Within Her Imagination

Within her imagination

Was a story never told

In a book that had no chapters

About a girl none years old

She danced across the pages

And flew between the years

In a timeless hypnotation

On a creature made with fears

They sang about survival

While rising from the ground

Soaring through the pages

To hear beyond the sound

And the harmony became

But was never truly fair

For the music was not real

And the world never there

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Tokyo Lights

Late in the power of the night and nothing was glamorous.  Us.  I don't know.  What we share is a glow.  No flashy lights because the moment is a blurr.  Don't quote me but I'm thinking of her. And it may be a fault not my own, out of my control. A familiar tone.  A singalongable song.  Stolen from past love stories of long.  With letters of narration and much anticipation.  But who decides the tides and who controls the toles. Because I'm down to pay. Against delay. And done waiting. So I stand. In powerless demand. Debating. Happy to be alive. Striving to be free. Glad to just be. And she. Exploring. Contouring. Light images spared no expense.  And someday it will all make sense...  Like, right now... Blaow!

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

I miss you, Chicago.

Sleeping to the morning
That woke up in the cold
Which spoke out for the seasons
Whose music won't get old

The sun on the horizon
The windy in the air
The morning of forgotten
Forgot to disappear

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

The Beauty of Your Language (100 Percent)

The beauty of your language is like a quilt suffering from ware.  It's not your fault; the wrongs of this world. You fight the negativity. You exist above it, between it, and within it. You have a soft hand, clean tree bark, and dim fire light. -- You write.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Tako

  is the Japanese word for kite, which is the same word for octopus.

Over earth and over sky
Over you and over

I don't know when it happened but I put my toys away. Playtime ended one day and that was it. I don't even remember.  I wonder if it was a specific decision, like when I handed my father my diaper and said, "I don't want to do this anymore."  Or maybe it came slowly.  Maybe there were just less and less toys until one day, there were none left. I don't know.

I sure do miss them.  I miss going to the park as a kid.  There was a park by our house and we would walk down there fairly often; me, my brother, my dad, and our dog Macduff. In the winter we built snowmen and snow angels.  In the Fall and Spring we would fly kites and throw those big styrofoam airplanes around.  My favorite, though, was my brother's jets.   He and my dad would launch these rockets that used real fire to shoot off. I was too young to be involved, but I was never jealous. I would just hang with the dog on the sidelines and reap the benefits.  We always had the best seats in the house.

My father was an officer at the time. He flew jets.  Real jets.  I guess this was his way of showing us what his job was like.  It was exciting. But he eventually left the Navy and we moved away from that park before I was ever big enough to launch a jet. I still have never launched one.

Over earth and over sky
Over you and over

I hope to, one day. Perhaps I'll go to a park with my own son to launch rockets. And maybe my son's first jet will be my first as well.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

These Boots

Left with the answers that I've found

In a story : profound

And a long life to be

Was it God or me that set the rules

See, the box has been open

And the pieces, passed out

We're still rolling for space

Until we cash out

There aren't enough freebies

But the music is good

And the floor is for dancin

Where anyone should

As I boot-scootin-boogie

As I kick my heel

As I try n cop a feel

Of this earth

Quit your name calling, life!

This is a game called...

Now.

And it starts with these boots.

Photo by Michael Seminar. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

The Art of Craft

We are on a constant journey to understand our art.

We explore

We get confused

We make a mistake

We discover a truth

We are trying to find ourselves

Through the pen

Through the paper
Through the paint
Through the color

We find hints of answers in the onlookers.

In their eyes
In their hearts
In their responses
In their reflections

We can catch a glimpse of ourselves.

Past the language
Past the analyzation
Past the doubt
Past the person

Beyond ourselves is the hope.

Above the work

Above the product
Above the conversation
Above the success


Something is changing.

In the sky
In the clouds
In the stars
In the heavens

And we are doing that, we artists.

Good for us.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Merry Christmas Darling

What do you see?

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Gee Gee Gee Gee Gee

Watch out for the answers

Cuz they are there

Even if the colors don't care

Pastels

My favorite Noels

When does the dance settle on cultural differences TV?

When the Jackson Five puts out a new Christmas CD?

