The Road Calls me

A poem inspired by, and which may define, the Roam:

She asked where and why I was going?
What was I running from, looking for, hoping to see?
Why, she asked tearfully, why do you have to leave?
Leaning back I let go the key
Then I answer
The road calls me
A lover’s whisper in my ear saying
Come to me. Follow me.
Ride me like I’ve never been ridden
Position yourself between my guiding lines and
Push
Harder than ever
Don’t look back
Keep your eyes on me
Move faster than the speed of thought
Cause if you think…you wont
But take your time
Cause if you don’t, you’ll miss the purpose
Don’t’ fly through the journey
Taste me
Lick asphalt. Kiss concrete
Suck exhaust till exhausted
Then rest your weary bones in my median
Never leave me
They say your running from your demons but you see them, Face them
Everytime you look in the mirror, do you see him?
Not a demon. Your father
Gone 13 years but still here you look just like him
I started smoking at his bedside beside him
Watching him die of cancer
Lit 2 cigarettes
1 for him, 1 for me
having found the answer
of how to commit suicide
slowly

The road calls me
Like a father
Teasing a child that’s too scared to jump off the high board
Who starts to walk back but instead moves forward to face the teasing
“Daddy watch me” he says before leaping
as feet leave safety for uncertainty
Faith overcomes Fear becoming Bravery
And now he’s happy that he’s falling
Free falling
Feeling free for the minute suspended as water rushes up to meet him
Will he smash or splash?
No one knows…so
Daddy watch me
I’m leaping
Falling horizontally toward a horizon I’ll never reach
Wind whipping passed me at furious speeds
Will uncertainty pull me to earth to smash?
Or can I fly faithfully into the sun to splash?

The road calls me
Like a mother
Trying to teach lessons only experience can make you learn
Teach me mother
Teach me love
Teach me tired
Teach me fear
Teach me while I’m here
Why I’m here
Teach me to reach
Teach me to teach, no better
Teach me to learn
She says
The lesson’s of the road aren’t elusive my son
You will learn at every turn
Teach yourself!!!

The road calls me
Like a bully
Like a child curiously
Like a stranger dangerous with the danger of strangeness
Like chocolate served on lava
A fiery sweetness
Or shy Amazon
Uncertainly massive
An unrecognizable song
Beautiful but deadly
Medley too clear for foggy morning air
Coming from over there, nowhere and everywhere
Don’t know if its damnation or salvation
Worse
Don’t know if you really care

The road calls me
Like it did at 16
when I left behind all family and friends
The road calls me
20 years later
and I answer
once again

Now she understands
So I turn the key
And leave...

Elliot Axiom 2008

In Retrospect by Request:

Request by Tiha scene stealer (IDK just sounded cool when I wrote it.)

Taking pictures while driving

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT TAKE PICTURES WHILE DRIVING! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU THAT’S DANGEROUS MAN!!! DON’T DO IT.

If you take pictures while your driving, in the words of Tiha “…you might fail into the guard rail”

So I did take pictures while I was driving in the safest way that I could. No cars near or close (you tend to swerve when doing anything besides just driving as evidenced by cell phone users being 4 times more likely to have an accident) So I made sure I was as close to being clear of all vehicles as possible. Second I never, ever looked through the viewfinder OR at the display screen. The first pics I took from the car were when I was parked or standing still at a light. This gave me a perspective. I knew what I would most likely capture with the camera and at what positions. When I saw something, and if I had time to catch it, I would turn on the camera and, without looking through the view finder on the display screen, slow down and snap several photos by placing the camera in one of the pre-determined position. I kept my eyes on the road, a hand on the wheel and only checked the pictures when I stopped. If something was interesting enough and I missed it I would stop, or turn around to go back and get it. I made sure my camera was set to take action pictures otherwise all I got were blurs. Not to mention that many times I didn’t get the picture I wanted and a lot of times all I got was the car.

Note: Even with all these precautions I damn near ended up in the guardrail several times (and the rumble strips kept me out of the woods a couple more) so again.

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT TAKE PICTURES WHILE DRIVING! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU THAT’S DANGEROUS MAN!!! DON’T DO IT.

So there you go Tiha…oh and here you go.

In retrospect by request

During the Roam there have been some events and other miscellaneous happenings that I didn’t think were blog worthy. I guess that aspiring to be a writer/poet I tend to write about tings that inspire me to or I think are somehow significant for one reason or another. With all of that said I have had some requests for blogs about some of these events from others (one in particular being the queen of pragmatism Tiah) and so here is the first in retrospect by request.

Request 1. From Naturally Alise also filed in the Goals and Dreams section.

