tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38810147314292437132024-02-07T10:49:28.886-06:00From The MiddleA writing place.
Nothing more, nothing less.D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-67039012339808413632012-01-03T17:45:00.003-06:002012-01-03T17:45:50.350-06:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">I can now be found @:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">swollenroad.blogspot.com.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">This blog will go black in the coming weeks. I appreciate your readership and hope to see over at the new digs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Thanks,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">D.C. Lutz</span></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-51912443360822104302011-11-03T22:09:00.000-05:002011-11-03T22:09:13.129-05:00God<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I sip coffee at a table<br />
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Listening to the same songs<br />
The same songs<br />
The same notes<br />
I listen to the same songs<br />
Instead of making people beautiful<br />
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Which they are</div>
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Underneath the stench of cigarettes and piss</div>
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I should have smoked weed</div>
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Or done something</div>
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Or been something</div>
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I should have been<br />
Beautiful<br />
This<br />
Should have been beautiful<br />
We should have been<br />
God<br />
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</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-82558219802080385002011-10-17T00:03:00.001-05:002011-10-17T00:03:20.805-05:00Never Roses<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLbLr0CtvW3aV2BECdQNgqp_UqLFSM876RjpyFt9RMgyUHrN4T9Z1vSraJyX6dC9BWR9N2l8BS-ttqEHLQZlyAwrjWk14UciFEGUuayqkWzuxEdPJWNveL5uIMoC8UA-KGlrfoqwdyD4/s1600/shot_1312466075449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjLbLr0CtvW3aV2BECdQNgqp_UqLFSM876RjpyFt9RMgyUHrN4T9Z1vSraJyX6dC9BWR9N2l8BS-ttqEHLQZlyAwrjWk14UciFEGUuayqkWzuxEdPJWNveL5uIMoC8UA-KGlrfoqwdyD4/s320/shot_1312466075449.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Shadows</div>
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Cut from the glass of ceilings</div>
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And church windows</div>
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Directly from the sun</div>
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Cut from you</div>
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And me</div>
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And the corners </div>
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Of well lit boxes</div>
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Stacked</div>
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Between lips</div>
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And fingers</div>
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And the back seats of midnight</div>
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After too much to drink</div>
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Cut from only sons</div>
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And their mother's daughters</div>
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The light hearts of love notes</div>
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And lilies</div>
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But never roses</div>
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<br /></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-83466172067280993662011-10-06T00:58:00.003-05:002011-10-11T23:12:24.126-05:00Bullets<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wood burns like yesterday in the hands of children<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Turning minutes into lifetimes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">As they carve themselves into them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Leaving marks of freedom<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And daring god to wash them away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Daring the streets to stay quiet<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And the flickering window panes to stay open<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Chanting and stomping <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Like Pan and his Indians<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">They don't know </span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That none of it is true</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Until you get to close </span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To the ticking clock<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Inside the belly of a beast<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">They don't know</span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The cowboys have cancer</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The range does too<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It is in the barbed wire fences<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">On which young men are hung <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And the old dirt roads that get them there<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So mamma,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Don't let your babies grow up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Because we are hangmen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Angry men<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Empty spaces beneath rib