Discovering Duluoz, new tracks

I've added a few more tracks to my spoken word book movie proect, Discovering Duluoz.. Click the link below for the set list on SoundCloud

SoundCloud: Discovering Duluoz


to stand alone

the raven locks guard a strength within
the way your lip twists down when pondering
not at all disfiguring - beautiful in thought
from the same side of the dark

what happened to you
what happened to me
that grey we've dealt within
before 50 shades made it a thing

in darkness i regain my faith
yet still to stand alone
divergent from the happy masses
my strength within my poems


straight and winding

black highway white lines
lost in the time
trance like thunder
echoes through my chest
the sky a grey wrinkled quilt
puffy like her eyelids
crying through the night before
depression, needing to cry
but the well of tears run dry
enlightenment finds you
in the yellow light box
of a maintenance truck behind you
road rising through the trees
asphalt river, valley of leaves
stopped at the intersection
of freedom and sadness


spirituality lost

remember not
under sun
everything done
to your kingdom
now violent
a threat this creation
fall from temptation
now my image
in your conversation
you lost one
you lost some one
your talk cold
the price of your soul
tryin' to grab hold
what you control
silver and gold
every man's exempt
down on repent
can't talk of judgment
your movement's a serpent
consequence is innocent
to the full extent
intent for punishment
you don't wanna hear
paths you must choose
you lost one
you lost some one
someone lost you
did you gain from
what you done,
just understand man
universal law
karma can't hold
back that long
until you do right,
all will go wrong
can still be reborn
from the night
arise sweet dawn
some listen
and some shun
think they've reached
see what you've become
lost one


Discovering Duluoz


In my life I can remember at least two literary awakenings. The first was my exposure to Lord of the Rings. I remember my mother got a set from a friend of hers for me one summer. The three books and cardboard sleeve that held them was at least 10 years old. The pages all had that tattered smell us bibliophiles love to breathe oh so deep. I disappeared in the fantasy.

But that has nothing to do with this project.

The second awakening was the summer of 1992 on the beach at Long Beach Island when I was first introduced to the spontaneous prosody of Jack Kerouac. Throughout the previous year or so my curiosity had been bombarded with the hype of hipness by a long time comrade and fellow writer. As my boredom was reaching its zenith with the rhythmic lulls of the ocean and unminded children, it was with great delectation that I discovered one of Kerouac's novels on my sister's dresser.
Oddly enough, it was not the book that eternally crowned Kerouac 'King of the Beats' and the subsequent father of a new generation. It was in fact The Dharma Bums, a text that I thoroughly enjoyed and quickly devoured on the sand swept landscape. In a sense, it was a demarcation of a major turning point in my life as I had finally found a literary mentor with whom to commiserate with sheer honesty. From that fateful day when the salt spray dampened the pages of the book before me, I would approach the world with eyes as fresh as a newborn infant's. Traveling anywhere without a journal became unheard of.
According to the first entry I'd kept a journal previously, about 2 years ago, and had ceased writing 1 year, 11 months and 2 weeks after that. But this journal, and the half dozen or so that followed, would prove to be different. On the inside jacket of the first I taped a copy (though still handwritten) of Jack Kerouac's Belief and Techniques for Modern Prose.
Over the next few years I wrote constantly, from the day I put down the Dharma Bums, to the day I bussed and hitchhiked to Ti Jean's very town of birth, the haunts of Doctor Sax, Lowell, Massachusetts. From book to birthplace I was Discovering Duluoz.
When I was done I gave a copy of my manuscript to a few friends and until very recently forgot all about it. My project, though that sounds much to formal and bureaucratic for what I have in mind, is to revisit those entries, the verse of my mind in discovery, and assemble my favorites into a spoken word collection.

without wings

in the afternoon sun
arms outstretched
you sweetly soared
through the april breeze
a smile bright,
your heart in flight
my angel
without wings
on high from days delight
to sleep you'd fight
unless someone
would cuddle beside you
soon a gentle snore
i held your hand
listed to you breathe
and listened to you
breathe some more
i watched you lay
smooth face on the pillow
curls like clouds
sleeping angel
where did you leave
your wings

Spoken Word Hangout

Here's the video of our G+ Spoken Word Workshop hangout on G+ last night. Some exciting news regarding Nexus Cafe and yours truly.


poetry hangover

was it the wine
was it the pills
was it the poetry
i cannot stand still
against disaster i lean
one eye closed
to escape meandering
a rhythm flows
a beat beats
a sacred cadence
from beneath
steel drums peel
aortas thump
bump. bump. bump.
table wobbles
dean stance begone
keep on keep on
syn ack sin flash
what does it mean
aren't we all
just wondering
can i be loved
and why do i need it



madness that you woke
just a verse at first
then more and more
as nights begone
the seed planted
watered with wine
moonlight ripened
how could i forget
an entire book
names faces drunk places
bodhisattva center of all
back and again she calls
back alive i am
as if all before were a dream
the haze of waking
wrapped in sheets of smoke
blankets of jazz
and a fire



kindred friends
distance be damned
words brought together
broken down
to binary
and back again
rooftop yawps
and basement whisperings
microphones immortalize
as poets sing and cry
kindred companions
circle round
but try they
cannot shield
the closest are
the furthest flown
you next to me
i feel alone



the hits keep coming
words not fists maliciously
to gut and to jaw
scars of old are raw again

shouting in silence
bear witness the burning hope
poems of old he rides
across wires synapse misfires

from keyboard somber
roman candle poems explode
crowd gathers watching
some cheer the rising tempest

others silent mourn
of charred corpse but one thing left
heart impervious
reincarnation he wills

now bereft of happiness


This is my first attempt at the Japanese poetry form of choka.

choka, a form of waka (Japanese court poetry of the 6th to 14th century) consisting of alternating lines of five and seven syllables and ending with an extra line of seven syllables. The total length of the poem is indefinite.




of course you don't want a dog
you're convinced you already have one
what happened to love
what happened to friends
what had been erotic is now erratic
life is too short for this misery
reverse misogyny
you could have had my heart
now you can have my back

white horses

i've yielded to the white horses,
curious desperation
driving the stampede;
intrigued but not enthralled
as heartbeat races
imagined fires, sparked libido
only waking moments later
as a heard of elephants
danced a cerebral ballet
nauseous, jealous
with voice and distance
the street rat feigns
the country boy
drowning in mediocrity
or saved by a western wave

~ dwmetz

never beautiful

a brain diseased by mirrors
starvation, deprivation, self-
annihilation, forced to conform
to a frame of glass,
if only to be blind.
gross, disgusting,
hunk of meat. day after day
after day, never to see
her own beauty


texaco revisited

harvest moon high in the sky
that magic night i saw you
and you saw me in page after page
years gone by were minutes passed
had it really been that long
and still i felt for you
the sanctity of primal love
stars behind you, sand beneath
candle quivers in your grasp
you devoured my words
i wanted to give my soul to you
i'm sorry that i lost that ring
as i always seem to do
i should have guarded it better
excuses of parking meters
forced our parting
who cares about the car
had i known i'd rather walk
the world beside you
we said we'd see each other soon
but never said your soon
or my soon or why soon
and not now
back to the grey house
looking for what i'd already found
the moon's magic extinguished
should have sealed it with a kiss