Tuesday in the Yard with Fam

a dream that we had:

wedding, Florida, and July

magic; the result

Photo by Angela Shields.  Haiku by Dustin Whitehead.

"just married"

let's tie tin cans to the bumper and have rice fall from the sky

can you put that on the list?

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

for today's morning after

today came much like yesterday

i guess that's sort of funny

beautiful like an artist 

watching the bark grow to the drone of the air conditioner

fan humming 

a bird 

maybe some humidity seeps through my seams

i believe in this moment 

i can scratch a bite from last night's (now deceased) mosquito and know that i am alive

it always seems like there's more to do 

if there weren't then there would be nothing at all 

water rolling by 

nature's conveyor belt bringing joy to boaters and fisherpeople

i dig 

most things are awesome

if you just want.hope.strive for them to be

last night i was bitten . today i am breathing  . tomorrow i will fly 

all is as it should be

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

crawlin round yo words

what u say gurl, how u feelin
want one a deese grapes dat i'm peelin

You're up and down
I'm around and below
in n' out

u cruisin, peepin for some pleasin
I'm stoked  on the season

Burgers with cheese
hold the bun please

i dig yo stease 
if u a patient, i'm yo disease

Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Sadie Myers and Dustin Whitehead.

chicken chat.

 

"Would you bite into a chicken as it ran through the yard?" she asks.

Why, yes.  I think I would.

Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Happy Beach Day

A beach.  A day.  A birthday, not mine.  A lot of sand.  A new suit.
Wondering if the wedding is truly a week away, already. 
Asking if my life is beautiful.  Sometimes it is. 
The blues & greens.  The joy of pink.  Not the sand.  Not the salt.  But the beauty of the day.
Some like to run.  Throw a Frisbee.  Bath in the waves.
I like to sit.  I like to watch.  I like to admire the beauty of the day.  
My brother.  My son.  My sister, her fiancee.  My mom.  Brandon.  A foreign friend.
My little girl.  Playing.
Discovering something small in her corner of the towel.  Probably sand, or a grape.
Thinking about the day...the beauty of the day.  
God made this.  Amazing. 
Wanting some color on my white skin.
Missing Everett. 
Wishing he was here with me.  To sit.  To watch.  To enjoy.
The beauty of the day. 

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Angela Shields.

Dean-o-mite

Brandon Baker,

His dance moves are like his haircut, high and tight.
Nationally recognized as a good time.
Born with nine lives and never lands on his feet.

Has no cell phone, pick up lines, or bank account.
but has a dozen girlfriends. 
Doesn't have a car, a license or the ability to drive
but hangs in KC, Houston, Chicago, Memphis, and Orlando.

He quells awkward moments as often as he brings them.
His comedy is original.  Say the name out loud, Bob Saget.
I dare you not to smile.

If you meet this man only allow him one hug and enjoy as much of him as you can.
He is the simplest of men but has the ability to transcend age, sex and race.

Love,
Matt

P.S. His dance moves could also be like his glasses. Dirty.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Matt Myers.

Pico and Gallo

wood you think it true

if i told you well thought through 

i simply love you

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Haiku by Dustin Whitehead.

this is the afternoon

this is the afternoon
i say
with all intention of honesty
that i will peak my anger

i will throw sand at the trees
stars at the moon
heart at the brain
and soul to the floor

this is the afternoon
i say
with all intintion of irony
that i will sleep while walking

i will snore and wake the daisies
pee on the watermelons
dance by myself
and never go to bed

this is the afternoon
i say
with all intention of hope
that i will forget the world

i will fly through the sky
swim in the soil
make good all that is bad
and never say goodbye

this is the afternoon
i say

Photo by Jenna Weaver.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

long hair had the boy

jump into the sky

this is life under the sun 

always rockin' out

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Haiku by Dustin Whitehead.

walking away, i won't

 

wandering antelope headed greasy avenger, i call her

she doesn't pick up 

where we left off, we didn't 

the problem was always her negativity

remember 

the dancing in the fields i ask, she doesn't

'fuckit' is my reaction

on two counts

so after the sex and the walking away, i don't

that's always my mistake

passivity 

or whatever judgement decides to call my general mood

following harsh reality there is always an

awkward still stare

not my fault of course, it is

letting it all go and moving on 

freedom

within the dark that will never become our world, it's getting there

 'fuckit' screams our insubstantial relationship

on two counts

and after the sex and the never giving up, it does

Photo by Adam Peterson.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Steps

Climb them up to your door, warm and red to welcome you home

the place where you find comfort in the fondness of memories shared there.

