With Thanks To Edvard Munch

I just want to fucking scream. I want to scream until all the blues that are pent up in my soul comes pouring out; until all the murderous violence I feel inside bleeds out of my pores. I want to scream for all the stupidity I see in the world, both near and far. The stupidity of an endless war; of people still being judged by the color of their skin; of poor and homeless people living less than a stone’s throw away from the offices and homes of the wealthy. The stupidity of ‘trying to squeeze a dollar out of a dime when you haven’t even got a cent’. Of a president who can’t see the forest for the trees that he’s mowing down to pave way for more of the same bullshit he’s been laying for the past 6 years.

I want to scream the truth! I want to scream for a better life—not necessarily of fame or fortune, but one of realness and honesty. To not be afraid of what I want to be or want to do in this fucked-up world. I want my poetry to matter, Mr. Gioia, wherever you are! I want to live my raison d’etre to the fullest possible degree. To still be able to create beauty out of pain; to celebrate love and faith and sex and all the rest. In other words, to be human, as humanly possible.

Mofo' Risin'

This poem, I believe, speaks for itself. It’s the title piece of my most recent chapbook, published in 2004.




Mofo’ Risin’


The beautiful
Fucked-up man
Has left
The
Building
And he’s
Taken his
Cross,
What’s left
Of his
Dignity
And manhood
And his
Creamy
Peanut butter,
Because
Only choosy
Motherfuckers
Choose creamy
Peanut butter,
Jif or otherwise.

And
he’s going
to devote
himself
to his
poetry
because
only real
motherfuckin’ men
write poetry.

And he’s
Going
to devote
himself
to being
a friend
to his friends
and being
a friend
to those
who need
friends
because
only real
motherfuckin’ men
are true friends.

And he’s
Going
To devote himself
To finding
A woman
Who
Thinks that
He is
Much of
A man
And can
Be
Much of
A husband
Because
Only real
Motherfuckin’ men
Know
How to be
Husbands
Even
If they
Have to
Learn
By
Trial and
Error
And by
Fucking up
And trying
Again
And again
Because
They never
Had a
Real
Motherfuckin’ man
To
Show them
How
To be
A real
Motherfuckin’ man
And how
It would
Take a real
Motherfuckin’ woman
To
Understand that
And
Give
A real
Motherfucker
A chance.

But,
In the meantime,
This beautiful
Fucked-up man
Will rise
Up,
Dust himself
Off
And
Move on
With his cross
To bear,
What’s left
Of his
Dignity
And manhood
Intact
And his
Creamy
Peanut butter,
Because
Only choosy
Motherfuckers
Choose creamy
Peanut butter.

Be on
The lookout
For him;
He might
Be
A good friend
To you;
He could
Be your
Next lover
Or husband;
Or
He might
Just read
You
This poem
And
Make you
A sandwich
Because
That’s what
Real
Motherfuckin’ men
Do.



© Copyright 2003 Joseph Powell