12.12.13
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.

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
BOOK WOMAN READING 5501 N Lamar Hosted by CINDY HUYSER
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

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...

soft stones/pebble avalanches

Blue eyes-
Sea? Sky!

COLORS AMONG GREEN
Flowers?Birds!

River,slow,lost-
Dammed.

Hole in sky-
Ex-trees.

Ask not for whom
the road tolls

Old books?Literacy
Unplugged

Skin Flower
Blossoms!

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.

TITANIC&THE PYRAMIDS

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...

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-
Argentina,England,Australia,Canada,
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..

Relate

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...

chants,spells,invocations,incantations,affirmations
as soon as your voice reaches cadence and resonance
you are alive as well!

and this is why we sing

shades,shapes,shadows

someone you love will leave
(hole in your heart)
they are unique-no other has their history
you picture them in their shine
bright as daylight/stronger than sun
now gone.darkness comes
you wear black and grieve
it is for the hole they leave
dig them in earth -ashes/bones
you carry their picture in yours
a part of you leaves with them
best-a part of them rests in you
Here is what you do-
carry their best @all times
Picture them present ,prescient,smiling
We all have our ghosts
They all own a part of us
until we leave
or forget

selective memories

words go to war before boots on the ground
Falklands?Malvinas!English?Spanish!
Argentina so close to tiny Malvinas-
few folk with more sheep than hope

Empires Historic vs Geography
Who owns littoral?Who owns sea?
Carbon footprints yomp across inhospitable terrain
to "recapture"freedom for a British name

Exocets,Sheffield,aluminium burning
Dumb bombs and malfunctioning weapons
1200 young conscripts on the General Belgrano
died for no reason in the Exclusion Zone

Reagan/Thatcher-alliance geriatric
American Intelligence/British weapons
Troops flown half way round the world
for ungrateful sheep herders

It could have gone either way
Malvinas could be Argentine today
Folly persists when Empires play
with human lives for no real gain

Generals send the young to graves
Empires always kill their slaves.

drones,robots,distance education

momentary fad is anomie-we
cannot afford live bait/hence robot wars
Talk to the machine/it responds
to commands like drones/cars/phones
bombing homes/women/children
Pilot Error becomes Program Malfunction-
to wipe out a village to save a village
It takes a whole village to mourn and resist
One drone can ruin your whole day
Just because you have power does not mean
You have any right to abuse it.

for the worker in words

and the player of songs
it is less the walls that divide
than the bridges on guitars
Tuning in to the whirl
while words clouds pass
seeking rain of inspiration
life as art.Start!

Spring Green Man

A Light Rain/A Reign of Light
Spring will not be denied(i tried!
Green shoots in lines along tree bough
sends insurrections down the ranks
of waiting volunteers prepared to rise
against the reign of lawnmowers, fences, houses
Their anarchy is no surprise/the last time they died
was drought time/it lasted long and deep
the price of life was steep(we could not pay
so all our green children were all brown decay

Outside, i hear new birds gossiping/moving in
now they have green worms to live upon
Knowledge must be passed down generations
The price of ignorance is to be consumed young

Thin weeds are now triumphant pirates
bearded buccaneers swashbuckling bushes
They will not wait but rise in new revolt
at anything that limits revolution

Rain is accessory. She aids and abets.
Without water, all resistance would dry up
Love is lonely without another. All nature made of
lovers
and we were undercover white winters/now green
succulent Springs!
Thom World Poet


BLUE
Picasso's period-emotional as music
Sky blue-impossible optimism/ contradicted by chemtrails/vapor trails
Sea blue-layers and levels of depths of truth
All babies' eyes are blue to begin
Theme in Blue-jazz composes us
Blue Danube-a river of Strauss
Blue Bayou-Roy Orbison lives here!
Blue Hawaii-Elvis turns color from black and white!
Blues Muse-turning Black and Blue into bruises
Violet Indigo Blue Green Yellow Orange Red
Hazy horizon separating blue sky from blue seas
Blue as the day s/he left. Bluer when s/he returned!
Blue Velvet-where images toxic /noxious bumblebee
suburbs grass
Blue Man Group-who is beneath? Why multiples
touring?
I am blue-Monet Blue-purples and pinks kiss me
You are blue-Magritte blue-apples and bowler hats
Blue as swimming pool David Hockney
Blue as Geoffrey Smart.Mirror sea blue
wave blue. Reflecting blue. How can you be blue?
So many ways to watch these waves of blue
Sit on the horizon and feel blue. Sky blue
Watch this apple world from space-it is a blue planet
The only one with potable water. It defines us
We are loved by blue. More than the man in the
moon
Blue calls you to oceans, seas, rivers, pools
DIVE IN! You will become blue in time
Your time is blue!