Or is it a new door? Not quite a home yet, but no matter. The vivid red speaks of new beginnings, an assurance that memories will soon be made.

At the base of the staircase, clinging and trailing, 

a woody-stemmed vine climbs the steps and entangles the rails

In the summertime it will be lush and green, yellow roses opening up and sprinkling the steps with their petals and fragrance

We will pick them and bring a piece of the outside in

The sunlight will filter in through the open door and spread out over the porch

glittering the landscape through its blending and blurring, lending a new perspective.

Where is the ground? the sky? Follow the steps to find them

or the vines that will grow to meet the sky. All they need are a few more steps. 

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Nadia Hassler.

Simple Man

I may seem simple amidst the storms of this life,

but no matter what collects around me

I will stand simply waiting on you.

The walls may explode

and the gray areas will absolutely distort truth

but my walk will not falter

and I will step closer.

Look at me, a frail man,

a skinny kid warrior

ready for you.

Always ready for you.

Im nothing but bones

but that means you see it all.

No veins,

no heart,

no brains to get in the way

just my bare for you.

Look at what's around me.

Crazy kid circle drawings,

a life so nervous it couldn't stay in the lines.

Im simply a mess for you.

Ill keep on this way till you join me

Photo by Steve Brian. Words by Jordan Shappell.

Dandy Irony

When I was a child I wished on a bit of fluff and blew.

At fifty I married the man I'd taken so long to find and appreciate.

He tells me dandelions are dangerous weeds.

I obediently pull them and leave them choking between our rows of strawberries.

I have no more need for them

Photo by Sadie Myers.  Words by Stephanie Peters.

Nakit Baby

"That boy be nakit," the weird one says.
And the other looks and they both still their gaze, for they have never seen such a proud naked baby.

"Sheeeeiiiiit we should all git nakit like dat."  the lengthy one exclaims, sipping whiskey from a mason jar.  "I know datid feel real good in da Ganeveeal heat."  He smiles.  His teeth went on a pleasure cruise years ago and forgot to purchase a return ticket.  They are lounging on a hammock down in the Bahamas.  They win.  He loses.  Depending on how you look at it.

"What y'all said.  You gittin nakit?!"  A woman wearing cut off jean shorts and a tube top with sequins making out the shape of what appears to be a decapitated dolphin steps out from behind some small palm trees.  She has just relieved herself.  She had a large breakfast; an Old English 32oz bottled beer in a paper bag and a hotdog made last night by a seventeen year old gas station clerk.  The highlight of her breakfast was that both the cheese and chili dispensers were full this morning.  She got the most for her money; a hand full of change leftover from yesterdays earnings.

"Ain't no one gittin nakit!" the tall one barks.  "Now zip up yo zip, fo I take my pleasures."  He opens his toothless mouth and lets out an entourage of various laughing noises in no particular order expecting his friends laughter to follow.  It doesn't.  They win.  He loses.  Depending on how you look at it.

The weird one turns.  "Well, you'd haveta git nakit to take your pleasures wouldntya?"

The tall one ignores him.  "Let's go skinny dippin.  I ain't done that since I was young and dumb."

"You ain't young no mo but you sure are... uh... uh... I forgot the two things you said." says the weird one.

The female member of this trio has been sitting on the curb counting a stack of pennies.  She stands putting the sixteen coins in her pocket.  "I ain't never scared of gettin naykitwet, let's go." She starts walking swiftly down the sidewalk her hips awkwardly shifting from side to side.

"Naykitwet?"

"She want's to go skinny dippin.  Let's go!" The tall one calls back over his shoulder while running after her, his whiskey spilling from it's glass.  "Okay!  Imma commin!" 

The weird one looks back at the baby in the window one last time before taking off after them.  "Good idea little man.  Good idea."

