may we all be heard
words are bells
let them ring!

Thom World Poet Austin, Texas, USA
Global Radical networker and activist for promoting the live Creative Arts,
at every possible opportunity, especially in his home-city, Austin, Texas, USA

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Retro Info Redux
thom woodruff 9:13 AM (51 minutes ago) to JackMcCabe Moon, June, Tune Sep8

I’ve been writing a long time. I used to type up original scripts for “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” on my portable Royal typewriter. There are a number of giveaways in the previous sentence showing how long ago that was. Over the intervening years, I’ve written business letters, software user documentation, newspaper and magazine articles, short stories, and even a paean to Benbrook, Texas, that came close to qualifying as fiction. The one genre I’ve studiously avoided is poetry. I am not a poet. (Picture Richard Nixon striking his pose before boarding the Marine One helicopter to oblivion.) It’s true. Whenever I’ve tried, forced by optimistic English teachers who until they ran into me thought there was a poet in everyone, I failed dismally. No Robert Frost nor Paul Simon am I, nor even the guy who composed the roadside Burma Shave ditties . My poetry most closely resembles limericks and the graffiti in the ladies’ restroom at the House of Pizza in Ft. Worth. I always had a hard time understanding and interpreting poetry, too. It never said to me what it was supposed to say. A poem, supposedly a statement on the condition of humankind, to me was a commentary on fishing out of season in Bexar County. I dreaded each year when my teacher’s fancy turned to poetry. The poetry test always screwed up my average. Therefore, it was with resignation I approached last week’s meeting of the San Gabriel Writers League. Our speaker, a poet. I had to be there to take the minutes, so I couldn’t plead a 24-hour case of bubonic plague. I went, determined to make the most of it and just wait for the bell to ring—er, I mean, wait for the meeting to be over. Instead, I was blown away by Thom Woodruff, aka Spirit Thom, aka Thom World Poet, a somewhat less-than-sane Aussie who proceeded to tear down all my preconceptions about poetry and replace them with a new admiration for those who can put words together in that special way. Before I could hide behind my dignity, I was mimicking his gestures and repeating after him like a Moonie at a revival. It was fun, and more than that, I understood most of his poetry. It is cogent, clever, thought-provoking, and liberating. Thom performs his poetry. In another time, he would be the storyteller, relating tales worth remembering by firelight, holding his audience in the palm of his hand. The lucky attendees at our meeting were just as rapt, sitting with eyes wide, mouths slightly agape, laughing, gasping, and applauding. No wonder he’s also known as Thom the Circus. This wasn’t exactly my first literary rodeo. Yet I was blown away, totally, by this one man’s poetry. If you get a chance to see and hear him, drop everything, put the hamburger meat back in the fridge, and get there as fast as your little feet will go. He’s a must-see, can’t-miss fandango.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Old as fire,clear as ice,when Austin held its 2 day winter freeze we gathered @the Ruta Maya Trailer Stage in Bouldin Creek Food Court and listened to the songlines released from each skin cycle Babies in blankets held close as truth,smiled ,loved,beamed Mothers whisked them away when the cold bit sharp deep Circle formed off stage off mike ears and hearts opened as the failure of technology increased our humanity We were deeply drinking each other in-candles on table Bela's birthday and a new voice or two opening us again Because we value each of us more than gold. Because we heard secrets that had never been told Because we were warmed by each other despite the cold Paco smiled as he served HOT soup truth ,warm coffee and tea and we feasted upon a listening Paradise-every word heard and weighed-hearts and feathers,wings and swords in a circle under the stars by the fast traffic of South First we were primal and true,worthy and willing- we only went when time left us -singing!

JOIN US - COMING SOON! Wed Dec 12-AWESMIC AUSTIN DAY!Celebrate 11am-5pm Rock garden Zilker Park w/ANYAH D!
THRICE CAFE 6-9pm @909 west mary Hosted by MICHELE SOLBERG!
Th Dec 13-MERMAID POETRY@Belton Library 6-8pm BYO Mermaid Poetry
Sat 15-AWESMIC CAFE Dripping Springs 6-late Hosted by ANYAH DISHON
FULL ENGLISH CAFE 2000 Southern Oaks 6-9pm Farewell to ric williams(LITERA /CHRONICLE)
sun 16-WASSAIL! Spider House $15 @5.30pm 29th/Fruth-Mummers,magicians,imagination!
HOT MAMAS 2401 east 6th from 3-6pm/KICK BUTT 5775 west airport 7-10pm

posted my magic jack

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Our Pope was a Young Nazi

To be American,you must swear not to support
the Nazi Government of Germany(which has long disappeared)
Right-wing ideologues may still spout racist hate speech
(Free Speech is at the core an American value)
Shouting"FIRE!"in a crowded theater
or targeting people because of their race
is sometimes(selectively) prosecuted
Israel has jailed whistle-blowers who revealed Israeli nuclear capacities
Israel has spied upon American armed forces(jailed Pollard)
Israel receives $4billion of military aid from America yearly
Israel daily threatens a first strike upon Iran
and has urged America to do this for them/and to subsidize it!
War is against our(American)interests(we cannot afford it!)
There is no gain to be made from expending our blood and treasure
on any nation-for another nation's benefit.Every body loses.
For a poet to warn about bellicose saber-rattling militarism is a Cassandra warning
For a nation to ignore poets is the way of this world
May all your cautionary verse be free...

