November 2024 Monthly Roundup

‘Tis the season, Waywards reader. If you can stomach a little reading on top of that belly full of leftovers you may or may not be rubbing while sprawled out on the sofa this beautiful Saturday, I’ve got a little something for you.

Here’s the one piece I wrote for commission that was published this month:

A Kansas City Case Study in Revolutionary Prisoner Solidarity / The Kansas City Defender / 11-11-24

I’m working on a collaborative investigation of sorts for the KC Defender at present.

Whether a single piece or a series comes of that investigative work has yet to be determined.

I wrote two poems this month, one before and one after I turned 39. (Consider this my belated birthday gift to you, dear Waywards reader.) You can find both poems below, just beneath this picture of my Buddy, taken in early November, atop Mt. Rubidoux here in Riverside, California.

Abolish Rent

The little money you made is already spent.
With so many bills to pay, it came and went. 
You tried to pay off all that debt but barely made a dent.
You fear you’ll soon be sleeping on the street in a tent.
Or maybe you’ll forego food, as if you’re observing Lent.
From your monthly income, your landlord wants every cent. 
Despite his gross avarice, this dude is never going to repent.
Of course, the guy worked hard for that check you sent. 
That’s sarcasm, in case you weren’t sure what I meant.
Now, you critically reflect and use select words to vent.
Then you spell it out for ‘em so they know your intent.
There’s a particular institution you’re inveighing against. 
Tenants, renters, unite! We can do more than resent! 
Together we have super powers; individually, you’re not even Clark Kent.
We can keep organizing to guarantee everyone housing and abolish rent! 

Indentured Heart

She deployed her body for my pleasure
Rather, she moved to reveal the treasure 
Like gold to my frankincense and myrrh
A memory intrudes; I can never forget her 

I was hard as oak like Emory, ready to enter 
My burning desire made her that much wetter
She willingly left Paradise; heaven sent her 
A supple, supernal body, both firm and tender

To actualize her potential she needed a mentor
I taught her to groove, as if working a Fender 
Our reproductive fluids mixed, as if in a blender
My secretion flowed like bars beyond measure 

She helped me convalesce, that’s for damn sure 
I needed that unadulterated ambrosia, so pure 
But alas, I drank to excess and went on a bender
She was both caring nurse and generous bartender 

Now I’m without the cure, remembering how we were
So I sip scotch and re-read those letters I sent her 
They all came back with the label “Return to sender” 
She cut to my heart’s center, but thankfully, left an indenture 

Here’s wishing you a happy holidays, Waywards reader. I’ll likely holler at you at least once more before 2024 is all said and done.

Until then, feel free to roast some chestnuts, perhaps on an open fire.

Maybe you can find someone to make magical metaphorical mouth music with under the mistletoe? Better to connect your tongue with another’s under such (consensual) circumstances than to stick it to a cold metal flagpole around this time, as did that poor kid who was friend’s with the boy everybody thought would shoot his eye out in the oft-watched 1983 Bob Clark film!