Photo by Matt Whitehead.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

An Eccentric Apparition

Beclouded is the dance silhouette.
And how it dances! Expanding through air
studded with experiences, shining.
The person and its phantom reversing
roles, practicing polished poses, discreet.
Acting out tomorrow’s incidentals,
perfecting those responses, avoiding
surprises, fathoming the unknown future
through poised body language. And then she stops,
eyes fall to floor, mirroring the image--
her beclouded doppelganger looks up
and asks: How far down the rabbit hole
do you want to go?

Photo by Steve Brian. Words by Ciara Brewer.

Sky Encouragement

Hoooooollllllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyy

Ssssshhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

iiiiii

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

Dare be me, for a moment,

and I promise your world will look different.

You have no such thing as I do.

The courage of my blood you dream of in your wild wiliest wildest dreams and fantasies and imaginings.

I go forth without thought and venture the sky

you hold on deep to your dirt and earth.

'for rocks are safer,' you mutter foolishly and plant your toes into the mud.

sticking to the ground is your raison d'etre,

but the French are pussies and love shallow, sturdy ground.

Find me with the blue and the light and the sky

and the dream you always have and the dare you never practice.

I wake up many times a day and see your slumber fantasies in sunlight.

It does not take reckless to destroy more

because wrecks happen on ground as well.

But for once set your arms to soar

and try the purpose in your heart.

Im not saying we were meant to fly

(because we all know that we all fall)

but our stomachs are meant to drop

and throats are supposed to be choked

and hearts must stop

try it up here instead. 

Photo by Fred Watford.  Words by Jordan Shappell.

The Bamboo Vamp

She lures her lover
in royal fibers,
hues of desire,
visible only by caress
of lips in anticipation.

Lips quivering
from foot to thigh
through chakra cascades
until tongue touches lip.
Tasting her aura,
electrifying bud,
salivating mind,
converging energies;
gently dissipating
her mask of animal.

Photo by Caroline Näslund. Words by Ciara Brewer.

"The Fight Is Never Over"

I will probably die in a sword fight.

It's something I have in common 

with a gladiator or two.

They'll lay my body in

a field of green grass

and cover it in birdseed.

The birds will first eat my eyes.

Then they'll steal my wallet.

And buy drugs with my credit card.

I'm not talking about heroin.

I'm talking about cough syrup.

A lot of birds have the whooping cough.

Like the whooping crane.

He sits and waits silently in the shallow water.

Here, fishy fishy fishy.

Photo by Sadie Myers. Words by Randy Conner.

Yes, I'm different

I've felt this way for a long time now

before i knew what it was

a way that i could hear

a wave that i could catch

it was mine,

my uniqueness

yes, they've known him to cry

or make believe alone

blasting Brandy on the boombox

creating dance routines in the basement

jumping for joy when his shoes came in the mail

sometimes playing dress up.

Yes, he's gabby

talking with friends during class

the crossing guard's daughter's boyfriend.

The sweetheart.

A gentleman.

Yes, he's polite

my boyish innocence.

A darling.

A better dancer than the girls

A very patient boy

My whimsical humor.

His pretty eyelashes.

My painted nails.

His random, my magic.

Yes, he's different

Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Rashaad Hall.

let go; a reflection skin to sky

smell of an afternoon

spent with magic hair blown smile:

she danced under the sky

Self portrait by Sadie Myers.  Haiku by Dustin Whitehead.

Between

You will find me in the (inbetween)

there I sit, (undiscovered) awaiting the brushing touch of the back of your hand

your finger tips (lingering) on the back of my skin

I am not graceful in my time waiting for you.

I screw things up (a) (lot)

I singe my purity at the edges and tear through what I am supposed to be

I want to be the image you have of me

but (most certainly) I will fall short here in the (inbetween)

(Im hoping you) don't accept my apology for what I've become

(but instead) love me till the color restores in my cheeks and my breath turns sweetly warm

return me back to one side (of dark) or the other (of light), but don't leave me (be)here(tween)

I can't make the grey nights and dull sounds

I can't make the stale taste of air

I feel (yes) but (no)t one way (of light) or the other (of dark)

The inbetween is all that is between us

my time here shapes me to wait for you

in its hands I form into something for you

I hate the inbetween

(but) I need it for you

for one day, after all the light and dark

there will only be

youme

and nothing between.

Sketch by Caroline Näslund.  Words by Jordan Shappell.