cages<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Ticks of the clock in our own bellies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">They don't know</span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The meek </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">don't always inherit the earth</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And that the strong<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Are sometimes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Silent<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">They don't know</span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">People a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">re animals</span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wolves <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">In sheep's clothing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Like needles and dark corners<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Our streets are full of ghosts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Their pockets are empty<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">While god is at war over oil<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't want to tell them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">About bullets<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Submitted to <a href="http://www.dversepoets.com/">dverse poets</a> open link night</span></div>
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D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-23745554979280221992011-10-05T22:41:00.002-05:002011-10-11T00:23:43.707-05:00Men and Chains<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhaUvLS9Ks2HfjwyoLdyhxqSkTHxhQMZmmk7HAjBc7u9V7KXEIwRJhHK9EFBIXeaEyVoCKSH51MrkHm0i9u_db4WapUyDtqR9slsd_kZf6VOlRboG-Ye3gGS0z19vqR4Fnhj1ucKTM5s/s1600/Tree+on+road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhaUvLS9Ks2HfjwyoLdyhxqSkTHxhQMZmmk7HAjBc7u9V7KXEIwRJhHK9EFBIXeaEyVoCKSH51MrkHm0i9u_db4WapUyDtqR9slsd_kZf6VOlRboG-Ye3gGS0z19vqR4Fnhj1ucKTM5s/s200/Tree+on+road.jpg" width="191" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The road comes early</span></div>
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Like its been traveling all night</div>
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Beat</div>
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<span> </span>On blacktop</div>
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<span> </span>And the grit
of photographs</div>
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<span> </span>The pitted
glare of the sun</div>
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Breaks tree topped hills</div>
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With every push of light</div>
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Every push of mile beneath his feet</div>
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He drives deeper into the falling sky</div>
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And rising dirt</div>
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Where it is just the sound of his sweat and steel</div>
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That makes the difference</div>
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He drives harder</div>
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At the wild inside </div>
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That cuts holes in his gut</div>
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The way time cuts men into a million tiny pieces</div>
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The way broken bottles build rear view mirrors</div>
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Long roads </div>
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And men with chains</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><i>This is submitted to <a href="http://www.dversepoets.com/">dverse poets pub</a> open link night</i></span></div>
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D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-53673137482210060952011-09-16T23:44:00.000-05:002011-09-17T19:53:04.318-05:00Stunted<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
my hands don't work the way they used to<br />
stiff<br />
tight<br />
and swollen<br />
my mind feels the same<br />
my mind feels<br />
my hands work harder than they used to<br />
for the same<br />
my mind<br />
the same<br />
and for what it is worth<br />
I am not<br />
due to the work<br />
due to my hands<br />
due to time<br />
and its toll<br />
its bridge<br />
of the gap<br />
its wrinkle<br />
that appears to be more<br />
than just a wrinkle<br />
a canyon it seems<br />
and I am <em>no</em> Evil Knievel<br />
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D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-52210588014945572362011-09-16T23:31:00.001-05:002011-09-20T22:38:05.996-05:00And We Drive<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
it is waves I am under<br />
but something heavier than oceans<br />
and the time it takes to cross them<br />
the time it takes to let them go<br />
the time it takes to make mountains<br />
from what is on the other side<br />
mountains<br />
that come from nowhere on eastern highways<br />
blacktop towns<br />
and their charm<br />
their white houses<br />
their main streets<br />
and she waves to me<br />
as if to say hello<br />
but something tells me it is goodbye<br />
her eyes<br />
and so we drive<br />
to anywhere but here<br />
we drive<br />
until we find water<br />
and wonder how far it is <br />
to the other side<br />
till we land<br />
till grains of sand become something else<br />
something <br />
worthwhile<br />
something other than mountains<br />
