The Land Underwater

The Land Underwater

Tried, lied and edified in the high tide

Atop the water at the whim of wind and sea

Floating in ambiguous oceans

Sand on the bottom of 2/3rds

Of everything underwater

Meaning we inhabit

1/3rd of the highest peaks on earth

As our homes

Even the lowest valleys above ground

Are higher than any mountain underwater

So many animals and creatures

Never seen before

By anybody

Ever

The land underwater is

The last undiscovered place

On earth

The land underwater is

More of the earth than we know now

Which leaves a majority of the earth’s surface

Undiscovered

Untouched

As much a frontier as space is

The mountains and valleys underwater

The volcanoes and magma

Of the ever-infused energy

The Earth has inside her

When we know more

Maybe we will understand

This undiscovered land

Under the water’s surface face 


by Sam Flot 
February 12, 2012
aka 2.12.12
Cobb, CA

My Weapon Of Choice

My Weapon of Choice

Spinning twisting turned and twirled

As if on cue set off curling around and

Spun off again curling

Wrapping around full circle and off again

Spinning twisting turned and twirled

Faithful only to centrifugal force

Following a pattern without a set course

Never stopping a second a third and a fourth

Never stopping ‘til the ink runs out

Poeticizing the birth

Spinning twisting turned and twirled

Velocity carries this circular weapon in a direction

The hand controls velocity of communication

From pen to ink to paper with compunction

Torn from the mind’s eye to be born by determination

Spinning twisting turned and twirled

It all comes back around shaping itself around sounds

Words jumping onto the paper bound

To meet the jumping off point, the ground

When everything started to find the beginning of the end

All wrapped up ready to send

Titled with love for a friend

Ready to start all over again

Spinning twisting turned and twirled

sf

10.9.ten

Waxing The Wick of A Spine

Waxing The Wick of A Spine

The wick of a spine

Runs up the wax

Of a candle

Nerve center

Nervous system

Fulfilling the mission

Burning for light

Burning for scent

Burning for the visual

Eloquence melts

Down to liquid form

From a solid

The wick of a spine

Runs up the core middle

Nervous systematically

Burning down the body

Never sure

Of his limits

Never sure

How he got so lit

1.24.12

f        l      o t

Pockets In Your Hands

Pockets In Your Hands

In competent sentences

Outside the fox hound’s grasp or reach or

Sanctioning each cell for lack of focus

On the sleeping job

Lying down dreaming on the job

Pockets in your hands and

Feet on your shoes

When the next bus comes through

It won’t stop

It never does

For no pine cone podunk with a sonnet or a prayer

No reductive farmer pulling up roots

No deductive accountant moving dates

With a number processor and

A letter combine

Spitting into the open furnace

With no trace of paper cycling or recycling

Saving face or aluminum trays

Holding up paragraphs for days

Distilling from foggy remnants of

Circumstance and partial timing

Heard before the impartial signing

The pen hitting bard paper

Harder than ten stenographers

Sitting on a jar of capers

Spilt and split wide open

Adding a little taste

To the foolhardy fortune sandwich

Of the prototypical amateur protagonist

1.16.2012

flot

Pockets of Air

Pockets of Air

By sam flot

Pockets of air

Filling up with change

Un-popped bubbles

Intermittent clouds flying in

Holding new challenges or

Bestowing the winds with a purpose

Pockets of air

Filling up with change

Balancing the books

Giving more power

To the pawns and the rooks

Reaching for a different style rhythm or meter

Beating on a drum

To send a message

From village to village to village

Pockets of air

Filling up with change

Holding pen to paper

Writing this decree

The boom’s gone flat

Our leaders are lost

The old way is the wrong way

The old way is being pushed aside

Pockets of air

Filling up with change

The boom’s gone bust

Now it’s our turn

To do it our way

The old way is the wrong way

It’s time for the old way we do things

To step aside and watch and

 Let us take a swing

The clock struck you out looking

Bat on your shoulder

The old way acts bewildered

While we get bolder and bolder

Pockets of air

Filling up with change

We’ve been shoved for too long

Step aside or be pushed aside

The old away is gone

While the new way gets a try

Pockets of air

Filling up with change

Now its been popped and

Everything’s fair game

11.8.11

Parallelogram For You

Parallelogram for You

By Sam Flot

Jagging

Zig-zagging

Switching back with forth

Slanted

Top right to bottom left

Coming down from the sky

Radiating

Light sent to an earth

Somewhere

Instigating inspiration

If only

To believe in what your doing does

And to do what you believe

Truly brings joy

To your inner being

Whatever connects you to center

Breathing and understanding

What you will

Into being

Becomes art

What you will

If you will

And I know you will

If you have the will

Into being

Becomes art

Believe in what you’re doing

And do what you believe

Deep up inside your soul’s mind

Where you keep the outcome

Of your years of

Experience

Efforts

Eliminations

Elucidations

And useless extrapolations

And by extrapolations

I mean…………..

Over-explaining something

To a group of people

Gathered to share

Will become art

99 Percent Strong

99 Percent Strong

by Sam Flot  2011

for the American Autumn

|%|%|%|%|%|%|%|%|%|%|%|%|

Abe Lincoln looked at me

From the side of a penny and said “1993

In God We Trust ~ Liberty

Another day you worked all you get is one of me

“What happens to the other 99 cents?”  I asked old Abe

“A dollar a day is minimum wage

If I only get a penny how can I save?

How can I buy food?  Should I live in a cave?”

Abe answered me after a real long stare

“Get outta my mind, get outta my hair 

I don’t think it’s legit and fair, it’s not my deal, not that I don’t care

Get your own soapbox,  go down to your own town square

I freed the slaves and for that you see

This pretty profile of mine can grace a penny

A sarcastic honor, it  just might be

99% getting just one Lincoln  penny

We live here right now no money no jobs

We can’t trust the government, they call us a mob

We can only go to the streets and scream and sob

The health code enforced by the tear gas they lob

Hey there Abe, you’re a damn good penny

But we need more than that from this land of plenty

We follow the orders of the one percent for a fee

They let us subsist scraping by just barely

One percent you’ve used of us all for too long

One percent takes from the 99 percent strong

Every bully has it’s day and it won’t be long

Until 99 percent stands up 99 percent strong

11.1.11