But that's the beauty of the holidays

They highlight the other days

The work days

The off days

The Mondays

The Sun days

The full days

The leftover days

The Fridays

The doughnut glaze

And so

On come the gatherings!

Let's pull out the MCs

Let's candle wax the mantles

And hyper-lite the trees

Waiting for boxes to fall from the sky

Avoiding fake flames

That flicker in the eye

And it's so nice

To have a survival device

The TV

Made so far away

That while on it's journey

The language was changing

From country to country

Connect-the-dots amazing

And nobody knows

What the screen truly shows

As it only reflects

Our most current events

We can't see why it's been

Or understand how it wents

All we can say...

It PROvides and PREvents

It's a metaphorical glass

With half of it's contents

And it all depends on how you want to look at it...

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

In the jungle...

To survive off the land

One must always think clearly
Always keep moving
Stop only whenever one feels an exceptionally sized rock in their boot
"Oh, 'live off the land', I can do that. Especially if I beg for change and eat out of dumpsters..."
No!
Optimistic thinking always leads to failure
One must always be questioning oneself

To survive
One must carry all food that one finds
For example:
One finds beets
"I don't like beets," one thinks.
Too bad
One must carry beets
And
One must eventually 
Eat 
Beets

There are no excuses upon survival
If one is tired one must push on
There is no space for lolligagging
That seat is always taken on the metaphorical survival bus
If a lake has a bed of grass next to it covered by the shade of an apple tree
One must take all apples
And continue

This isn't a dream
Survival contains no mermaids
There are no upside down hypercolor versions of our inner-selves
Which brings us to our next rule
No mushrooms
No psychedelic enhancements of any kind
One must have respect for ones reputation
Which should remain anonymous
To survive one must always stay alone
One must never become a two
Or a three
Or
Heaven forbid
A four

One must have dance breaks
One must always take dance breaks
There are three rules on dance breaks:
Rule #1 - There will be dance breaks
Rule #2 - Some dance breaks will be longer then others
Rule #3 - There are no exceptions to rules one and two

Survival is no game

One must never ask for directions

One must climb to the top of a jungle gym 

And look upon the world

One must take no prisoners
One must see all colors
One must
Survive

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Heart-o-Nara 奈良のハート

Crack the red with the white
And a star will show

No. No church
Until Christmas
When we all go

Grandma always cooks
The best food.

When the plates are clean
The burners are kickin for the next meal
Her house Is the real deal

Football in the park
With old friends

Those that were slow got slower
Those that were fast got slower
Blaming age when it's really just time

Shoping mall in Orlando Florida
Hell

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Fine day for her bicycle.

It all seems like foreign film
Because it is
With a digital sway

I find it interesting; making art
What it is
Doing it this way

There's a camera on an island
So far
Eight thousand miles away

And a cup of coffee in Florida
Sub par
Deciding what to say

The coffee isn't even bad
Actually
Quite delicious

But the story's gotta be Rad
Tubular
And Vicious

All 'ninja turtles' terms
Ninja
A Japanese cliche'

But tequilla is for worms
And uh
Moving on. Anyway

Avoiding PC debate
Because
I'm on a laptop

Mister T. can relate
Because
He had a flat top

Forget the sense
Mine
Suessical

Want simple plot
Watch
Musical

The point is, on the Japan side
So she
Tells us

There's gonna be a bike ride
And me
Jealous

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Mochiｔsuki もちつき

A pillow and an egg fought for a good seat. 

Nothing got in the way.  Save the exercise.  Nostalgia is better split two ways.  Holiday better alone.  If you are lame.  Warehouse.  I remember dancing shoes.  Lotsa boos.  And Saturday afternoons.  At which point we found the rainbow.  And the leprechaun.  Fools gold.  Beat the rush.  Hush.  Why do I see a fish market.  Hang the dock.  When I close my eyes.  Why do.

And maybe one of us is crazy. 

What a lame profession.  Full of possibility.  Ireland.  Family.  Future.  Land of the brave.  Opportunity.  And stop telling me how to raise my kids.  I have none.  I want some.  Stability.  Unwavering waiver.  Flavor savor with a plan.  Damn.  Get off the porch unless it’s comfortable. 

I had to eat flies.