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D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-31859307325430940182011-08-02T21:03:00.002-05:002011-08-22T21:37:45.633-05:00Sailing Ships<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wih4XWN36fc/TjikgSJDCmI/AAAAAAAABrU/cdm5uTYSK-8/s1600/IMG_7745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wih4XWN36fc/TjikgSJDCmI/AAAAAAAABrU/cdm5uTYSK-8/s320/IMG_7745.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div closure_uid_iyu4x0="166">Rising up</div><br />
From fallen buildings<br />
And stripped skylines<br />
From dark spaces<br />
Brick lined rooms<br />
In basements of white houses<br />
Where there is everything<br />
In the mass of destruction<br />
And like many men<br />
We emerge with<br />
Our hands raised<br />
And callused<br />
Raised<br />
And on fire<br />
Crossing waters and oceans and seas<br />
Delivering our native soil,<br />
Which is just dirt<br />
And burning buildings<br />
And broken windows<br />
And empty eyes<br />
Across waters and oceans and seas,<br />
We leave pieces of ourselves <br />
Just to find home<br />
Yet still<br />
People on fire<br />
People in pieces<br />
Sailing ships across waters<br />
Across oceans<br />
Across seas<br />
Seeing only black and white beneath bows<br />
Red,<br />
Beneath their boots<br />
And the weight of searching<br />
Of finding home<br />
Someday,<br />
When the winds have stopped<br />
And the night has been washed clean with light<br />
When we have lowered our skulls<br />
And our crossbones<br />
Our campaign will end<br />
It is then that we will stand still <br />
In calm water<br />
Hands on fire<br />
We will fuse our pieces into places<br />
Where they are not so small<br />
Where they are not so broken<br />
Where they are<br />
Children<br />
Mothers<br />
And Fathers<br />
Not angry men <br />
Plowing ships into shores<br />
No<br />
When the wind stops<br />
We will find our place<br />
Among the pieces <br />
Beneath the shadows of our sails<br />
We will find color<br />
Through clear water<br />
Through common ground<br />
Slipping fingers into fingers<br />
We will find home<br />
<div closure_uid_iyu4x0="172">With hands open</div><div closure_uid_iyu4x0="173">And hearts on fire</div><br />
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<div closure_uid_iyu4x0="169"><em closure_uid_iyu4x0="168">This poem was written for an ekphrasis event held at <a href="http://www.hotshopsartcenter.com/">Hot Shops</a> in Omaha,Ne. The piece I chose to write about (picture) was created by <a href="http://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=123131484399814&id=438365665710#!/pages/Gallery-at-Prouty-Place/438365665710">Ron Manabat</a> and is entitled "Coral". I urge you to check out both Hot Shops and Ron Manabat.</em></div><div closure_uid_iyu4x0="169"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_iyu4x0="169"><em closure_uid_iyu4x0="261" closure_uid_z6bag2="117">This Poem is has been linked to <a href="http://dversepoets.com/2011/08/02/openlinknight-3/">dVerse-poets pub</a> "Open Link Night"</em></div></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-12168760744886815112011-08-02T18:10:00.000-05:002011-08-02T18:10:37.881-05:00Indie Ink Feature<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" closure_uid_vexkz4="127" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_vexkz4="127" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am very pleased to have a poem of mine chosen for today's Indie Ink Feature. Thanks Indie Ink!</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_vexkz4="127" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_vexkz4="127" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrRMACCrSK-C-yyfR6rWXzUa_4Y4q09u_RkiNc9L5YZXFRMP1xu-01E0UtEGepvRDG_BXtqvtuOd0q6OtTQW4cx_pulYI5HWik9xMmLpnpdUUSw2foJw5Jk8O8uhzp95Qv7iiV1k-Fjg/s1600/II+Write+Well+Button.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrRMACCrSK-C-yyfR6rWXzUa_4Y4q09u_RkiNc9L5YZXFRMP1xu-01E0UtEGepvRDG_BXtqvtuOd0q6OtTQW4cx_pulYI5HWik9xMmLpnpdUUSw2foJw5Jk8O8uhzp95Qv7iiV1k-Fjg/s320/II+Write+Well+Button.gif" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-80358588662427283972011-07-12T22:14:00.002-05:002011-07-13T06:49:00.956-05:00North Valley<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQh4W-Ie-nIDu3bpYyhKYwWfr9oftKQ-BWikvWuEXno2g5QiH103oLJjQBcH7ZUoe99Mdj9WgPGPN4hjBLsy4_EYqeoLwy3I3f2nbqP11cMa9f6BNIW1bbNtGrsyySDmGiEF9TkW6vBA/s1600/IMG_7641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQh4W-Ie-nIDu3bpYyhKYwWfr9oftKQ-BWikvWuEXno2g5QiH103oLJjQBcH7ZUoe99Mdj9WgPGPN4hjBLsy4_EYqeoLwy3I3f2nbqP11cMa9f6BNIW1bbNtGrsyySDmGiEF9TkW6vBA/s320/IMG_7641.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was stepping through walls</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Through time</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And standing on concrete</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Much harder than anticipated</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was stepping into heartbreak</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Into the lives of boys</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And the place they became men</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The moment they didn't</div><div style="text-align: justify;">North Valley Chapel</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Up just another dirt road</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Un-assuming </div><div style="text-align: justify;">But a road all its own</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And to the side</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Amongst some tall weed and tree</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It sits<br />
A sanctuary without wall</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Without window</div><div style="text-align: justify;">No stained glass and scripture</div><div style="text-align: justify;">No pulpit</div><div style="text-align: justify;">No preacher, prophet or penance</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A structure without structure</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But not without strength</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Built by boys</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">By Josh<br />
