Step 1. Write word-centos of poetry by Noor Hindi,
Patricia Carragon, Trish Hopkinson and Kalpna Singh-
Chitnis, listening to Charles Mingus, Monk’s Dream.
SADNESS IS MY LONELY FRIEND
(a word-cento of Noor Hindi’s
“Fuck Your Lecture on Craft,
My People Are Dying” *)
Beautiful, dead.
Beautiful, dead moon.
Beautiful, jail of flowers.
Sad flowers sound like forever,
a promise in the moon
from cells of seconds.
I wish day would stop throwing
sad into forever,
a room of beautiful,
sad
flowers
watching ghosts own me
before the moon dies.
I promise you it’s beautiful,
beautiful and sad,
like the flowers.
* Original poem by Noor Hindi published in
POETRY, December 2020.
BLUER THAN YOU
(a word-cento of Patricia Carragon’s
“Autumn in New York” *)
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
that crisp blue;
bluer than an oasis humming down
sky.
And sky shook me with a feeling:
Alone.
Alone with the alone,
blue,
bluer than you
and all your stories,
all your stories;
blue,
bluer than you
on a dark day
when I smiled Goodbye.
* Original poem by Patricia Carragon
published in Jerry Jazz Musician, Fall
2019 edition. Nov. 11, 2019.
NOTHING GOING UNDER NOTHING
(a word-cento of Trish Hopkinson’s
“I Do Not Wait” *)
Waves illuminate a cold tremble
of my worth.
My body is a shell,
nothing.
I am nothing but glass wings.
Waves determine my worth beneath
the sun.
Grace is beneath the waves,
skyward paths of unwaiting.
I am lifted by nothing
in nothing,
nothing but the waves.
* Original poem by Trish Hopkinson
published in Writers Resist, Issue 119.
Oct. 1, 2020.
I CAN’T FACE THE SUN
(a word-cento of Kalpna Singh-Chitnis’s
“What Am I to You” *)
Silent, without happy.
Silent, without choice.
Your questions obscure
my missing happy.
Restless emotions splash endless—
Endless I can’t do.
And I can’t do endless silence.
I want a choice, without air.
I want a choice…
but I can’t undo silence.
I want to answer you
with the utmost calm,
but I can’t.
* Original poem by Kalpna Singh-Chitnis
published in Das Literarisch, Vol. 3 and in
her collection, Bare Soul (2015).
Step 2. For the meditative insert, use poetry
as a means to overcome incredibly difficult
challenges. For instance, when you find
yourself dealing with some suicidal ideation
and have thrown down the knife and are
hiding in your bathroom, after contacting
your twelve-step sponsor, your therapist and
your mother. Start typing on your phone and
write to find your center, in this case, your
center is numb. Your center is to numb out
to the incredible sadness you feel, but also to
realize that ‘numb’ is an OK place to go to,
especially when ‘numb’ is done healthfully.
As you meditate on the dribble of your spit’s
slow collision with the bathroom tile, your
back against the wall, write. Write like there’s
no tomorrow. Write. Write until your heart’s
content, until you’ve found your center and
you’re numb.
MEDITATIVE INSERT
NUMB
Poem I
Bulb. I see light bulb.
Spit. I see spots.
Little spots. The toilet.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want the wild eyes
To entertain the madness
As stairways become
Paper thrown
On heavens ceiling
And heaven is just out the
window
And there are knives outside
the window
And when you don’t have a
cell phone
And all you see are knives
What do you do?
Who do you call when you
don’t have your center
When panic is reality
And the wild eyes are coming
I miss the mountain
Why is father so cold
I miss the mountain
I want to hear raindrops
instead of tears
Poem II
They say mountains are men
But I can feel the iron lung
They say fathers are like lions
But when you’re so afraid
Of the mane
How can you dismantle
What isn’t there and I want
peace
Knives can feel
And wild eyes
Better when they turn numb
Numb is where the heart
grows peaceful
Numb is where mommy tells
me to go
Hide in numb
Numb is found in the
bathroom
Away from the knife
Against the wall
Numb is my hands typing
these words
Numb is the spot on the toilet
Numb is the light. The bulb.
Numb is how you get hope
again
I know because I’m numb
Because I’m not the window
or the knife
I’m numb
But numb is the center
And I’ve found my center
I’m numb
Numb is beautiful when you
can accept that beauty isn’t
always a feeling
And so I hold you tight, my
numbness
Never let me go
Not until the stars align and
heaven isn’t out the window
And lions no longer roar
Poem III
My center is numbness
A stabilizing numbness
The same numbness
wild eyes wanted
with the knife
In fear of the lion
Standing mountaintop
Wild
Free
or afraid to be free
Poem IV
I need to go back to numbness,
because numbness is my center,
because feeling is too much.
No, light bulb isn’t my center.
I don’t think it ever was.
Not feeling is my center.
I didn’t want to feel the pain
hence the knife
Natural numb stops
everything.
Better than the wild eyes.
Poem V
I love you,
but right now,
I don’t feel any love.
Not for you,
not for anyone.
Not even
for myself.
All I know is
I need to grow
cold.
Numb.
The wet dark stillness.
The silent meditation numb.
Contemplate the dribble
protruding from my lip
This lip of a silent wind
A nothing, an empty shell
Not a wheel
Feeling is the darkness.
Poem VI
I don’t believe you.
I don’t believe you have it in
your heart
to care about me that much.
I don’t you’ll stay away.
I believe you’re a lion, and
you’re afraid of the dark.
But I need the dark
to stay alive.
I can’t share the darkness with you.
You’ll dim the beauty.
Step 3. Combine word-centos with the meditative insert.
NUMB (combo)
Dedicated to Noor Hindi, Trish Hopkinson,
Patricia Carragon, Kalpna Singh-Chitnis
I.
