Jealouis C.K.

No, this prompt has nothing to do with Louis C.K., although, i do think he is funny.

Musician, comedian, poet, and owner of his own publishing company, Derrick Brown. I would say i'm jealous, i would say i'm envious, somehow he figured out how to do everything, somehow he figured out how to make music good enough to open for guys like the flaming lips, and be funny enough to open for comedians like david cross, and have this incredible talent to write, and perform poetry.
But i guess this isn't about him either.
I guess it was supposed to be more about a guy named anis mojgani, and his poem entitled "the branches are full, and these orchards heavy" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvs-tBuSVLY&list=FLG2Uc-pNdNaHbnciepuoe3w&index=6&feature=plpp_video) he creates this fantastical imaginary world that is more real then the keyboard my fingers are punching. He speaks to men, men who have forgotten God, Men who have put money and possesions and themselves above god, men who refusual to believe what they hear and what they read, what they have been taught, he speaks to the men who are "cuting god out from their insides"
He speaks to god, he does not bow or kneel, he does not ask or whisper, he SCREAMS, he demands, he doesn't not humble himself, he lifts himself up and drags every question that man has ever had to offer god, and SCREAMS "I want to SEE YOU, i want to see your FACE."
I wish i could write like him, i wish i could perform like him, i wish i could make YOU feel, i wish i could write the poem that Kyle Nelson talks about in his poem (whose name escapes me) but i wish i could write that poem that makes you and him question god, that makes you want to pick up a phone and call your friend just to let them know that they missed out on something incredible, something that they will never be able to capture, I wish i could write a poem that makes someone jealous, i wish i could write a poem like "the branches are full, and these orchards heavy" because this is the kind of poem that Kyle was talking about.

So, I guess that this is really about Kyle Nelson.

with blood-stained fingers,
 Holden

For the Farmers

Thank you anis, for your beautiful poem,
Thank you Dan smith, for the opening lines,
Thank you Joshua James for telling ME to sing loudly.




This is for you. This is for me. This is for all of us. This is for the ones who only listened long enough to know that the person they are talking to has the same opinions they do. Sing Loudly.

This is for the early morning runners. This is for the musicians, and the people that BUY their records. This is for the ones who can't sing, This is for the ones whose records don't sell. Sing Loudly.

This is for the sign holders and the farmers. This is for the self-sustained. This is for the goat-milking, Sheep-sheering, mid-night-pickling, chicken-owning, garden-growing, farmers. Sing Loudly.

This is for the women with dirt under their fingernails. Sing Loudly.


This is for the kids who stopped dancing, and for the tone-deaf. This is for the girls with shaved heads, and the boys with balck nail polish. this is for the poets who will never be heard and for their notebooks that will never be read. Sing Loudly.

This is for the sixty-year-old couple who went to space camp for their thirty-second anniversary. This is for The old, and the young, for the mountains and for the rivers, for the valleys and for the forests, this is for alaska, and the pandemonium which lives within it. This is for the fighters. This is for the winners and the losers, for the liars and the cheaters, the honest and the modest. This is for the rich who are starving, and for the greedy poor. this is for the ones who never said they were strong. Sing Loudly.

This is for the five year old boys who make coffee for their drug-addicted, hung-over, single mother. Sing Loudly.

This is for the skinny-dippers and the lake swimmers. this is for the you. Sing Loudly.

This is for the ones whose voices will never be heard. Sing Loudly.

This is for the ones whose eyes have seen, for the ones whose minds have thought, and hearts have felt, for the ones whose hands create and feet that walk, for the mouths that dance, and the ones that talk even if their voice is not heard. Sing Loudly.

Let your voice be heard. This world hates your eyes and it hates your hands and your feet and your heart and your voice. So Sing Loudly. Scream at this world.

the hospitals are full from people cutting god out of their insides- Anis Mojgani

I keep forgetting that i can't cut God out of me.
I have swallowed his words. I know they are true.
No matter how sharp my knife;
no matter how deep the cut;
God and his words will flow through me,
they are deeper then me,
they are deeper then you,
they are deeper then us all.

I have torn the pages out of this book,
tied them together and swallowed them down;
i'm fishing gods words from my insides.

I have vomited these pages up,
I have swallowed them again.

I have circled words.
I have Memorized lines.
I have looked as deep as my eyes will let me.
And when i stand back,
all i see is
"I own YOU. I own THEM. I own HER. I own EVERYTHING and EVERYONE."

So I have torn the pages out of this book,
tied them together
and formed a noose.
The ink has left a permanant stain on my neck from trying to own myself.
come close, see for yourself.
The ink has left a permanant stain on my hands from fighting and fighting these words away, trying to show God that i own me, that i own myself. When will We own ourselves completely? When will these pages break the grip they have around me?

My lighter won't burn the wet pages.

This book was tied to my ankle.
It dragged me down
and held me under.

The light has since faded.
the fire has since been put out.
He still owns me.
and he knows that i will see the light again.
but
will i take it in?
will i build it up?