Sam</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Ben</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">And Aaron</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Built by hands that never knew them<br />
And hearts to remember them<br />
And we sat, my son and I, as I told him the story</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Of how things sometimes happen</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">That we cannot control</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpvNoZURBYu1VA4LeEQR0sc66xq4SuD-THjH6IahI169eouCqepXlB8kfzR6bP2XsVKxVg2qyd0BcjIS3a4ht3E0UjiDMW2TpcwzM7aBnV-3CDQ0Kys5SuARH8sG8FteAmNlKQdIFNiI/s1600/IMG_7638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpvNoZURBYu1VA4LeEQR0sc66xq4SuD-THjH6IahI169eouCqepXlB8kfzR6bP2XsVKxVg2qyd0BcjIS3a4ht3E0UjiDMW2TpcwzM7aBnV-3CDQ0Kys5SuARH8sG8FteAmNlKQdIFNiI/s320/IMG_7638.JPG" width="201" /></a>He understood</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Boys had died here</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That the wood on which we rested</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Was cut from that burden</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Just as trees had been cut from the valley</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And chimney stones pulled from the sky</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Burying men that were yet to be</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And what became of them was this place<br />
Where one might find god</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Or solace</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Or peace</div>Or just a place to put a memory<br />
This Chapel in the North Valley<br />
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<em>North Valley Chapel at Little Sioux Scout Ranch. In 2008, 4 boys were killed and 48 others wounded after a tornado struck the camp--- <a href="http://www.ketv.com/news/16579276/detail.html">http://www.ketv.com/news/16579276/detail.html</a></em><br />
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Submitted for <a href="http://onestoppoetry.com/">One Shot Wednesday</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-67820062766474596982011-05-17T09:00:00.000-05:002011-05-17T09:00:33.051-05:00Candy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">She looks just as she did yesterday<br />
Which was eight years ago<br />
Hiccups and all <br />
Sweet cheeks, sweet breathe<br />
Sleeping as if she were candy<br />
Pure<br />
Simple <br />
Nothing more or less<br />
Than perfect<br />
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</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-84931255706469211112011-05-11T09:30:00.002-05:002011-05-11T09:36:13.991-05:00Waiting For Rockets<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">He sleeps on old cushions<br />
And I sip warmed coffee <br />
Waiting for something <br />
Waiting for rockets<br />
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He dreams of wild children<br />
Pink toenails and playgrounds<br />
Where there is nothing<br />
But swings kissing suns<br />
<br />
Dirty faced kids <br />
Are no longer angry<br />
Throwing stones and sticks<br />
At the gods for answers<br />
<br />
No, Swings <em>do</em> kiss suns<br />
And arms of young astronauts<br />
Do let go <br />
If only for the moment<br />
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Grazing moons and stars<br />
As they return home<br />
Before we even knew <br />
That they had been gone<br />
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It is all too much <br />
For a young boy to know<br />
So he dreams on old cushions<br />
While I wait for rockets<br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;"><em>for One Shot Wednesday at <u>onestoppoetry.com</u></em></span><br />
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</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-79893962755228474222011-05-02T12:03:00.001-05:002011-09-05T22:14:22.349-05:00At Times<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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At times I drink too much<br />
So someday, my children might know who I am<br />
So I might find my way into it<br />
Of being Child<br />
Of being dreams on mountains<br />
Reaching as far as small arms can<br />
Small arms wrapping the world a thousand times over<br />
Just to see what it feels like to own something so perfect<br />
To hold everything, all at once before it gets too big<br />
And arms grow tiny <br />
And hands can only hold on to what is there<br />
Gripped tightly between fingers and palms<br />
Squeezing minutes from hours<br />
While days drip into cliffs and raging rivers<br />
Cutting clean the sides of mountains while I sleep<br />
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D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-7369504914638067372011-04-29T08:51:00.000-05:002011-04-29T08:51:07.771-05:00Dragonflies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Lookin out over this town <br />
Tryin to find the beauty<br />
That place between the factories, the haze of late August<br />
Off 9th Avenue and its road to riches. <br />
Where 20 bucks gets you nothin but lost time <br />
And a pull of the lever leaves you emptier than before<br />
All busted knees and boots on blacktop<br />
Street corner standin beggin for something I just aint got<br />
But on this hill, far away from that <br />
I’m smokin cigarettes and sippin beer from a coffee mug<br />
Watchin the dragon flies maneuver as if that’s all there is,<br />
Beatin the breeze to get what’s yours<br />
And maybe that’s it<br />
Maybe that’s the beauty<br />
