The Rabbit Hole (Blog)

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April 20th

Happy 420 to all you weed smokers out there online.  Today is the counterculture weed celebration. I don’t smoke, but I know too many smokers that enjoy the benefits for many reasons. 420 is a coined term by the Waldos in San Rafael and has nothing to do with a penal code. But, It is funny how many penal code are added to society’s vocabulary. But for a group of weed activists to make April 20 a weed holiday is amazing.  Plus, I know many poets, rappers, speakers, and writers who smoked so I am not surprising this day falls on National Poetry month. Below is my weed twitter poem for 4/20. Light one up and smoke:

 

Here is also the link to Huffington post article on the Origin of 420:

The true story of Weed Day

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Day 18 – Ode to Ass lips

How can I forget
To spread my cheeks
And expose my ass lips
Amused by raspberries you can do
And a lit match, you can blow fire, too
Like my mouth, your burps are excused
But it’s weird that you have taste buds?

With diarrhea, my front line defense
known to keep a tight lips or talk shit
You pucker my posterior
But hold the flood gates closed.
Clean inspection after bombing is done
has left you with a shit eating grin
Sorry for all the burning
I forgot to drink water

If lips get chapped, apply the Vaseline
I’ll get a smile from ear-to-ear
that will seems obscene
And for those who dis, I insist
You can kiss my ass until my ass give you a kiss

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Poet are Makers. Literally.

History

I just finish reading Webster article on the history of the word “poet.” It states the words early origin was Greek (poiete) and it meant “maker”. Then the 15th century, English Speakers put  the word “poet” in a high esteem role in the English language in association with God. It, finally, evolved to word maker to speakers and writers of poetry.

‘Poet’ comes from a Greek word meaning “to make.”

Emotional Scientist

This history lesson is incredible. A word that is commonly used for a word artist.  The evolution should give some pride to today’s poets. Plus, it is National poetry month. So, Poet, you have been told that your title has been used to represent deities and, now, it represent you. This title means your thoughts are connection between gods and humans.  You are an emotional scientists journalizing results to all social, environmental, spiritual, financial, political, and technical experiments. You are the vessel for understanding the world’s dark and light moments. So, be the god. Maker. Sayer. Poet.

Webster’s word history – Poet

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Day 17 – truth’s eclipse (nocturne poem)

The constellations design
Characters in mind
That no logic can decide
The truth from your eyes

For the stars will shine
And others will believe lies
But they’d crossed the line
The truth is in your eyes

So the night starts hide
All demons far and wide
I know from your soul
The truth is in your eyes

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Day 16 – Letter to the father (sonnet)

Dear Dad,
Your life on this earth is missed
My mind is left to reminisce
Your life resembles a play
And it’s shown by Grandma’s dismay

Her words strike my confidence
That I lost my common sense
A coward who didn’t interfere?
That your grave is buried somewhere

Is this how my kids will leave me?
The truth will likely scare me
I don’t entertain this picture.
Somedays, I wish I had a sister.

A grandfather to others but, not to mine
God, why couldn’t you give him more time?

Miss you,

CHARRON

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Day 15 – I am up to something

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I enter poetry

to have some therapy

Rap was hard to perform

and my DJ stuff wasn’t close to me

So it was back to basic

I found open mics

where I recited my lyrics

didn’t get many likes

So, I started training

Poetry became my study

Rap became a hobby

I was up to something

I wrote poems long

I wrote poems short

I found different arenas

this became my sport

I started to do features

I even host a show

The rapper merge with the poet

My coach says I am on a roll

I formed an alliance with others

They saw I had a thing

I am starting a movement

I am up to something

I created a zine

for my poetry

but an idea come up

so I change it up

to express the community

I presented it to the world

and it became an epidemic

to honor my poetic journey

I called my zine, Iambic.

I created all of this

you may think this nothing

but this is just the middle

I am still up to something

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Day 14 – Clerihew

Gordon Shumway

Want to cook a cat someday

His flight to his planet went south

Crashed on Earth and, now, he’s known as ALF

George Foreman

Is a boxing champion

But he retired and change fields

Now, He is the king of indoor grills

Bruce Lee

Made martial arts, style free

Racism in movies was large

But he change it and became a superstar.

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Day 13 – My Blue day Ghazal 


I woke up while the sun was asleep. Commuting to work as I await for the sky to turn blue.

Walking down the street and got stop by an oxymoron. He asked me if I had any blues.

Browsing through my dad’s records. I listen to the musicians play the blues

Riffing with comics and one was shock. My material is quite blue.

I got Rap music playing in my headphones. I’m vibing on songs with MED and Blu

I worked on the character of my logo. He is not a smurf but he is blue.

Gangbanger live in my neighborhood. Crips all around. Just Blacks in blue.

They hoping to find a sucker slipping. So, they can beat him down black and blue.

My father & brother are Marines and my cousin is a coast guard. My family wears navy blue

My girlfriend, on the phone, is depressed. She hopes I stop by today because she feeling blue.

But I just got a call on winning a new car. It was out of the blue.

It funny how middle Americans are racist and sadistic but they believe they’re true blue.

I wear smile on my face but a middle finger to cops. Never trust the boys in blue.

I had a slam in Paris and finished with high numbers. The host screams sacre bleu.

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Day 12 – Scary movies (alliteration & assonance)

Is it a coincidence to coexist in this climate?
Consequently, the cliffhanger is climactic.
A suffering sadist is cinematic.
I’ve seen scenes should be unseen.

So why so soon?
Is it the doom that consumes the room?
Certainly, a sick cerebellum sort
What it distort, contort, support all this sightly content.
I feel content away from the contact.
But to see the contexts
Set me in an unsettling state of uncertainty?