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Slamnation

What is slam poetry?

It’s extemporaneous, communicative, conversational, meaningful. It’s in style, popular, universal. It strikes to the soul, cuts to the chase, peels to the emotions.

But, like so much of the gansta rapp, they seem to have a sugar-caffeine-5hour energy addiction to anything “-ation.” I hear so many aspiring squeaking poets and pants-clutching rappers showing their bravado and mastery of a profuse English noun form, with words like speciaLIEzation, senSAYtion, communiCAYshun, and other ATIONS.

It’s ironic that when Latino immigrants come to America, they jokingly create new English words by adding ‘-ation’ to the ending. One example is when you tell them to copy something, they call it “copyation.” Or they will use a Spanish word and add the ending, such as “borradation,” meaning “an erasing.” “Mr., I am doing a borradation.”

They know that “-ation” is a common ending in the English language, and so do slam poets and gansta rappers. But none of them seem to realize everyone else is using this suffix. Really, it is an cop-outation and evidence of lackation of creativation. OMGation! STOP.IT.

Am I jealous of slam poets? Only the successful ones. But I wish they would end that ending, fix that suffix, and shun the ation. Redefine slamnation poetry.

If Not the Cross

If Jesus Christ had died by guillotine

We’d make at least one pilgrmage to France

Our paintings would have razors in the scene

and Mary, with a bucket in her hands.

If Christ had swung from gallows in the square,

then ropes of gold would hang upon our walls.

We’d contemplate his body swinging there

and sing of how he took the noose for all.

If Christ the Son had faced the firing squad,

we’d wear a patch of black upon our breast.

Each bullet would remind us all of God

and rifles would be held aloft and blessed

Had drugs been forced into Emmanuel’s veins,

a church would have a needle on its tower,

death chambers in stained-glass on window panes

and songs of the Syringe’s cleansing power.

If some electric chair had brought him death,

then books on amps and volts would line our shelves.

A thunderstorm would take away our breath

and power bills be cause to search ourselves.

If there had been no cross for Jesus Christ,

they would have killed him by a thousand ways.

But it was still a cross that saved our lives

and it will be a cross for endless days.

Swamp

There’s a tiny hidden swamp near my house

which runners ipodly miss by just a few feet,

not knowing about the egrets home base,

not seeing the dead trees standing like sentinels

I wait at night to hear the croaking

the deep gutteral sounds of lumpy-skinned grandfroggers.

This is our pad, each seems to say,

with the volume tinnitusly turned up.

Beavers, with flat-tailed nonchalance,

slap the placid murky water

and drag themselves ashore to gnaw

and think about the trees their ancestors felled

The stumps, their alma mater, like huge pencils

jammed upside down in the mud,

pointing chiseledly three feet off the ground.

Bicyclists are ituned-out

and never see, hear, or breathe in the swamp.

As unofficial guardian of this slushy real estate,

I selfishly hope they never discover it.

Audio CD “Space & Selected Poetry” by JLamarHowell

There’s a lady in West Texas who started a business selling tumbleweeds. It’s true. Businesses as far away as Mumbai have tumbleweeds decorating the corners of their banks and furniture outlets.

But, that lady didn’t do it by herself. She didn’t make her business! She had help. She had a first grade teacher who taught her to read books about Pecos Bill and learn what a tumbleweed was. She had track coaches who taught her to run so she could catch those dad-blastit fast tumbleweeds in the High Plains wind.  She had government postal workers who stamped and mailed those boxed tumbleweeds overseas. And, she had regulators who helped her give back to those who made her successful.

No, she’s not smarter than anyone else. There are many people out there who could have become entrepreneurs in tumbleweeds. But, they will wait until someone helps them.

My heart – you broke it, sorta

You started with the aorta

then tugged at the veins and arteries,

unplugged the main part of me.

Next you closed the right ventricle,

choked it tight and then you pulled,

shocking the valves.

You shouldn’t have interrupted the rhythm

and messed with ’em.

But, that’s romance.

You take a chance

when you trust your heart to mortal hands.

We’ve all heard funny oxymorons, like  “twelve-ounce pound cake” and “law-abiding illegal,” and some oxymorons come to be accepted as standard, such as “working vacation” or “plastic glasses.” Others have become so much a part of our culture and beliefs that their meaning is never questioned, such as “devout atheist” or “evolutionary fact.”  What would a “serendipitous plan” look  like?

I heard someone once characterize Americans as people who could comfortably hold contradictory thoughts. If that is true, then stories such as Orwell’s 1984 or Animal Farm should not be very entertaining. Recent developments in the Middle East and Northern Africa, the so-called “Arab Spring,” – possibly an oxymoron in itself – have proven that some of us are indeed capable of holding to contradictory beliefs, namely the notion that any change is ultimately for the good, and anything with the word “democracy” associated with it is positive. We somehow characterize what happened in Gaza when the people had a democratic vote as quirky or some anomaly. Can anyone say “Hamas”?

So, when people attempt to redefine ideas like “fairness,” we tend to accept their right to do so. In just a few short years, fairness has gone from being the notion that it is fair for someone to have the same opportunities or equal justice, to the belief that the wealthy have somehow cheated the system or oppressed the poor. The outcome of this is that people will demand the government to make society fair.

When the meaning of words becomes an intellectual property right, and meaning is in the eye of the beholder, based on the private interpretation of the speaker, then there is confusion among parties as to what something means. This confusion results in arguments and a breakdown of communication, and ultimately the party with the most power wins out, leaving meaning successfully reconstructed, however short- or long-lived.

Mother Theresa famously said, “War begins at home.” If we look on a grander scale, the US Civil War was basically a war on meaning. The meaning of words, yes, but more widely,  the meaning of institutions.