But it’s broken up by folks and their cars<br />
Afraid of shutin off the engines and steppin outside<br />
To feel the heat <br />
To help me find beauty<br />
Among hot tar <br />
And endless rail yards<br />
Stuck behind windshields and locked doors<br />
Just crackin the windows to toss out the trash<br />
And their guilt<br />
The interruption only lasts a minute<br />
But seems like an eternity<br />
Because the mechanics of their day and its noise <br />
Do not belong here<br />
On this hill<br />
Where I smoke cigarettes and sip beer from a coffee mug<br />
Searchin for beauty among fields of grey and green <br />
And nothing in between but a renovated building<br />
Which is the perfect shade of a red<br />
The shade of hope<br />
Of something other than what we got<br />
Which doesn’t seem like a lot from up here<br />
Where I’m still under the strange looks of strangers<br />
As if they’ve never seen anyone maneuverin before<br />
Beatin the breeze to find what’s theirs<br />
And maybe it’s because they don’t know<br />
That this may just be all I got.<br />
This town and its broken beauty<br />
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</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-26290355343650541592011-04-28T13:31:00.000-05:002011-04-28T13:31:23.587-05:00Sunday Morning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><em>An oldie, but a goodie (I think)</em>: <br />
<br />
Caught in the middle of us.<br />
Between what we have<br />
And have not<br />
It creeps up, and just.....becomes<br />
"Where have you been?"<br />
Headed for what I thought I wanted<br />
Just want to think a minute, <br />
A month, <br />
A year<br />
What if I have not, <br />
If she does not <br />
Or if I cannot<br />
And here we are<br />
What was required<br />
Desire <br />
Is fire<br />
And we stoked it a while<br />
Then just poked a bit<br />
Returning to the night <br />
And light of the flicker box I love so much<br />
We sat laughing, on opposite ends<br />
Round after round<br />
Settling in to our seats<br />
Becoming a cliche on a Sunday morning<br />
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</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-72153668456326032172011-04-28T13:21:00.000-05:002011-04-28T13:21:47.716-05:00Old Trees and Squirrels<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Planes break the silence of an almost blue sky<br />
And my time spent wandering<br />
In and out of what is to become<br />
Of the minutes that pass<br />
Each needing something from me<br />
Leaving me bound to cigarettes<br />
And an almost empty red glass<br />
Painting masterpieces<br />
Only to find them as fleeting as the black squirrels<br />
That ring around the trunks and branches <br />
Of old trees<br />
I can see them from the kitchen<br />
Going about with the things that black squirrels do<br />
Which is nothing really<br />
But still<br />
They are squirrels none the less<br />
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</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-67535669380365615912011-04-27T19:59:00.004-05:002011-04-28T13:08:17.796-05:00Any Given Sunday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;">From the tops of electric mountains<br />
Our status has risen<br />
WE are risen </div><div style="text-align: left;">With a click</div><div style="text-align: left;">And tap</div><div style="text-align: left;">Upon the glass of houses</div><div style="text-align: left;">Built upon strokes across keys</div><div style="text-align: left;">Boats across oceans</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hearing the rap</div><div style="text-align: left;">Of god's whip upon their backs</div><div style="text-align: left;">Each crack swallows us whole</div><div style="text-align: left;">And we click and tap</div><div style="text-align: left;">To words we don't understand</div><div style="text-align: left;">And dig our nails deep into the sound</div><div style="text-align: left;">Of our own falling</div><div style="text-align: left;">Digging in deep</div><div style="text-align: left;">Heels pressed against faces</div><div style="text-align: left;">Filling mouths with broken teeth</div><div style="text-align: left;">And the taste of freedom<br />
Boots dug deep into rib cages</div><div style="text-align: left;">Pushing dirt into lungs</div><div style="text-align: left;">To stop them from breathing<br />
From filling up<br />
God is in heels of boots<br />
The spines of books<br />
And the men that fear them<br />
Salvation is in the slaughter of children<br />
When the become men with crooked smiles<br />
Wearing the weight of crowns<br />
To bury what they have done<br />
Tapping toes<br />
On the dingy floors of hearts<br />
Keep on dancing<br />
Ticking bombs in throats <br />
And ticker tape parades for gods behind glass<br />
It is, after all, what we've asked for<br />
To be risen<br />
Lifted by the holy words of men<br />
Who only hear god in their own voices<br />
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<em>For One Shot Wednesday at <a href="http://onestoppoetry.com/">onestoppoetry.com</a></em><br />
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</div></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-61786067746699013772011-04-13T01:10:00.003-05:002011-04-13T08:47:58.020-05:00Timing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">My timing is off<br />
And I am disconnected <br />
As if clocks aren't telling the truth<br />
And my feet are stuck to the floor<br />
Wooden pegs in concrete holes<br />
Broken ankles twisting<br />
Splitting splinters <br />
Splitting skulls<br />
Splitting,<br />
Wooden pegs<br />
Into the salt of this earth<br />
Milling bone,<br />
Into the fiber of America<br />
And wearing it proudly<br />
While we wash ourselves white with money<br />
And spare change<br />
Sparing change for a moment<br />
Then letting it go<br />
As we mill bone down to it's fiber<br />