Bury Me @ Midnight is a poem that I was inspired to write, as many poets are, by several muses. One of those inspirations was Miguel Pinero one of the founders and premier poets of the Nuyorican Poetry Café. Pinero’s poem “Spread My Ashes on The Lower East Side” is one of the most inspired pieces I have ever read. But I’m strange like that. This poem along with the chorus from the Biggie and Pac song Runnin one particular line “I wonder if they’ll laugh when I am dead” and a combination of mythology, religious doctrine, personal preferences and poetic wishes combined to form this poem. I wanted desperately to perform it at the Nuyorican, the Mecca of spoken word poetry, more than that I wanted to slam it. On a Wednesday night we slammed. Me and 19 other incredible poets at the Nuyorican. The format for a Wednesday slam there is 2 poems per poet. All 20 poets slam in the first round and are scored by 3 judges in a range of 0 – 10.0. The café itself is nothing special, as it shouldn’t be; poetry is the reason people line up around the block to get in not the Nuyorican. Bar to the right as you enter bathrooms to the left wood floors and exposed brick walls in many places. Stairs to the left next to the sound booth lead upstairs to the balcony. Mobile stage was in the rear of the club that is moved as necessary and chairs lined on 2 sides leaving an aisle to the stage. The chairs were full of poets and spectators. The first round was long and full of fire. Poets spit fire and ice. Love and hate. Discussed tender touches and brutal. When the round was over the 3 judges had selected 4 poets to continue. The poet who won the final round would have the chance to compete for a coveted spot on the Nuyorican Slam Team the coming Friday. 3 of the 4 poets, S.L.A.P., Tongo and me were within a point of each other. And all happily nervous. I had the highest score after the first round so I went scheduled to go last. The first poet spit and received an incredible score but not high enough to overtake the rest of us. Then Tongo went and spit a poem with of fire and excitement that sent the crown into a frenzy. His score reflected their enthusiasm. 29.4 he now had the lead. S.L.A.P. (something like a poet) another NC poet in NYC took the stage and was in rare form. Her poem built on the energy Tongo had evoked in the crowd and her poem was magnificent in content and performance. Again the crowd went wild. 29.6 S.L.A.P. had just taken the highest score of the night. I had to follow her. I was told by a the coach of the Bull City Slam Team which poem I should perform in this situation. The one that had received my highest score in the past. Not necessarily my best poem but the best received. That poem is entitled Pictures and is one of my favorite pieces on social commentary. It is my best received and highest scoring piece. I performed Bury Me @ Midnight.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlLjd3ck3Dw I tried to remember the feeling I had when I wrote it. I tried to recall inspiration. I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. It immediately turned into butterflies in my stomach. I moved back from the mic, remembered to breath then fulfilled a dream, which I believed was mine but in all likelihood belonged to the poem. I spoke the lines…

“even though I said you couldn’t.
Please lay my legs in Brooklyn
that’s where I learned my stride

And even though they shouldn’t.
Every now and then they’ll walk in…
Pinero’s ashes spread on the lower east side”

…and felt a chill, connection and completion of a personal quest. The judges liked it. They gave it a perfect score of 30. It’s not about the points it’s about the poetry and I was blessed to grace the stage with true poets, incredible poets. I am glad that this poem was well received. Oh by the way I went on to slam that Friday to compete for the chance to compete for a spot on their slam team. I was the lowest scoring poet of the night. Fail! LOL but as I said earlier it’s not about the points it’s about the poetry and the request for this blog and the fulfilling of a dream.

So tell me, no matter how small or big it seems and with no reservations, what dreams have you fulfilled. Think hard sometimes after we fulfill them we forget that they once were dreams.

Goals and Dreams:
Timeline: Roaming south along route 321 after performances in Columbia, SC

Subject: Burying Ghosts

What are the things that make us human? Depends on who you ask. Scientist might say that it is anything from our opposable thumbs to our ability to reason. But what do those suckers know? They used to prescribe cigarettes. Theologist might call it a soul, a spirit something divine imparted to us from God. Can’t and don’t want to argue with that. Philosophers would cite the very asking of this question as proof that we are “above” the other animals of this planet. You ask me…I don’t know. One of those things, I believe, that does make us human is our memories. More importantly how we interpret and act because of them. Do animals regret passed mistakes, at least the ones they survive through? (I knew I shouldn’t have drunk from that watering hole! Damn alligator nearly bit my nose off) or lust for lovers who rejected or ate them? (“She said she wanted some head but this is…” thought the praying mantis to himself before he couldn’t think anymore) Do animals write poetry? Speaking of poetry a poem read in the movie G.I. Jane about an animal. I paraphrase:

I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself
I have seen a bird fall frozen dead from a bow
Without ever once having felt sorry for itself
Ever feel sorry for yourself? Ever regret or lust? Ever wish or miss? When I began this trip I knew that it was more than a poetry tour. It was a search. A journey whose purpose was and is the journey itself. A cathartic journey meant to do many things one of which is to lay some ghosts to rest. What ghosts? Would be the next logical question. Well not everything is for the eyes and thoughts of others. Let’s just say that not everything happens in the T.V. show formula of buildup, event, quick resolution and fairytale conclusion. That loss does lessen over time but neither loss nor time give a damn about length. I went to bury a ghost, some ghosts, in that small town I moved to from the big city. Unlike the valiant bird on the bow above I felt sorry for myself and needed to. I regretted, missed, and even wished all to no avail. Eventually I moved on but don’t know if I really did.

conflicting emotions

In Retrospect: 2
Timeline: Roaming south along route 321 after performances in Columbia, SC
Subject: Conflicting Emotions

How do these picture make you feel? Do they elicit any emotion at all? Why should they? They are just simple pictures of an agricultural product grown in the south taken on a cold dreary day. A field of something that is in all of our closets and probably on our bodies right this moment. It’s just cotton…right?