To the North, Slavery meant oppression. To the South, it meant prosperity. To one side of the conflict, it meant intransigience; to the other side, it meant tradition. To one side it meant union; to the other side, states’ rights.  We all know that the stronger side won out, not by argument but by force.

The real danger in redefining meaning is that, along with words and institutions, people can be redefined. In Cher Bono’s song “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves,” she was basically using three words to define a race, not three behaviors or even types of people. The Roma are commonly called Gypsies and they are stereotyped as being vagabonds and thieves.

Who, fifty years ago, could have envisioned an era where evangelicals in America would be called right-wing extremists on primetime television and that such a statement could elicit uproarious applause. Ever heard of Rosie O’Donnell? Today, evangelicals are standing up to attacks on the meaning of marriage and they are being called “haters.” The meaning of criticizing proponents of homosexual marriage has changed from “phobia” to “hate” in less than a year. Funny, I thought criticizing was part of free speech. Anyway, with this kind of evolution of meaning, it would not be surprising to see people who hold to traditional moral values labeled as bad citizens who are holding up progressive culture. It is not a far walk from “bad citizen” to “threat to society,” and a much closer walk to “criminal.”

Yes, people who hold to traditional moral and Biblical values could indeed soon be seen as criminals. Criminals because they will be seen as those who hate a minority in society, who speak out against something which government has not only codified and protected, but sanctioned.  Free speech will have become hate speech, and government will be compelled to stop it in order to keep the peace and to promote what is seen as a good law.

It will look innocuous at first: fines for pulling your kids out of school to prevent them from hearing bullying propaganda; fines for advertising traditional marriage and family seminars at businesses. American Christians are pretty soft now, so government fines aimed at stopping such hate speech should be sufficient to stop any dissent. There are already instances where pastors have been reported to media outlets for speaking out in their own pulpits. These stories regularly appear on national news.

Sadly, once meaning of long-held traditions and institutions has been redefined, it will be open season on all types of freedoms. Loss of religious freedom is the death knell for other civil freedoms. Freedom as a word will endure, but what it will mean we do not know.

On the planet Geometry lived Shapes of two kinds—Cubes and Pyramids. Cubes and Pyramids had great celebrations when they joined together for life, and when they engaged in secret math, they produced handsome little cubes and beautiful little pyramids. Sometimes a Cube tried to do secret math with another Cube and a Pyramid with another Pyramid, but it was looked upon as strange, too congruent and unmathematical by most of Geometry.

But some Cubes and Pyramids got angry by these laws of math and created a huge rhombus and d id base angles, demanding new rules. Geometry became scared of them and gave in to their demands along equilateral lines. A Cube with a Cube, a Pyramid with a Pyramid, and that became the Second Law, or New Math as some Shapes called it.

After a few revolutions around Geometry’s sun, one day some of the new pairs of Shapes starting making a novel demand. Since they were not doing math to create tiny Cubes and Pyramids anyway and they were together for the simple love of math, they didn’t see any reason why they couldn’t join any number of shapes together. The rulers who made the rules on Geometry did not have a good argument against this by then. If two Shapes, why not three?

So now, on the planet Geometry, any number or combination of Cubes and Pyramids can join together and do math, or just simple arithmetic if that is what they want. They can even make a dual Cube/Pyramid Shape, called a Transversible. So, the New Math resulted in the Higher, Evolved Math, and now math is not complicated on the world called Geometry. Everybody can do it so easily, even in groups.

This week, Diane Sawyer did a tribute to someone who had a special anniversary to celebrate and enjoined all Americans to celebrate with her. No, it was not a war hero, an inventor, even a celebrity with an amazing marriage to talk about. No one must have died in Afghanistan that day, no Amber alert must have been sent out, no soul in Japan suffering radiation poisoning, no blind Chinese person betrayed by our government, no one shot with an Eric Holder automatic gun. No, nothing worthy of our sympathy, rage, or admiration. Oh, yes, there was one: Ellen Degeneres’ sterling accomplishment. It turned out to be the fifteenth anniversary of her coming out and pronouncing her lesbianism on primetime television. The feature story had her all dressed up in her man-suits, painted up for her J C Penny sponsorship shots, plucking our heartstrings and tearing us up with her squeaky admissions. In case you missed it, in five years Diane will do a twentieth anniversary piece. Ellen, a true American hero.

Emergency?

EMERGENCY?

A tornado is an act of God
A cyclone, a hurricane or monsoon
A tidal wave and tsunami
You name it. What is not covered
by insurance is laid in God’s lap
Sunspots, renegade asteroids,
the San Andreas is God’s fault too.
Does God just hiccup or burp
and sometimes throw up on us
out of some cosmic vendetta?
He lets evil go on, we charge,
and suffering too,
And we think he is bluffing,
that we have a full deck
and he has no clue
or that he sits up there all deadpan
and overlooks me and you.
Listen, justice is ours to show
and vengeance his at the end of the day
Mercy is our lot and love the measure
He did all he could do with his voice
and commands, his uplifted right hand
his courage as a man
when personal disaster fell
He knows it full well
The tornado-spun lies
The hurricane of accusations
The convulsing earth choking with blood
The soot-black power outage of God’s grief
The overwhelming waves of garden prayer
The tsunami weight of water-logged beams
Emergency?
You and I are his emergency. Our fast-sinking souls
the chaotic refuse-filled rooms of our thoughts
Our proud independence to stand atop the rubble
and shake our fists in his face.
Oh, lets kneel down!
crunching the aluminum cans
and rattling leftovers of self-made lives
and bend low to smell the stench of
man-without-God waste that we walk and repose in.
Then we can find salvation.