And wear it for what it is<br />
Which is America<br />
And my timing must be off<br />
And the hands must be liars<br />
And the little hands follow<br />
Because the cycles are turning<br />
Becoming faster and leaner<br />
And what was once rising is falling<br />
And we pump fire into the mouths of children<br />
Instead of holding their hands<br />
And their hearts<br />
We hold them tight against our broken bodies<br />
Tight against wooden crosses <br />
And perfect houses<br />
Wielding mighty oaks and nooses<br />
For them to hang their hats on<br />
Pounding purpose<br />
Pounding nails into their feet<br />
So they cannot go<br />
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<em>For One Shot Wednesday at <a href="http://www.onestoppoetry.com/">One Stop Poetry</a></em><br />
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</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-90668231791569746052011-03-09T23:55:00.002-06:002011-03-10T08:07:30.221-06:00Stars<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVSbxCfSIDzuAQsZ78litsWIZ_Y-t8_e7HnYmztu1LA5YMmIijJHUIUpmNXjNscySM4RHpa76d9HWvX66HGddbzRWunGN2HuCsUhUxdJp2Z8hWfScFt2NL02JGzg9qn7JoZxXh1XwqRc/s1600/IMG_5011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVSbxCfSIDzuAQsZ78litsWIZ_Y-t8_e7HnYmztu1LA5YMmIijJHUIUpmNXjNscySM4RHpa76d9HWvX66HGddbzRWunGN2HuCsUhUxdJp2Z8hWfScFt2NL02JGzg9qn7JoZxXh1XwqRc/s320/IMG_5011.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Click below to listen to audio</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" height="26" width="640"><param value="true" name="allowfullscreen"/><param value="always" name="allowscriptaccess"/><param value="high" name="quality"/><param value="true" name="cachebusting"/><param value="#000000" name="bgcolor"/><param name="movie" value="http://www.archive.org/flow/flowplayer.commercial-3.2.1.swf" /><param value="config={'key':'#$aa4baff94a9bdcafce8','playlist':[{'url':'Stars2WaveFormat.mp3','autoPlay':false}],'clip':{'autoPlay':true,'baseUrl':'http://www.archive.org/download/Stars_217/'},'canvas':{'backgroundColor':'#000000','backgroundGradient':'none'},'plugins':{'audio':{'url':'http://www.archive.org/flow/flowplayer.audio-3.2.1-dev.swf'},'controls':{'playlist':false,'fullscreen':false,'height':26,'backgroundColor':'#000000','autoHide':{'fullscreenOnly':true},'scrubberHeightRatio':0.6,'timeFontSize':9,'mute':false,'top':0}},'contextMenu':[{'Listen+to+Stars_217+at+archive.org':null},'-','Flowplayer v3.2.1']}" name="flashvars"/><embed src="http://www.archive.org/flow/flowplayer.commercial-3.2.1.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="640" height="26" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" cachebusting="true" bgcolor="#000000" quality="high" flashvars="config={'key':'#$aa4baff94a9bdcafce8','playlist':[{'url':'Stars2WaveFormat.mp3','autoPlay':false}],'clip':{'autoPlay':true,'baseUrl':'http://www.archive.org/download/Stars_217/'},'canvas':{'backgroundColor':'#000000','backgroundGradient':'none'},'plugins':{'audio':{'url':'http://www.archive.org/flow/flowplayer.audio-3.2.1-dev.swf'},'controls':{'playlist':false,'fullscreen':false,'height':26,'backgroundColor':'#000000','autoHide':{'fullscreenOnly':true},'scrubberHeightRatio':0.6,'timeFontSize':9,'mute':false,'top':0}},'contextMenu':[{'Listen+to+Stars_217+at+archive.org':null},'-','Flowplayer v3.2.1']}"> </embed></object></div><div dir="ltr" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Stars</strong></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And it is</div></div>The same<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Wherever </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You go</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Wherever </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I go</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The same</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">People</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In the same</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">State </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">of play</div>The same <br />
State <br />
Of mind<br />
The same <br />
People<br />
It seems<br />
Even when<br />
They are <br />
Different<br />
Even when<br />
They are <br />
At ease<br />
With themselves<br />
At ease<br />
With being<br />
What it is<br />
They say <br />
they are not<br />
When they<br />
Are at ease<br />
With being<br />
Assholes<br />
Even when<br />
They are not<br />
Because<br />
It is not<br />
They way <br />
They were “Brought up”<br />
The way<br />
They were “Taught”<br />
Yet somehow<br />
They learned<br />
To be<br />
Angry<br />
The learned<br />
To be<br />
Ignorant<br />
Somehow <br />
They <br />
Learned <br />
<br />
So here we are<br />
I am<br />
We sit<br />
And talk<br />
Of nothing<br />
All the while<br />
Spilling<br />
Our “Fags”<br />
Our<br />
“Spics”<br />
And even <br />
Our “niggers”<br />
Even though<br />
We are not<br />
Saying <br />
We are<br />
Still telling<br />
Everything<br />
About <br />
What we are not<br />
Feeling everything<br />
As if<br />
We are<br />
Cut open<br />
And spilling <br />
Our secrets<br />
Unable<br />
To stop<br />
Unable to <br />
Change it<br />
Because we have<br />
Been “brought up”<br />
And we have<br />
Been “taught”<br />
By our<br />
Fathers and mothers<br />
Our ignorant<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Fathers and Mothers</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We have been <br />
Mutilated<br />
By television<br />
And its white people<br />
Its black people<br />
We have been<br />
Left<br />
For dead<br />
By television<br />
And its people<br />
We have<br />
Been<br />
Scarred<br />
By all of the talk<br />
Scarred <br />
By all of the talk<br />
Scarred <br />
