Step 1. Write word-centos of poetry by the late
Lee Sharkey, Melissa Castillo Planas, Laurel
Peterson and Brian Sonia-Wallace. (In non-
shpiggidity-shpaggidity speak, a word-cento is
basically a rearrangement of the words of a poem
however you see fit, but only using the words of
the poet, particularly the words in only one poem
of said saint.)

 

MOTHER

(a word cento of “Kaethe Kollwitz, Self-Portrait
(1923)” *)

I secretly chisel God in my mouth,
watching blood kneel to the ground.

I am a ram, the life and its end,
unmoving in the distance.

I bend an idea: “Mother.”

* Original poem by Lee Sharkey
published in Ibbetson Street #42.
December 2017.

 

MY ABUELA

(a word-cento of Melissa Castillo Planas’
“Toolkit” *)

My abuela is a sledgehammer.
My abuela taught me more
than silence, sorrow.

She contours coercion,
widens a line from hospital to historical holes
refusing home to be broken bones:
forgetfulness and complicity.

My abuela taught me life
can’t be life
with only a rosary.

“Mother” laughs to survive.

But I slice the wild silence, stubborn
with action
& my abuela.

* Original poem by Melissa Castillo Planas
published in Riza Press. December 2019.

 

EVE

(word-cento of Laurel Peterson’s
“Infinite Eve” & “As the Universe
Spins Apart” * +)

Eve, birthing pearls of limitless,
echoes a billion mothers’ whorls—
expansion from darkness
int something we breathe.

This is not blue myth,
a heavenly speck of war,
star-dust a janitor missed
in the multiverse warehouse.

God died for Mother,
a heavenly net of light
between worlds
vibrating poetry

on the infinite string,
beyond loneliness,
like a lung in time,
a reality of vastness. —

You want to scream light
from your clay corner,
because Eve is light
in the darkness your throat is war.

* Original poems by Laurel Peterson
published by Verse-Virtual. October
2020.

+ Note a word-cento is only of one
poem. However, I consider Laurel
Peterson’s “As the Universe Spins
Apart” to be a continuation of her
“Infinite Eve.”

 

A WHIRLWIND OF PURPOSE

(a word-cento of Brian Sonia-Wallace’s
“125 Poems for 25 Years: a Mall of
America® Residency Proposal” *)

1.

Racing romances, trips you would play /
immortalizing ink, a touchstone sits /
and makes permanence art, /
(–>)(–>) journalism a photo in New York /
(–>)(–>)(–>) community. I gift /
(–>)(–>) experience. What were generations of selfies /
(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>) for the poet? //

(–>)(–>)(–>) What were heart in hand, /
(–>)(–>)(–>) friends fly, discovering history blown up /
(–>)(–>)(–>) in the end for recluse-music flight /
(–>)(–>)(–>) & expedition, /
(–>)(–>)(–>) another intimate flash, /
(–>)(–>) screens in my face, /
(–>)(–>) cross the Mall of America.

2.

Nostalgia thrown back by a roller coaster /
(–>) telling the story of Kerouac, /
capturing performance, experience needs /
a shopper– /
a sign snaps memory grinning /
with a (–>)(–>)(–>) clack opening grand, grand- //

children woven into evening, Twitter, /
(–>) you brave words under the friends of trees, //

spinning creativity, a time never seen, but /
garbled spectacularly, steady /
(–>) a writer is stained behind the display, desire /
(–>)(–>) says ice faces the Mall of America, /
(–>) reaches every day for ivory sunsets //

(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>) reading wonder Abramovic– /
(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>) I remember, /
(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>) contact to tell /
(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>) a bard underneath /
(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>) a whirlwind of purpose.

* Original poem published by Brian Sonia-Wallace
in The Poetry of Strangers (HarperCollins, June 2020).

 

Step 2. For the meditative insert, type the serenity
prayer into Facebook Messenger to help a friend
see the light and overcome the shadow and find
yourself infixed and enthroned in song. Do this
late at night, post-midnight, around the twilight
hour. The next morning, after you finished
meditating for an hour, return to the meditative
insert you constructed and read it aloud. Bang
a gong and play “Rubber Band Man”
by The Detroit Spinners on full blast. Dance
in your underwear, like you just don’t care!
Have a pen in your hand and start adding a few
words every now and then to each line while
listening to the song. Re-read it
and say amen. Then later at night, listen to
Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock” (Live-In Studio, 1970),
then Melanie, “Lay Down (Candles in the Rain,”
while inserting words into your meditative insert.
(A meditative insert is kinda tough to explain.
Really, it’s whatever gets your grooviness going…
but in a meditative way, with a hard-on for poetry.)