Couldn’t live in a town full of mermaids and rebel flags.  I sure do like cheese grits.  Get on board.  Muddin’ time.   Couldn’t shoot a gun.  So much culture.  Overwhelmed.  Tokyo Japan.  Douglas Georgia.  Chicago Illinois.  Nine answers to never a question.  This poem.

A cappella. 

Friday night at the drugs.  Used to believe in too many voices.  Where are you Freddy Kruger.  First.  Second.  Minute.   Rice.  Chef.  Boy.  Talk.  Tablature.  Discipline. 

Coffee.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Happy Hour

Photo by Sadie Myers. Titled by Dustin Whitehead.

Coffee Break

Better than a leg break.

(thasa lil grampa joke in honor of my grampa)

Photo by Sadie Myers. Joke by Dustin Whitehead.

An-chan's words

Where did the writing go.  Opening Number.  Was it the Greek or the Romans who said to tread lightly.  I have a friend who makes clocks with the books.  One of the most brilliant people alive is home in bed.  She had her breasts removed.  Cancer.  There is another woman who has stories.  A mom is growing pumpkins and sewing art on stage in Connecticut.  A dad is discovering his mission all over again.  Bon Iver is making music.  There’s a field with snow and the squirrel is confused.  His first winter.  A man died two years ago and the speeches were phenomenal.  Does job signify making money.  Where do the poets go to dream.  I want to rent a cloud for some arbitrary stranger’s birthday party and invite all my good time friends.  Reveal a huge plot point here.  Next is the second act.  The bathrooms are to the left.   Please use caution on the stairs and duck through the doorway if you are unusually tall…

Act two started with a bang.  I’m pretty sure this is a firework carcass in my lap.  Did the children play.  Did the parents get a break.  Shopping malls used to be more alive.  Somewhere God is watching.  No judgement.  I remember her hand picking blackberries as she hummed.  I thought it was for me.  A grandfather has grandpa jokes.  Dogs leave before the storm.  They know what the cats don’t.  Bells.  The drum.  Symbols!  Silence.  Curtain.  Curtain call.  Awkward lobby conversation.  And maybe a beer or ten.  Sleep. 

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Vend it but don't break it

There were two
Me and you
Fulla juices
Fulla choices
But that never mattered
Cuz the days we took in slow
Waiting for a hand
Waiting for a dollar
Waiting for technology
To come and take us over

Colors were bright
And late in the
Evening
You allowed me to reconstruct
And I watched you do the same
And we didn't mind the noise
And we welcomed the refills

Life was simple
Meet as many clientele
As possible
And so they'd come
Pockets full
Ready for temporary bliss
Which we would provide

And we sat there together you and I
With a function in the world
Full of color and life

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Hashi

On the road again. No controling the kids. Turn signal forbids. So we make all lights yellow.  And all food is eatin with sticks which makes more sense. Learning coordination at a young age. We were born to be intelligent.  Irrelevant is social class as we surpass our predecessors. Life Is always getting better. And so is the food.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Blues

Blues in the colors

Blues in the light

Blues in tomorrow

For taking away tonight



Blues in the sorrow

Blues in the flight

Blues in the staying here

Afraid to know what's right



Blues in the children

Blues in the street

Blues in the music

Taking away the beat



Blues in the hallways

Blues in the buildings

Blues in discovering

Lost in having feelings



Blues in the mondays

Blues in the mid-days

Blues in the lonely

Found inside the holidays



Blues in a frown

Blues in a smile

Blues in a see you soon

When it's really quite awhile

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Winterbean

Skates and Glass
And
A Goodbye Clash
Came the winter
On with the cold!
On with the snow!
On with the see you soon
It's sad to see you go

But thanks for leavingme the winter
The cream in the coffee
The light in the alley dark
Thanks for the energy
That moves me to live
To fly
To
Write

I love to write

....

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Angel in the Snow

It's winter

And we wander

Land

Of the cold

And I forget about the no-shows

But that is no accident

I'm tired and I want to lay by a tree

While you sing, Angel

I live, when u sing

My heart beats

Remember that street

That shared her name

It was dark. And late. And dangerous

And God spoke to me through skin

Through a cute dress and a pretty smile

My angel had come

And now

When the snow falls...

