Some Words Will Open Microphones by Sam Flot

Some Words Will Open Microphones

Spark a ride to the other tide

Receptive to tough and to tender

Eccentric mystics

Playing music in concentric mosaics 

Ripping and tearing the notes

Through the ever-continuum nightsky

Flying full of the effervescent flow of colors

Flowing all over, all around, everybody’s a primary!

Even the secondaries should get to be primary

Once in a while, twice in a while

Mark that tide when you took the ride

Perceptive against too rough or to render it into

Words speak spoken riding on the topical current

Drifting through the vapors surrounding the other poets

Listening at varying levels of completely

Some still pay full attention

Some drift off like in detention

Writing down riffs off all the pretension

Some are rifling through all their folders and notebooks

Trying to find their very own howling screed unscrolled

Their if/perchance holy goof unveiled full force

With a double-shot americano and some real jazz

Which will house

The eccentric mystic prophet of a spirit and

Some words will open microphones

Split like a Sunday

With a five-hour drive home

Before the tide gets too high

flot  

2.8.2016

Brother Bird by Sam Flot

Brother Bird

(Serene Time Ocean)

I flew with my brother bird

Early one afternoon sunny

Above the headlands’ long fallow fields

Laden with mice and yellow brown straw brush

All of it surrounded by gulley green

Happily transporting yesterday’s storm downhill

I flew with my brother bird

Climbing by floating

Finding circles of wind drafting up

Then we soared into that wind, not against it

Wings stretched full to span

The wind holds me in place

Holds me in basic stasis

My matter held windblown

Under no efforts of my own

I flew with my brother bird

Gently pacific above

Serene time ocean

Waves crashing in all the gradient shades

All the blues and most of the greys

I flew with my brother bird

We were solemn, neither of us spoke a word

Early one afternoon sunny

Against a storm front backdrop

Over all the pines and scrubs

Over the shore break rocks

Above the headland waves crashing white fury

I flew with my brother bird

sam flot

Caspar, CA                                     1.10.2016

Like A River by Sam Flot

Like A River

By Sam Flot

I wish I could flow

Like a river runs

Without stopping drips

Without dropping hints

About phrases long caught in stasis

Left to conclude with no basis

To form a foundation

No ground to indicate

Some forgotten absorption

Taken in and never released

I wish I could flow

Like a canyon crow

Flies high up on the air

Above the ridge and valley

Above the river’s many eddies

Above all the earthbound creatures

Dropping and lifting on currents

I wish I could flow

Like a saxophone blows

Not expressing opinion distinct

Gurgling or peeking out

From under the madness

Or slow, easy, languid

Or shrieking in glee easily mistaken for anger

I wish I could flow

Like a river flows

Like a pine cone or

A rock that knows

Whether it is naked or clothed

Whether it is caught or thrown

Skipping over the surface

I wish I could flow

Like a river flows

2009

Waiting on A Winter by Sam Flot

Waiting On A Winter

The sun breaks

Through the horizon’s daystorm

Southerly confident northerly not

Rain falls in buckets until more wind moves this storm along a bit

The birds are undeterred

Everything is soaking up the rain

The conifer trees, the tall grass, the blackberry brambles

The woodpile, the gutters and the goldfish pond

This earth is a sponge ready to receive

A sustaining stormy winter

A crashing ocean on headlands

Spraying wet winter feedback

Onto the ice plants and the burnpiles of skotch broom

As the rain falls harder and most humans hunker

On this coastal El Nino afternoon

As this Pacific Storm pacifies this bone dry landfall

Spreading far and wide across the land of the drought

Eroding, yes, but what choice do we have

When Mother Nature’s whimsy catches a breeze or doesn’t?

All the cycles are cycling and

All the circles will complete themselves

As the hard rain falls on soft mud

As the tough yet tender humans hunker down

Waiting on a winter like never before

12.20.2015

Caspar

sf