Bulb. I see light bulb.
Spit. I see spots.
Little spots. The toilet.
Beautiful, dead.
Beautiful, dead moon.
Beautiful, jail of flowers.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want the wild eyes
to entertain the madness
as stairways become sad flowers.
Sad flowers sound like forever,
a promise in the moon
from cells of seconds
and paper thrown
on heaven’s ceiling
And heaven is just out the
window
And there are knives outside
the window
And when you don’t have a
cell phone
And all you see are knives
What do you do?
Who do you call when you
don’t have your center
When panic is reality
And the wild eyes are coming
I miss the mountain
Why is father so cold
I miss the mountain
I want to hear raindrops
instead of tears
Blue, bluer than you,
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
They say mountains are men
But I can feel the iron lung
They say fathers are like lions
But when you’re so afraid
Of the mane
How can you dismantle
What isn’t there and I want
peace
Knives can feel
And wild eyes
Better when they turn numb
than when waves illuminate a cold tremble
of my worth.
And numb is where the heart
grows peaceful
Numb is where mommy tells
me to go
Hide in numb
Numb is found in the
bathroom
Away from the knife
Against the wall
Numb is my hands typing
these words
Numb is the spot on the toilet
Numb is the light. The bulb.
Numb is how you get hope
again
I know because I’m numb
Because I’m not the window
or the knife
I am lifted by nothing
in nothing,
nothing but the waves.
I’m numb
Numb is the center
And I’ve found my center
I’m numb
Numb is beautiful when you
can accept that beauty isn’t
always a feeling
And so I hold you tight, my
numbness
Never let me go
Not until the stars align and
heaven isn’t out the window
And lions no longer roar
And sky no longer shakes me
with a feeling
Blue, bluer than you,
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
that crisp blue—
My center is numbness
A stabilizing numbness
The same numbness
wild eyes wanted
with the knife
In fear of the lion
Standing mountaintop
Wild
Free
or afraid to be free—
bluer than you
and all your stories,
all your stories.
Blue, bluer than you,
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
that crisp blue;
bluer than an oasis humming down
sky.
I need to go back to numbness,
because numbness is my center,
because feeling is too much.
No, light bulb isn’t my center.
I don’t think it ever was.
Not feeling is my center.
I didn’t want to feel the pain
hence the knife
Natural numb stops
everything.
Blue, bluer than you,
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
that crisp blue;
bluer than an oasis humming down
sky.
Better than the wild eyes
Blue, bluer than you,
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
that crisp blue;
bluer than an oasis humming down
sky.
Better than the wild eyes
Blue, bluer than you,
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
that crisp blue;
bluer than an oasis humming down
sky.
Blue, bluer than you
on a dark day
when I smiled Goodbye.
II.
I love you,
but right now,
I don’t feel any love.
Not for you,
not for anyone.
Not even
for myself.
I want to answer you
with the utmost calm,
but I can’t.
All I know is
I need to grow
cold.
Numb.
The wet dark stillness.
The silent meditation numb.
Your questions obscure
my missing happy.
Restless emotions splash endless—
Endless I can’t do.
Contemplate the dribble
protruding from my lip
This lip of a silent wind
A nothing, an empty shell
Not a wheel
I am nothing but glass wings.
And feeling is the darkness.
And I can’t do endless silence.
I want a choice, without air.
I want a choice…
but I can’t undo silence.
Blue, bluer than you,
Bluer than the human scenery
Bluer than the nearby stranger—
that crisp blue;
bluer than an oasis humming down
sky—
Blue, bluer than you
on a dark day
when I smiled Goodbye—
throwing sad into forever,
a room of beautiful
flowers,
beautiful,
sad flowers
I wish day would stop throwing
sad into forever, a room of beautiful
sad
flowers
watching ghosts own me
before the moon dies.
III.
I don’t believe you, day.
I don’t believe you have it in
your heart
to care about me that much.
I don’t believe you’ll stay away.
I don’t believe you’ll stop throwing
sad into forever, a room of
sad flowers—
I believe you’re a lion, and
you’re afraid of the dark.
But I need the dark
to stay alive.
I can’t share the darkness with you.
You’ll dim the beauty.
And I promise you it’s beautiful,
beautiful and sad
like the flowers.
Joshua Corwin, a Los Angeles native, is a neurodiverse, 2-time Pushcart Prize-nominated, 1-time Best of the Net-nominated poet and Spillwords Press Publication of the Month winner. His debut poetry collection Becoming Vulnerable (2020) details his experience with autism, addiction, sobriety and spirituality. He has lectured at UCLA, performed at the 2020 National Beat Poetry Festival and Mystic Boxing Commission Festival of Sound and Vision, read with 2013 US Presidential Inaugural Poet Richard Blanco, Michael C. Ford, S.A. Griffin, Ellyn Maybe, among others. His Beat poetry is to be anthologized alongside Ferlinghetti, Hirschman, Ford, Coleman and Weiss late this year (Sparring Omnibus, Mystic Boxing Commission). He hosts the poetry podcast “Assiduous Dust,” writes the weekly Incentovise column for Oddball Magazine and teaches poetry to neurodiverse individuals and autistic addicts in recovery at The Miracle Project, an autism nonprofit. Corwin’s collaborative collection A Double Meaning, with David Dephy, is currently seeking publication. He also has forthcoming collaborative poetry projects with Ellyn Maybe including Ghosts Sing into the World’s Ear (Ghost Accordion series 1st Wave, Mystic Boxing Commission). Corwin is editing and compiling Assiduous Dust: Home of the OTSCP, Vol. 1 (forthcoming April 2021, TBD) featuring 36 award-winning poets, all demonstrating a new type of found poem (OTSCP) he invented.
Leave A Comment