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

THE FOLKS AT THE BAR

    ( I started writing this poem at a small Jazz club in Andersonville called The Green Mill a few hours before I performed in my first poetry slam. It was exciting because the Green Mill is credited for founding the poetry slam some many years ago. )


THE FOLKS AT THE BAR
I was sitting at a local BAR not too FAR from here actually. And I leaned forward to get the attention of the tender behind the bar back's back  When behind my back as I turned my head was a little frog and he was red.  And he was always there but i was unaware.  And he pulled from under me my stool and sat.

But I was cool with that cuz I like frogs. And I like the color red. So I said whatap man, what's your story entail, from where do you hail. And he showed his hand to me. Not my question but I guess the little guy was three.  I said, did u know that was my seat...  He just smiled and bobbed to the beat.  It became clear who was in charge.  though tiny and red, this frog's pressence was large.

So I pulled up a chair. I brushed through my hair. Starting scratching my neck and thought what the heck. Why not be friends with this little guy. There's no reason why we can't respect Each other. So I tried 'whatap brother!' and he turned for a tick. But this toad was a prick. He rolled his beady eyes. And after two tries I was rejected again. Rejected again.

Can u believe that. I was lost where I sat. I couldn't hear sound. I was not gonna have fun if this jerk was around.  So I thought of ways to kill this little frog. As he sat in MY seat like a bump on a log. Bobbing his head.  Turning ME red. As my anger grew. And something in side me was... Atchu!
Where'd that come from I thought as I heard 'god bless you'.

And I looked in the direction of that little devil's reflection and I noticed something that made me question my escalating frustration.  And my guilt forced from my eye the tiniest little tear. For the little bastard was putting his hearing aid back in his ear.  The sneeze had simply caused him to adjust. And now I'm the jerk.  And there's one thing I must.

So I bought him a beer, which lead to three or four and by the end of the night we were crawling out the door. Together as friends. The red frog and I. And my little lesson was never to try. To listen and wait. Never over debate.  Cuz 'in my head' is a place best left alone.  My ego to silly to sit on a throne. I must leave my brain be and always think free.  So's to hang out where I are; with the toads.  


The folks at the bar; they walk many roads.




(What do you think of this? It just so happened that I went out tonight in Nakameguro and met some other foreigners. Alex and John to name a few. Both Canadians. You're right, everyone has a story to tell. -S)

Photo by Sadie Myers inspired by Dustin Whitehead's words.

First Snow

A blurry flurry hits the streets. Beats the last time out by a few inches. Inching it's way in, the winter. An old friend. Making it's home next to mine. I'll be fine because my name is "bring it on" and I put my boots on today. And by the way, I don't mind the mittens. Good riddens fall afternoons by the lake. This is your wake.  Who needs you. Atchu! ... Well, there's my hommie Tripple S (Seasonal Stuffy Schnoz) calling my name. I better get outside to introduce ten of my closest filangees to my frosty aquaintance  Bite.  Tonight will be cold. But I'm told that when u get drunk you don't feel anything. So long live the winter and Cheers to fighting off spring.

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Winterwonder?

Fly bird

Finger puppet

Magic

....

In the lamp lit

Day light

Weird

Sight

We will

Be

Meant for

Flight

Tonight

And the

Next one... two...

Free

To be

Chicago

....

Glad for

The wind

And whoever

Named our clouds

....

A scientist

Lest scientific

Changed my name

To Longfellow

Or turned

Marshmellow

Into a monster

Let's make

Angels

Out of

Snowmen

And lights

With

Broken glass

....

Fly bird

Finger puppet

Magic

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Moves...

Movin to the groovin

Hip hop Music tela Tube n

Dance sessions with no feet

Like B ball with no beat

So we grooven up and down

Back and forth - fly the court

I'll take yo junk to school

Make ya forge my card report

Inverse like sun burst through cloud

Turn it up cuz it's way too loud

Go to the clinic fool- I be lost n found

And if I don't catch ya I'll see ya round

Court yards are for fight dates

Sleepin is for neverland

Lunch money fo spaghetti plates

Thankful that our parents planned

We just elementary-junior-high livin

Playin with what's God givin

Migratin past our youth

Neva knowsin da truth

And one time someone said

Live up or drop dead

And we best to pays attention

Oh and did I mention...

Momma ain't raise no fool !

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Dustin Whitehead.