures, Youth, Romance, Fear, Moving Forwar

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Dry, arid, desert landscape of Mojave
spartan-like, feisty under the relentless sun,
austere rock outcrops, shrubs,
wildflowers under the clear blue sky,
bloom vividly upon a thousand stars in the cover of the night.
A solid trunk of a tree, a poetry
unfurls its branches in a twisted scape
gazing straight upon the starry night,
in deep contemplation of its sparse existence.
Eking out a living of its own,
resilient,
the root seeks water through the fault lines of the desert.
Standing alone in sublime beauty of its harsh climes,
radiating joy to the lone hiker.
In the beauty of a silhouette, it emerges
the Joshua tree of Mojave.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

T’was my last caper, a risky but weighty score:
Safe dial whirred, door popped at speed,
No chance to focus, time to take a shot,
In n’ out in minutes, so why’d I get caught?

Cops cuff’d me, then questioned me, but I didn’t break,
The files stashed, they couldn’t charge me,
But wasted no time planting seeds of doubt,
“Somebody’s been talking,” they casually dropped.
If one of my crew snitched, I’d figure it out.

A close pack we were, tied by our trials,
Traditions oft’n lie, so I drilled down deep,
Only four knew the plan, a rare conceit,
Can any leave alive? Most bloody receipt.

My bag man, they call’d him the Butter Knife,
Never let a mark win, cunning ran rife.
He made the contact, he secured the score,
When asked, “Did you let me get caught?”
He refused to answer; Cross off one more.

Mac was the best driver–always got away,
A life lived too fast, no pause or delay,
Never stopp’d to think, rather chase the toast,
At the meet, I asked, “Why’d you ghost the heist?”
He made a run for it, so his corpse must roast.

Fat Tony wasn’t just a handler, but a made man,
My mate, he was–unlike Mac–consistent as sin,
` He did a dime for me, uncheckered loyalty,
But ne’er made the exchange, body floating out to sea.

None to squeal; the Feds couldn’t charge me,
Covert info, Fools gold, the law couldn’t bar me.
Then a congressman bid—more than info bought,
Money is evil, but censorship got me shot.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Pain and grief,
Sadness and sorrow
Will I have the strength to make the morrow?

I fear my loss
Will forever emboss.
Can I shed this pain, no matter the cost?

Rage and anger
Are no stranger,
Especially towards the one born in the manger.

You watch your world burn
Through sickness and yearn,
Yet you expect yours not to turn?

The hate for you I feel
Is all too real
That there’s no longer a way you can make me
kneel.

Praying woman taken down,

As many more of yours will surely drown.
Yet I still need to yield to your falsified crown?

You are no longer the strength I borrow;
For looking to you, I now find anger and sorrow.
I’m flying from you like a fleeting sparrow,
And with me, I take my last arrow.

My feelings used to be quite reserved,
Though my eyes kept observed,
Seeing the claimed justice no longer served

Your numbers dwelling well deserved.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

I was, maybe, three
years old, when my mother
said: “I challenge you to run
from here to the corner.”

And, delighted, I ran.

On my spring stick new legs,
I ran,
giving it my all,
I ran,
alongside the old stone building,

While holding my mother’s hand
and I felt the wind
in my hair,
and that delicious,
palatable,
infinite
sense of freedom
for the first time.

It was 1974
and the country was on the verge
of shaking the shackles
of a fifty year-old dictatorship.
shots resonated against the darkness
and the first morning lights
unveiled the corpses of
insurrectors,
lying,
their eyes wide
with surprise,
by the roadside.

But that day,
I ran.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

The Countdown begins
When?
November 5th, Jan.6th
OR
Is it
When does the countdown end?
I have heard one question and one statement over and over
Are you better off
We will fix it
I hear words like
I am traumatized
I am wondering I am leaving
I am scared
That is not better off
That is not fixed
That is…
More of the same.