By all of the talk<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Crushed by the poetry</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">By words</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That do not</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Exist</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Wisdom</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That is anything</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Wise </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Wisdom that</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Is wishing</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">On stars </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That will fall</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-26621601792775950102011-02-09T10:53:00.009-06:002011-02-09T18:57:40.346-06:00Great Wall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">And she sits <br />
Among her American Himalayas<br />
In valleys of darkness<br />
Buried beneath the weight<br />
Of greatness<br />
Of her high horse<br />
Looking over<br />
The brink <br />
Of beauty<br />
Unable to see <br />
The roof of the world<br />
Her great wall <br />
Stretches too far<br />
For her <br />
To see anything<br />
But each brick <br />
Each joint<br />
So she chips<br />
And scratches<br />
At each<br />
Delicate pause<br />
Each<br />
Delicate<br />
Nomenclature<br />
She scratches <br />
With 3 pieces of silver<br />
From her pocket<br />
Hoping to defy<br />
The noose <br />
That is around her neck<br />
The same way<br />
The weary and desperate<br />
Hope to defy<br />
The disappointment<br />
Behind the foil<br />
Of a lottery ticket<br />
She chips and scratches<br />
Making dust<br />
Making piles of shit<br />
Making more mountains <br />
To be moved<br />
And so she screams<br />
At the voices<br />
Behind the wall<br />
As if to say<br />
"You have no right<br />
To be<br />
On the other side<br />
You have no right<br />
To see <br />
the other side"<br />
She screams <br />
As if to say<br />
"You have no write"<br />
...and I quietly whisper back<br />
"fuck you"<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>This is for "One Shot Wednesday" over at </em><a href="http://www.onestoppoetry.com/"><em>One Stop Poetry</em></a><em>. Please follow the link and check it out</em><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-58592729513891557602011-02-07T13:36:00.002-06:002011-02-09T11:09:28.905-06:00Fingertips<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It is with these fingers</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That I touch</div>Each note<br />
Each letter of your skin<br />
With these fingers<br />
And their tips<br />
Cracked<br />
From the pumice and water<br />
That I feel<br />
Each sound<br />
That makes not a wave<br />
Each breathe<br />
That never takes flight<br />
So it is these fingers<br />
And their tips<br />
Rough like language<br />
That leave prints<br />
On black and white key<br />
Leave prints<br />
On what was once mine<br />
But is now<br />
Just an island postcard<br />
And its sex<br />
Paradise lost<br />
Between sheets<br />
Of poetry <br />
Sheets of blank paper<br />
Paradise lost between sheets<br />
It is with these fingers<br />
And their tips<br />
Callused from the stroking<br />
That I feel <br />
Every brick<br />
And stone<br />
Of the roads<br />
I never traveled<br />
<br />
</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-42386729652613452342011-02-07T10:10:00.001-06:002011-02-07T10:11:27.276-06:00Porcelain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62MRYd1AEfL_IRh4GXROQh8ERJzGRPkzCrarGL0zMYT4RbDl4zQi-QL6urtLY09nUdj2yIHYMKNA3vz0fdaAK21ZVly8Xjh2NGFTnp56zekm856M7WW_dIT7fBS7-9DNllgKLZPvYJ0s/s1600/IMG_5107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62MRYd1AEfL_IRh4GXROQh8ERJzGRPkzCrarGL0zMYT4RbDl4zQi-QL6urtLY09nUdj2yIHYMKNA3vz0fdaAK21ZVly8Xjh2NGFTnp56zekm856M7WW_dIT7fBS7-9DNllgKLZPvYJ0s/s200/IMG_5107.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It wasn’t till I picked you up </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">that I knew how fragile you were</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">How cracked you had become</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Not until you fell apart in the palm of my hand</div>Did I know<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That I could not hold you</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Not until you crumbled through my fingers</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Did I know</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That it wasn’t even you I was holding</div>But porcelain <br />
Not until I was cut by your brink<br />
Did I realize<br />
I was not bleeding for you<br />
But because of you<br />
And you<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Were no longer able to</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">No longer able to be</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Anything but fragility</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Falling apart in the hands</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Of those that love you</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Not until I saw your smile</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Did I know</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">How far you had fallen</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And how far you still had to go</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Not until I heard you speak</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Did I know</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">How quiet you had become</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And how little you had to say</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Not until I saw you cry</div>Did I see<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">How little I knew you</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Or cared to</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Because not until I let you go</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Did I see </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">How many pieces you had become</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And how easy it is to stay that way</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-19761645035527788332011-01-25T15:06:00.002-06:002011-01-25T15:16:18.325-06:00Broken Words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">And she is broken, <br />