"The Name of This Poem Is"

I imagine that life is a road

Let me start over

I imagine that life is a swirling

cloud of moths hovering

over an (almost) brand new

Cadillac 

I imagine that life 

is just a series of parties

where people ingest gold

and try to one-up their

neighbors by having

a bigger swimming pool

I imagine, I'm sorry, WE imagine

that life is...

Sorry

It's hard to focus when you 

make that clicking sound

with your teeth

Sorry, not your teeth

I meant to say

Your childhood

Photo by Amanda Grupp. Words by Randy Conner.

The Torch Singer

Oh, the places I have been; dark, lonely, uncharted
So long in darkness that my eyes began to adjust
Adjusting so long that my body began to adapt
Adapting so long that my heart began to harden

In the distance

The birth of a star
The squashing of gas and dust in the middle of a cold dark cloud
Bringing forth illumination
Lighting the darkest corners of life
No shadow left to conceal
No dusty corners in which to hide

Now, no matter my travels, she burns bright enough to lead me home:
my northern star

The point by which I navigate all of life’s journey’s
She does not lay in wait
She moves,
her light tracing and trailing her path

It remains that wherever she stands:
there lies home
here, there, or at the end of the universe.

Photo by Steve Brian. Words by Chris Sullivan.

i learn a little from a shadow in an alley

i learn a little from a shadow in an alley
each day sort of
glorifies
the previous
life is always ascending
that's what is necessary about it

sometimes the darkness comes where we least expect it
sometimes the light shines from behind us
nothing is predictable

the future is a priceless study on chiaroscuro

moving through each chapter i take deep breaths
i hold on to what i know
and what i've known
perfectly aware that it will never be the same

something is ending
something else is beginning

it's simple

like a dog chasing a car

what i read in a sign may read differently to another
i am the only me

i will follow the light and the shadow
i will do my best to interpret the signs
i will spread light
i will cast shadow


in fifteen years i will reflect on something that happened five years from now
things will change
life is always ascending
that's what is necessary about it

at this moment i see birds in the grass
they are plain and they move fast and they are singing
i believe that's what it's called
maybe someday i will call it something else
but for now

the birds are singing

Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

BUTT i don't even know you (this title is a work in progress which will eventually be whatever it wants to be)

morning after head melting power walk up steps of stone and sandy peaks
i found stillness
in a bob or a house

    cat
        that is

as it looked towards me i wondered if it wanted to say something
maybe if it hadn't been for my crew of sweaty followers that little bugger would have played fetch with me
the plants were alive and so was that bob or house

    cat
        that is

although
much like me he had an agenda and a family and the afternoon to look forward to
so as i reached out a hand he clawed his way to distance

maybe i don't know him or his history but dammit i wanted to 
my head hurt and my body was wet with the sun but i wanted connection
as i often do

i am a climbing being
i am simple
i am merely a bob or house

    cat
        that is

Photo by Caroline Näslund.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Let's get weird.

What if the calm before the storm happened with my agenda in mind?  Well, it DID.  That's precisely why I ask.  I prove my own points because that's what I DO.  I set it AND I spike it.  Take say, this pineapple gum that I'm sticking to the bottom of my shoe right now.  My karmic future sees only silver lining bro.  I see all the stops and call all your shots for you.  Vodka! See?  I kick first and drink water never.  My name was Bruce Lee until I changed it to YOUR MOM IS BRUCE LEE.  Bam!  Pay attention because I rock shit.  Like Bruce Springstein.  I used a second Bruce because I'm rolling through my mental Rolodex and I'm chilling in the B's.  I'm floating through my lazy river of B awesomeness, DUDE.  I'll hop out in a minute and dry off next to Charlie Chaplin on a bench because THAT'S HOW I ROLL.  I get DOWN.  I'll hang with Don Corlione and Don King in the SAME AFTERNOON. Test me but don't doubt me.  I'll go for a drive with Fara Faucet while listening to Fiona Apple.  I'll lasso an Iguana Indiana Jones style in Ingrid Michaelson's BACK YARD!  Then I'll go to her front yard and ICE SKATE with my hommie I THINK YOU GET THE POINT.   Now are we going out tonight or what, bro? Let's get weird...

Image by Steve Brian.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.