Tactile Co-Existence by Sam Flot

Tactile Co-existence

Life is a sacred ritual

If you make it become one

A gate passing through

Dimensions of tactile coexistence

Straight lines curving

Still maintaining consistent reverence

For the movements of dance

If you animate with sentience

If you practice to perfection

If you forget to memorize

If you know

Exactly which tree on the distant hill speaks to you

Then life is a sacred ritual 

Malleable by Sam Flot

Malleable

The liquefied antecedent

Flowed free by accident

As if the elements

Could change their form

Shifting shapes

Becoming malleable

When uncontained by other mass or matter

Functioning within

Whatever the environment

Presents, constricts, restricts or enhances

Once the precedent solidified

We all had a better idea about what to expect

Or rather, we better understood

The possibilities inherent

In the combination of weather and time

Combining with the above mentioned elements

Directly affecting and effecting

Form and motion

As much as input and output

sf 

May 

2014

What Isn't?

What Isn’t?

Another adherent

Is coming unglued

Under the back porch

Unprepared to return to

The fandango forest forces of the jungle

Lit up with torches by the guides

Traveling through the brush with barrels and tents

At the end of the following

At the beginning of

The moment of coming together

Over the front porch gables

Ready to launch the sky’s first refusal

Of tangential currency

Ready to burst the bubble of

The moon’s great insistence

To retire the past tense

In an instant with a flick of a family finger or

A trick perpetrated

As an illusion

But what isn’t an illusion? 

What isn’t a sidewalk or a road?

What isn’t a table or a stove?

What isn’t lost cannot be found

Go somewhere you may find it

Wait here and it might return to you

s. flot

8.29.2014

Layers by Sam Flot

Layers

By Sam Flot

The original layer of façade beams

Happily split like branches or needles

Flat across the very front

The next layer is opposite a door

Constructed inside a gateway

Limiting the size of the entrance

Capable of opening and closing

At the simple turn of a knob

The next layer exhibits similarities of

A Salvadoran serape or a Swedish Film

In the sense of ironic transference

Thick with symbolism

Yet to be discovered or covered or

Any of the variables available

Down to the gene of the genre’s DNA

The next layer digresses

At the backwards rate of state of the art

Technological advances

Taking a step back

Devolving until the industrial age is obsolete

The next layer is the most confusing

Due to the lack of consistency of distance and length

Widening to unfamiliar quote marks and

Surreptitious question marks and

Sometimes it’s hard to trust the will and intention

Of grammar gone bad

The final layer

Is a simple calico quilt

Patterned like a thousand petal lotus

Opening always in the act

3.12.2014

Butterfly Escort by Sam Flot

Butterfly Escort

I stumbled in the pre-dawn and

Remembered in the aftermath

As the sequences waterfalled

Like butterflies knuckleball or flutter

Over picnics and clovers and camps full of clutter

Winding through the air above the pasture pure

To the edge of the forest

Passing pine cones and pine needles

As if they were lost in the wee hours of dark

 As the songbirds release their songs on a lark

In the morning’s first recognition of the day

Remembering how to ride a bicycle

After seemingly having learned so much

The day before

So many things I’ve learned and learned before

Retroactively pursuing the journey prize of a butterfly escort

7.10.2014

sf                 CFR

Said The Canvas Beneath The Paint by Sam Flot

Said The Canvas Beneath The Paint

Breaking down the easy spirits

Above ground alone to my senses

Peripheral dense in the depths of the present tense

Grinding the halt to a stop

Entirely

Dominating the prophetic illusions come true

Like tributaries form the big rivers

Like teardrops in a bucket

Like one bird amongst all the birds flying over this earth

Said the canvas beneath the paint

To the bear in the pot belly pot

While calling the kettle a slacker

From the worn leather couch

Across the shag carpeted floor

While grinning like a canvas in his blank youth

Unflappably flying

Any flag that the flock floats

8.16.2014

CFR

sf

All Under The Place by Sam Flot

All Under The Place

by Sam Flot 

2014

Nectar as the goal and 
Trails as the medium

Distinctive to the tedium

Derived by lack of creativity

Bust open the regular activity and

Change the set and setting

To encourage mindspun deities and flags and

Songs sung in patterns and plaids

Murals on huge city walls and

Knowledge on all city streets

Trekking across all the sectors and vectors

Settling to stop and re-fuel the form

By changing the function

Re-tooling the norm

By wrestling for different traction

Detecting new approaches

For deft finishes

Use anything as a brush

Anything to apply the paint imperfectly

Un-patterned inherently

All under the place

7.10.2014     CFR

Pull/Push by Sam Flot

Please clink the link to view the scene 

where the poem below was written (use street view)

7th St and Hooper SF, CA

Pull/Push

Under the frailty of eastward dusk

Moving fog cannot overtake

The shining honorific emblem of

The sun’s half-orb middle sinking into

The hill’s bass drum foundation

Cut, beat, congealed and up

Thrown bent rusted or

Blown through weeds

By the wind’s reeds

Through un-violated space and

The successive percussive elemental moments

Warnings are for the feinted heart

The prize is the captured package of rapture and

If caution is for throwing

Throw off the chains that hold you down

Release that armchair from under your carriage of meat

Solidify the accessible outside

Quantify discernible insides

Pull your own weight and

Push every button!

7.21.oh9

fLOT 7:44pm at 7^th St and Hooper SF, CA

For Jocelyn the Life of my Love 

Turning on A Spintable by Sam Flot

Turning on the Spintable

I’m turning on the spintable

Hearing all the vegetables

I’m looking for the facts behind the fiction

Turning slang into diction

Like it really means a thing

I’m out in front in the open

I’m tracking down bats using sonar

I’m wracking my brains with my mental radar

I’m sourcing my thoughts from the stream

I’m rolling downhill ready to wake up from this dream

I’m sensing that trajectory will have it’s way with me

I’m imagining the path of gravity

Planning how to break the fall

When suddenly I’m in the 20^th century

Dropping ground balls or following footsteps

Through a story or a forest or a test of strength or ardor

I’m feeling flightful

I’m flowing free

Neither following nor leading

I’m flowing free

A wave on land unimpeded by anything

I’m flowing free

From any constriction

I’m ethereal and real!

I’m leaving to be always there

I’m flowing free

flot

6.17.2014

Subterfuge Interlude by Sam Flot

Subterfuge Interlude

Curating the cascading

Subterfuge interludes

Might prove to be fictitious

In origin or basis thereof

Punctured at any juncture

Symbolic or interpreted to be

Bridging a trap

Traversing the green pastures

Littering the countryside

Uniting the temporal and the sentient

With the finite and the sedentary

Colloquial outer space retro

In the distant to near future

If the elements still swing and

If the trailers still trail

1.21.14

sf

Patience is A Statue by sam flot

Patience is A Statue

Patience is a statue

Ready to spend

Any finite amount of time immemorial

In absolute stillness

Breathing

Patience is a statue

A leaf beneath the layers

Beneath piles of other leaves

Staying put slowly

Decomposing musical notes

Broken down to earthy, dirty essence

Patience is a statue

Sitting on the lawn in Buddha pose

Crown chakra bursting

Patience is a statue

Waiting for rain inside a drought

Waiting for a cancelled train

Waiting for a friend

Patience is a statue

Dedicated to the virtual

Because no one ever knows

How patient you’ve been

No one ever knows

How patient you’ve been

No one ever knows

How patient you’ve been

No one ever knows

How patient you’ve been

No one ever knows

How patient you’ve been

No one ever knows

How patient you’ve been

No one ever knows

How patient you’ve been

sf

3.2.2014