Thursday, April 12, 2012

soft stones/pebble avalanches

Blue eyes-
Sea? Sky!



Hole in sky-

Ask not for whom
the road tolls

Old books?Literacy

Skin Flower

Wildflower highways
Seeding rainbows!

Allergic 2
chemical sunsets

Hills had a haircut-
Bald Rock !

Flat black tarmac
car strapped

Snake skin gardens
expelling Eden

Earth opens
envelope skin

Slip ashes &bones
Begin again..

towards sacred/pilgrimage

a tale was told of a Golden City
Conquistadors plundered /took home yellow fever
what is most valuable/adored

Yellow Brick Road to London/Elton John
Capitol of Commerce and Commercial Hits
He marries his love/wears a new wig/like a financial district

Da Vinci Code/Conspiracy Theories
Jesus escaped from the Apocrypha
Had a child with Mary Magdelene

Tourists click Pyramids/Olympic Games/Titanic Exhibitions
Digital Art Galleries Damien Hirst/decaying shark/diamond skull
The Sacred Sold as Holy Indulgences/ART!

Still we line up for SPECTACULARS!
Jesus,Buddha,Dalai Lama,James Cameron
Tickets sold for artifacts that will survive us

Touch the Holy!Buy your Crucifix!
Be the First One on your block to wear a Crown Of Thorns
Now you know why Socrates never wrote anything down.


In their time,both were world wonders
Both remain in vestigial splendor even now
Both were initiation chambers
Both are surrounded by corpses
Empires have risen and fallen
Museums filled with artifacts from both
Both are symbols of Babylon-
an arrogance to brag and to boast
None of their original crew still exist
Technology has yet to establish a sequel
to Titanic and Pyramids were both made by man
Did gods get jealous?Capstones removed/artifacts auctioned
Hubris of engineers/pride of construction
We may never see their like again
No modern cruise ship follows their example down
No human makes Cheops @Thebes or Karnak
Valley of the Kings still reveals new secrets
James Cameron still sells new formats
Behomeths both/symbols of lost Ages
Opulence and astronomy /aligned with the best
We will never see their like again
unless in 3D ,HG,IMAX special effects spectaculars.
Touring Exhibitions of the Grateful Dead.

On not being able to ask for help &

i did not make it here alone
i cannot stay without assistance
i am part of family ,friends-networks
that sustain via positive inputs

if i were to pretend uniqueness
my sisters would laugh because they know
my mother wants rhyming poetry
and i cannot supply her-so

i ask them for assistance
they supply the stated need
she is brave in asking
i both cede and concede

without others-there is no point nor purpose
in communicating who we are and why
this very artform demands shared audience
and you know why...

voice is choice

to chant,hum,sing,affirm,converse
repeat choruses of positive enchantments
to bring one into tribal unity/and we
are never silent

outside the shouts and screams /protests
angry @a world of wars and want
stressed out @lack of participatory engagement

inside one heart propels blood beat and pulse
courses through each/all/every
to make a rhythm that sustains us

if the inner could rule all outer
so the harmonic circles and spirals
curl like waves of joy towards light
and we might all surf sunrises
rather than sun sets...

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

calendar selves

he rips off the day from each page of the calendar
tears off the weeks and the months and the years
he thinks he is change /yet he barely remembers
who he was yesterday/who he really is

date of his birthday does not define him
year of his birth just another fact
how old he may be /what he can do
all of these are just random like that

his limits become the world around him-
how far he can walk(or run)away
if he cannot move (or find an alternative)
then for the moment /i guess he will stay

ripping out articles from daily newspapers
throwing away subscriber magazines
all that he was no longer matters
most of his life is composed of old dreams

what is sweetest of all

is adaptation to adventures-
to turn in the moment as opportunities present themselves
Travel is wearying/exciting simultaneously
as we grow elder,guided we need be-
that solo spark fire becomes a warm bed and breakfast
that hike through the hills a rest in a room
May your steps take you to bright new sparklescapes
May your eyes delight in astonishing scenes
And if the walk is too hard,may you be well rested
in the cradle of gentle sweet traveling dreams...

second hand world

luminaries flicker through front doors
sharing Tales Of Brave Adventures-
they were there in Golden Times

i listen like a microphone
to stories from another time
transport them through rhyme
witness second hand

too many wars tub thumping hate
when we need more to relate
tales of peace and harmonies
art,music,love in poetry

so this reminds our warring times
we all may live in different minds
Solutions we have yet to find
A garden we are growing in..


word is alive and well!

but it has morphed and spawned many children-
text and Tweet for newbies/Ritalin Generation/dyslexic/ADHD
HALLMARK greeting cards for the nominally emotional
Country and western for the sentimentalists
Novels for airport reading/ebooks for instant messaging
Magazine articles for leisure and dentists offices
Poetry for teardrops,loveloss,departures,fragments and moments
we share with intimates-a private/public language
that whispers to each prisoner"YOU ARE FREE!"
and this is where the door is-as it swings open(in imagination
it is not the rules or cages set us free
it is the lilt of our magic and music underneath...

as soon as your voice reaches cadence and resonance
you are alive as well!

and this is why we sing