Greensboro

There was a magnificent event at the Renaissance Jazz Cafe in Greensboro. Hosted by the lovely ladies of Nubian-Empire. Some great poets, an exceptional band and food. Here are some of the pics from the event.

In Retrospect: 1
Timeline: Roaming south along route 321 after performances in Columbia, SC

Subject: Mocking symbols.

Tony Soprano, Mr. Pink (Reservoir Dogs), and/or any other number of gangster types in any number of movies will denigrate any number of ethnicities. This is not exclusive to those of African descent although the example I will use later is. Nikki (Joe Pesci) used Sam Rothstein’s (Deniro) religion like a damning curse of damnation in the movie Casino “You Jew motherfucker!” not to mention calling the Middle Eastern fences he sent stolen diamonds to “Sand niggers”. Spike Lee’s characters have used every racial slur ever conceived in his patented montages in several of his movies although to me it’s not quite the same but deserves a mention before I get to the next dude. Tarentino. He uses the word nigger in his movies more times than Dave Chappell and that’s hard to do. These movies all have a couple things in common. One is that they unapologetically use racial slurs, that is what it is, and two they are usually loved by the ethnicities that are slurred in them. How many black people love Goodfella’s even though Ray Liota jokes “you know who goes to jail? Nigger stick up men. You know why they go to jail. Cause they fall to sleep in the getaway car” I can only speak for me and those I know but a lot of black men love these and most mafia type movies despite the fact that the “heros” of these movies consider them less than human. LOL but I’m not going to go into tirade mode on this I just wanted to outline how common place and in many ways accepted the use of slurs and stereotypes are in our modern media. Nothing new mocking symbols have been employed in other mediums throughout history. Which only serves to illustrate why something like the below picture is/was acceptable enough to display out in plain all day everyday open sight. As I headed south along Route 321 this was one of the features that rose from the side of the road to greet me.(see pic)

cant see what I mean? Here’s a closer view.

See him in the red shirt and blue pants across from the gray clad confederate soldier? That ladies and gentlemen is a Lawn Jockey. I’ve never been called it and didn’t really know how the slur connected to Black people but now I do. I would actually like to think that maybe the lawn jockey was a mistake or oversight on the part of the owner/dealer. But there was some evidence that it wasnt such as the lawn jockey’s little cousins for sale less than 20 feet away and the conversation that I had with the proprietor concerning her wares. She was a heavy set white woman with a deep southern accent who walked out of the screen door onto the porch as I snapped these photos. She wanted to know why I was taking pictures. I told her that I was writing a book and that her collection was very interesting. She stared blankly at me after having me repeat myself several times. My attempts at talking more about the statues in order to work my way up to the significance of senor lawn jockey weren’t met with resistance or malevolence. They were met with silence. The woman walked back inside her home as I was asking questions but since she made me repeat myself earlier she might have been hard of hearing. Or even simpler she knew I wasn’t buying and so paid me no further attention. Either way I didn’t force the issue or try to guess at her feelings on lawn jockey significance. I took the pictures and decided to let those who view them to formulate their own opinions. So…when you see these pics what do you think?

Hiatus

First off apologies for not adding any new blogs or information. To make a long story short I have had to stop Roaming…at least for the moment. The recession, too much fun, bad planning, gremlins or any other reason you might think of or can imagine have for the time brought my all out Roam to a close. I would love to thank all the readers (Roamers, Cubers and everyone else who took the time to stop by), supporters (too many to name who have shown more love than can be expressed), and subjects (from statues to “drop it like it’s hot” dancers) for roaming with me. What happens now? Well two things. I will be posting an “In Retrospect” series, which will be comprised of posts that I couldn’t post due to 2 computers failing on me during the Roam. I will share with you the pictures taken during that time, poems that resulted from inspirations on the road, insights and events that occurred but I never noted. The posts will be dated so you can see which part of the journey they are related to and will follow me up to now. The other is that I will be ending this blog (don’t want to false advertise and I am not Roaming anymore) and starting a new one. That one will be strange, lol and have a year running life. You will have to read it to know why. I will inform readers of when this blog will end and give information for the other one for those interested Anyway, again I thank you all and hope that I will be able to come back to this blog in the very near future for a new and longer Roam I don’t want to stop but…hey here are some pictures of the road.