Category: Uncategorized

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Ripping off a bandaid doesn’t paint the right picture. It’s more like taking a couple of perfectly unique pages from two completely different books – maybe one an intellectual mystery, and the other a soulful romance – and expending an entire hot glue stick binding them together so that the only way to engage in an exercise of violent separation would result in catastrophic metamorphosis of flittery bits of plasticky paper flying everywhere. You’d then take this novel composition, now like the Latin on a penny, and bury it under the earth for a thousand years to pinch and squish and crimp under a millennia of sediment deposition until, finally, they might resemble an indistinguishable sheet. Then, and only then, would the phrase “ripping apart” suffice. But no longer is it possible to sunder page from page, a reverse alchemy of paginal compatibility; instead, a tear creates a pair and each new leaf retains the fabric and the fiber of the other. See, the bandaid metaphor just doesn’t do it justice.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

You know… I believe we, as a collective, and as individuals forming that collective, should let injustice consume us just enough for us to care, just enough to feel a sense of fucking rage. Rage gets shit done. If everyone believed in not letting injustice’s consumption take hold just a little bit, then how would we, as a people, stop injustice? If one just looked at the horrors of the world and remained indifferent, stable, calm, still; then she who does not have that luxury may never find a peace of mind where she is allowed to feel indifferent, stable, calm, still… If we, as a people, allow injustice to remain in any part of our world, then those who are the cause of that injustice will continue for generations to come. Warming temperatures, genocides, wars of choice, men threatening to be dictators of the supposed ‘greatest nation’ will all pass under the eyes of those who chose to keep a calm and stable mind; and to not allow passion nor transitory desire disturb their tranquility.

I say… Fuck finding indifference. Fuck finding peace. Rage, Rage; Guided Rage against those who are the cause of our injustice.

I believe rage is an emotion that is short lived* (by itself, it is. It can be drawn out, targeted, and controlled; and the only valid subject of drawing out, targeting, and controlling that rage is ourselves.). Injustice is everywhere, and everywhere that injustice is, can lead back to any number of sources. Regulating emotion is important. Misguided, and unguided rage leads to more injustice in our world; It could lead to change for the worse; a betterment for the wicked. There is also the question of ‘what is inside one’s control?’. I believe the answer is anything, as long as one puts their mind to it and stays determined to fight. I believe rage is an effective tool against the injustice’s of this world, without it, there becomes a sore lack of passion where it is desperately needed.

I say, Guided Rage has every potential to change the world for the better; has every potential to end the peoples external suffering; has every potential to live, to create something better than the shit we find ourselves in currently, the shit we’ve found ourselves in for all of human history. – Josie Mckenzie

Peformed by Val Cole

POEM:

First off I would like to say how wonderful it has been these many months. Although we are embroiled in a war, this group’s commitment never wavered. That is why here, today, we stand on the precipice of a truly extraordinary breakthrough.

Gentleman, we know the task at hand. We are gathered here to consecrate a republic. No more bickering. It is time to show King George that we will not stand for tyranny, not stand for improper enforcement of laws. We will not stand for injustice! The King has imposed on us all levels of impropriety. Not the least of which is taxation. Taxes on everything from tea to stamps. Taxes on the written word? I think not. That shall not stand, and it didn’t stand. We fought that battle and we won it.

We shall also win this, gentleman. Win the right where the government is in the hands of the people, not a King. The right to govern ourselves, as it were. A government void of usurpations so long that I do not have time to list them all. We should no longer be subject to the crown. No longer subject to a King. No longer governed by those across the sea. No longer under the crushing hand of tyranny. Tyranny does not die in darkness, gentleman, it dies at the ends of our pens!

So, we must delay no longer. We must stand united as thirteen separate, yet equal, colonies and sign our names to this document. It is time to set ourselves free. As Thomas so eloquently put it, let us dissolve the political bands that have tied us to the crown. Because if we don’t all hang together, we will surely, all, hang separately. So I say, no more delay. Pick up your pens, gentleman. Let’s begin the revolution. Let’s start a country!

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Inpatient Hospice

You inhabit me; you narrow to flanks.
Your spineless nerves sear my ventricles.
The creative will will snap your cheekbone—
hush, soil, remains.
Look at the blank between us
squeezing my shoulders.

I breathed through your infamy
at graduation,
mingled, carried my orphaned part,
discarded in a scattering
of peers.

Your socked feet shake now,
betray what you outran:
weakness.
Face compressed to grooves, you
strain to unriddle me.
Your neck, the bruises,
an ardor of decomposition.

You mouth Yoplait,
stilled by the TV’s shifting colors
where an Olympian spirals.
A nurse checks the infusion.

I can’t piece
the fragments
we are
to make you solid
and keep me safe.
You cut my lyric free
of source.

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

They put their finger to your lips
And say it isn’t what it is
As the journalist just wins a prize
And the candidate is making speeches
As the military reaches
The borders of the other side
History turns the corner
The stories have grown taller
And our memories are like a passing train
The conductor rides along singing old war songs
And the passengers throw roses in the rain
A letter from a love
The feather of a dove
And a symbol that has yet to come
The devil in the guise of a lamb
Rips out the heart of a land
Where the sacred ancient temples fill with blood
I heard an angel weeping
The woe of man was deepening
Terror was the reason why
And from what I have found
It can be seen on both grounds
That each side is fixing to die
Light a candle at the vigil
For the soldier that was just killed
Put pennies on each of his eyes
Doesn’t matter what the truth is
The facts are just loose ends
That the government can buy