HALF A THOUGHT
i have half a mind to lapse in to nostalgia-
about the Golden Age of poetry
when everyone shared their words and thoughts and dreams and songs
and met at every available opport/unity
to make/create/renew associations older than time
This is you. Now. Yes! and we compound and spin
eccentric orbits
like privately funded space projects. We subsidize
ourselves
If there is a way to add to and make new this moment
find us polishing our space capsules in preparation
for launch
Flow goes with us @all times
We are in process, in orbit and in flight
There is no point repeating choruses of past lies
The gift of present intention makes all right
(we will be here all night folks!-
this is only half a thought-the rest you get
once you express your response
to the possibility that we have only begun to
sing
and dreams enter new/ each and every evening...


NIGHT FISHERMAN
Each night,i cast
this web net for words
i bring in stars and one lump moon
a good night's catch! Reflections
of heavens above while on the surface
enough love to feed a family
Waves away and deeper, larger issues swim
They have been here before my expeditions
Sometimes, i snag upon them
I tear my nets and need repair
Hobble back to safer harbors
to meditate upon white moon whales
shark corporations, the cost of licenses
details that add up to less than what i started with
I shall set out again tonight. Stars are wise enough
to keep their distances, and moon don't mind if i
catch her
She thinks it is only optical illusion seas
reflecting on my waters what is so far beyond me
I let her go(of course)-mysteries so beautiful
are always catch-then release

TEN CANOES
your first is when you learn
how to create your own canoe
how water(steam)and fire blend
to make wood(bark)pliable to your will
next canoe is elemental-to water
where you trust your creation will float like Lotus
capable of sustaining your own life's weight
Third canoe floats as one
to seek sustenance and nurturing
Fourth is connection, when all you see is part of you
Fifth is when you bring it home to share
Sixth is when you exaggerate stories about your
vision-quest
Seventh when these stories /songs are repeated/amended
Eighth is when you hear them again ,and re-learn the
Art of Canoe
Ninth is when you change-design, purpose, aim,
intention
Tenth is when you teach others how to make their
own canoe
Eleventh is your ghost canoe-all that lives beyond
your lifespan
floating in the lake like a Lotus, like an empty canoe

Sun

Spring sun heats our green garden
until plants cry out /parched and bone
Water barrels are still full from last showers
Rain is only a promise away.As they rise
we watch green limbs meet.They seem to need each other
In this heat,shield each other.Perhaps the plants
are talking amongst themselves.Perhaps if we
listened very carefully,we might be less pink
more green and golden and blooming!

On Ladybird Lake,one blue heron

rose in a flap of wings out of the waters
into a sky blue as Van Gogh
Around the edges,plastic bottles and cans
congregated together to make mass out of mess
We do not know hat impelled her flight
i dare not think of plastic rings on beaks
nor pecking at our detritus/we stole moving images
that omitted the truth of squalor/cropped frames
so only wings filled eyes and skies
could be a refuge/apart from exhausts from traffic
falling kerosene vapor tails,chemtrails
and a watery cage that held our pasts
as it sank our future
into WARNING signs
Birds cannot read.

one night (for a dare

we were tempted to compare
W H Auden with Phillip Larkin
a posthumous duel ,with favorite poems
quoted to see who might carry the trophy home

Memorable lines repeat without weariness=
Refresh,refresh,refresh!
Sex for me began in 1963...
Of each other ,we should be kind/while there is still time

Epiphanies are rare.Lightning bugs,few survive bottling times
Is not the test of a waterhole or sacred place
the desire to return just one more time?

Choice is all.Each footstep falls where it will.
What is written cannot be un-
Both Auden and Larkin are done
We await new creations.