Down<br />
Tattooed words on her back<br />
Where she can’t see them<br />
Like bruises<br />
Hidden to hide the feeling<br />
Of not feeling<br />
But fearing<br />
Hidden behind laughter<br />
That smile<br />
So we can’t see you<br />
So <em>you</em> can’t see you<br />
And the needles through you<br />
Stitches<br />
Pulling you apart<br />
While you holster your gun<br />
When you should be killing<br />
The madness that is in you<br />
And on you<br />
Taking your breathe<br />
And your body<br />
To places you’ve already been<br />
Places<br />
She has already been<br />
Places<br />
You all burned pictures of<br />
But that are still burning<br />
Charring the edges <br />
Of what you needed<br />
And never said<br />
Charring the edges<br />
But not the faces<br />
That are all too familiar<br />
When you walk through the door<br />
On to eggshells<br />
On to thin ice<br />
On to the cracked glass of picture frames<br />
Waiting to cut you out<br />
By keeping you in<br />
And bleeding you quietly<br />
And slowly<br />
Until you have cut yourself out<br />
From the <em>inside</em> out<br />
To make paper families <br />
That hold hands<br />
While strung across windows<br />
That let in the light<br />
Until it burns the edges<br />
Of the those paper fingertips<br />
Until they can no longer hold on<br />
Until it is you<br />
Crumpled on the floor<br />
You<br />
Crumpled in a corner<br />
Writing words where he cannot see them<br />
Until you cannot read them<br />
Until they are just scratches<br />
On your skin<br />
Colored by the sense<br />
That this started before you<br />
That this<br />
Was not written by you<br />
But on you<br />
Before you could read<br />
Before you knew the words<br />
Colored by the sense<br />
That you never were<br />
Because of him<br />
Because she and him<br />
Never stopped<br />
He never stopped<br />
She never stopped <br />
And you<br />
Were swept under rugs<br />
And I am sorry for that<br />
For the ink<br />
That I cannot scrub off<br />
I am sorry for the needles<br />
That I cannot clean<br />
I am sorry<br />
For the way they sewed you back up<br />
<br />
</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-16891301663216237302011-01-20T19:43:00.001-06:002011-01-20T19:57:27.581-06:00Indie Ink Featured Artist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfgcIqH3NiPExv3V1XHuJ-HnbBfizh5ynYPj2Ej9kz3zghRCvxu4dlzJrhymI7CejSE_r-0nSINSPMZR0lSWoBX0GqWGFocav3bo8IFqVxYZa0_FjcQ1W5ecGd5-P48KD7W7xQVAxQ5c/s1600/Indie+Ink+Button.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfgcIqH3NiPExv3V1XHuJ-HnbBfizh5ynYPj2Ej9kz3zghRCvxu4dlzJrhymI7CejSE_r-0nSINSPMZR0lSWoBX0GqWGFocav3bo8IFqVxYZa0_FjcQ1W5ecGd5-P48KD7W7xQVAxQ5c/s320/Indie+Ink+Button.gif" width="320" /></a></div>Tomorrow (Friday Jan 21st) I am a featured artist! My photo <a href="http://www.franticpuppydesign.blogspot.com/">"Drawn"</a> is being featured. Please stop by and explore the site. <br />
<a href="http://www.indieink.org/">Indie Ink</a> is a non-profit independent literary and art collective and community of writers and artists who may not have been seen otherwise, but whose work is filled with such passion and spirit, it demands to be seen.<br />
<br />
<br />
Enjoy!</div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3881014731429243713.post-7646680616454995792011-01-18T13:02:00.000-06:002011-01-18T13:02:50.734-06:00Photo Prompt and One Shot (One Stop Poetry): Young Lovers<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>I missed the deadline for this photoprompt at </em><a href="http://www.oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/"><em>One Stop Poetry</em></a><em> so it now serves a dual purpose as (missed) Photprompt and One Shot Wednesday entry. Please, stop by and check this place out. It is a great place to introduce yourself to many, many great unkown and know artists. </em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-IBCwqwoo1P7gpbX80s-IDfvqQ0i7YXS0h7oyxo-xUQwyWrq5sMBB6UhHbVPUxwXZYMzDpBFoAvoGvEoNMBdk8HHScZeclNgjdWiyyDIiFhkqMPEAY-Mm0F_jINSabs0_n_aTFChWeQ/s1600/Photo+Prompt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-IBCwqwoo1P7gpbX80s-IDfvqQ0i7YXS0h7oyxo-xUQwyWrq5sMBB6UhHbVPUxwXZYMzDpBFoAvoGvEoNMBdk8HHScZeclNgjdWiyyDIiFhkqMPEAY-Mm0F_jINSabs0_n_aTFChWeQ/s200/Photo+Prompt.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.katherineforbesphotography.com/index2.php">http://www.katherineforbesphotography.com/index2.php</a></td></tr>
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Young lovers </span></strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Rust on the window </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Shut from the years</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And the constant threat of weather</div><br />
Of his fists<br />
<br />
And whether or not they’ll make it through<br />
<br />
Or if she will too<br />
<br />
Weather or not<br />
<br />
It’s still the same<br />
<br />
Still shut<br />
<br />
Still shutting<br />
<br />
While giddy toes do a dance<br />
<br />
On rotten wood<br />
<br />
Ready to fall<br />
<br />
While lips kiss<br />
<br />
There are empty chairs,<br />
<br />
Waiting <br />
<br />
Broken places,<br />
<br />
Waiting <br />
<br />
Hands on hair<br />
<br />
Shadows on lips<br />
<br />
She is waiting,<br />
<br />
For him to be young again<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>D.C. Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10752813220191324590noreply@blogger.com6