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

Bright eyed lady, spin the thread, sew the flag
Fife and drum marching across the land
Hear the creed in far off places
Democracy’s seed, Lady Liberty
Needle skipped, would’ve cried for a penny
Rain fell, the liberty tree, into the lock, the treasury key
Out of mind, never knowing here or there
Untied shoes, American blues
Keep it free, Lady Liberty
Freedom lives and always has despite me
Hiding inside the corners, state lines, pushing thru
Time zones, rippling borders for you
Paved in gold, a capital dream
Walk the steps, Lady Liberty
Hand on heart, passing by you were steady
Uncle Sam’s pointed finger to his children for worse or better
The next leaders buried in knowing the weather
On the wind, stars and stripes, with allegiance, Lady Liberty
Feelings reveal, hey, it’s going to be alright
Red, white and blue flying high
Colors melt, kiss the flame
Broken arrows, each generation be saved
Spread your wings, a dove’s feather, wink to me, Lady Liberty
One love gives should I receive I am ready
Into the deep eyes of the nation
Clear and bright, the torch light
History’s turnstile, God willing we shall rise above
Grace we’ll win, let it begin, Lady Liberty
Spread the word from henceforth to ever-after

Performed by Val Cole

POEM:

We sat so still no one knew that I was beginning to come unglued
I thought I should reach down to tie her shoe
I stole a kiss from her cheek she caught a teardrop sipped a drink
It froze in a place until she let her hair down
We view the flowers growing outside each one was different in the light
The one that touched me deep within was the one I knew
My voice rose over the café din, “I think I love you!” “Is this where love begins?”
The door flew open her dress danced upon the wind
My love, my honey, you’re so fine she kissed my lips it tasted like wine
I closed my eyes like a window with pulled blinds
Left behind my sense of self, she pulled a book back off the shelf
The words led me back with a vague clue
What would you say if I could say what it is that you want me to say?
She laughed for a moment thought to herself you’ll do
Hands fasted we held each other tight
Walked out the door into the bustling street
Out here something means something somehow
It was a stroll but I wasn’t alone the company was good this much I know
We went upstairs to the place I called home
Took off her coat kicked off her shoes
I glanced at the paper for the daily news
I sat on the coach placed the phone off the hook
Love is tender Love is sublime hold me forever while we still got time
Never forget that I am yours you are mine

Voice Over: Val Cole

POEM:

You have no spirit you have no warmth
When you’ve heard the lock on the door
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me from dying, rage and fiercest grief
Be alert the snakes lie at your feet
Is there any other who suffers so hard a fate?
And since you know these walls and binding chains
Of this cold prison hide me in its depths

You are blind you are desperate
When you walk down trails pathless
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me stumbling
Thru these streets filled with restless dreams
My eyes frowning at the sun when the morning comes
Is there any way to escape these laws of destiny?
And since you are walking between night
And dawn of day it is here you shall remain

You have no insight you have no reflection
You’ve heard the shadows call
Listen to what your sorrows are
Tell me is it you that leads me from suffering and dismay
Know that we all fall
Are there any words not so tired to do any good?
And since you’ve given me the answer
Take what is left for yourself

Poem by Val Cole

POEM:

They say,
I should have been stronger —
like bones aren’t meant to break
under the weight of a stranger’s hands.

Like I wasn’t already fighting to hold on
while he took pieces of me,
one by one,
until the mirror became a place
I could no longer stand to look.

They say,
you’re slipping now,
falling too far —
as if I chose this hollowing,
as if my hunger for escape
was some kind of betrayal
to a world that stood still
while he did what he did.

But my body remembers
in ways they refuse to see—
the way control slips through your fingers
when your worth is rewritten
by someone else’s violence,
when food feels like the only thing
you can refuse.

And still, they turn their backs,
turn my story into questions
about what I didn’t do,
as if survival has rules
I should have known.

They never ask about the nights
spent unravelling in silence,
about the ways I fought
to keep breathing when breathing
was the hardest thing to do.

Instead, they blame the fall,
the aftermath, the ways I cope—
ignore the wreckage
that still lingers in the corners,
pretend they didn’t hear
the sound of me breaking
the moment he entered the room.

Poetry by Val Cole

POEM:

I.

How heavy the tires that drive you
Through fireworks in the street.

How plain the lies that hide you,
The blood and myth behind you
Is nothing new to me.

Beautiful I find you,
To wrap two legs around you,
Surrounded by the safety of my fear.

Steady, love reminds you
To hold the tongue that binds you.
Silent grow the graves beneath our feet.

II.

Some of us wait in the sun
Of the new world
For an old word,
Nostalgic for its
Nonchalant intimacy
With death.

We straddle the splice
Between yesterday and tomorrow,
A moment ago and a moment from now,
Falling in love
And falling asleep.

We know that while
Our two eyes
Gaze each from either side,
They see one image,
The vision always shared,
A projection at the other end
Of the cone
A lone moon which,
Even on its fullest nights,
Is only half so.

III.

Sometimes it nice to imagine
Living in a big house with (),
Having things,
Like a boudoir,
That you don’t want,
And losing things that you do.

It’s ok to think that
You will be happy
With a compromise
Submitted to the arbiter.
You learn the long way
That the only promise of companions
Is to let go together.

Sometimes it’s funny to step back
And watch time in her performance,
Illuminating yesteryears with a present, single word.
You see how to be
Is to be bound,
She knows no future now,
And the past is still unfolding.

IV.

My father is a dark lord and his minions bring me dinner,
Making me a coin that never falls but
Flips into infinity while
My candles leave a tubal-cain
And the rest of me tries to save
The sounds of a mother tongue
From drowning in learned language.

What is left over
Walks in the mornings and wonders:

If we create the word (for love)
And the word carries meaning
And the thing (of love)
Becomes the meaning of the word,
Then what came first (by love),
The meaningful thing,
Or the word?