(NOTE FOR READERS: I’m omitting the
meditative insert here because this column would be
way too long, it’s already very long, and I’d like you
groovy readers to enjoy the aftermath, combo piece
in Step 3.)

 

Step 3. Combine the meditative insert and word-centos
while listening to Brian Sonia-Wallace’s Drive-In Book
Launch Via Short Wave Radio at Beyond Baroque
Literary Arts Center in Venice, Los Angeles, California.
Have the legs of a fold-up chair hold the word-centos
down on the ground while you go through the poems
line by line and insert each line or phrase of the word-
cento into the meditative insert.

 

JUST BREATHE A BREATH OF LIFE

God, bless me with truth, unexpected stardust,
echoes a billion mothers’ whorls—
a heavenly speck of war, not myth.
God, bless me with the power to yearn for the seasons
beyond loneliness
refusing home to be broken bones,
forgetfulness and complicity;
rattle chide cages of unknown forgiveness.
My abuela is a sledgehammer.
God, help me to see past the memory mirage, this fog
blinding
a whirlwind of purpose,
vibrating poetry on the infinite string.

I secretly chisel God in my mouth,
watching blood kneel to the ground.

I am a ram, the life and its end,
unmoving in the distance.

I bend an idea: “Mother.”

“Mother” laughs to survive,

(–>)(–>)(–>) friends fly, discovering history blown up
(–>)(–>)(–>) in the end for the recluse-music flight
(–>)(–>)(–>) & expedition,
(–>)(–>)(–>) another intimate flash,

My abuela taught me life
can’t be life
with only a rosary.

God, bless me with the help that comes through
summertime
when my spirit dances awake across the universe
in the multiverse warehouse.
God, transfigure a cross, the Mall of America,
beyond the horizon dark
and bestow it in my heart of hearts,
immortalizing ink.
God, let the ozone not ooze with temptation dubious.
God, deliver me from declaring that this is evil
and that is sin.
God, help me to see good in all people.
God, help me to live within the garden,
to listen to candles soar with doves
against the night singing
as the gold-ridged mountains of tomorrow ring
and valleys whisper unbroken joy— never
slip away into dirt,
experience clapping me with laughter into the present.
God, let me forgive myself for what I know I am not.
God, let me be the man who I can praise
and sing songs of peace.
God, please divine my spirit into eternity, blue and wide,
let electricity be my refrain.
God died for Mother,
a heavenly net,
between worlds golden—
Can You shower me with plenty!
God, lay me down with the world all around the night!
God, let the mold not squander its youth turning free!
God, o quiet darkness, hallow me with stars and sunshine
capturing performance, needs of a shopper—
when You wisp away wicked and willful into the light!
You want to scream light
from your clay corner,
because Eve is light
in the darkness Your throat is war.
God, I am silenced by your song,
expanded into effervescent infinity, peace
that comes before the moon, as the tide overturns
shadows & crickets’ last crime
upon the crash of sisters, brothers
nostalgia thrown back by a rollercoaster community. I gift
(–>)(–>) experience. What were generations of selfies
(–>)(–>)(–>)(–>) before the poet
made art permanence in New York
coming together in harmony free as the rain?
God, I know You have showered me with beauty
across the seasons in the starry night,
caressing me with white birds heavenly,
which bleed the blues yet seek divinity.
God, I know this is just a pilgrimage,
and I have meant to bless You all these years,
but I slice silence wild, stubborn
sign naps memory grinning
with action
with a (–>)(–>)(–>) clack opening grand, grand-
children woven into evening brave words
spinning creativity, a time never seen,
stained
behind the display,
desire
reaches every day for/underneath
ivory sunsets,
star-dust a janitor missed,
& my abuela,
like a lung in time,
expansion from darkness
into something we breathe.
So, God, as I slumber off into timelessness
may You bless me for another year—
as the synagogue is quiet, engulfed/enveloped in light
to make meaning
a living painting bright
and grow old, wise
reading wonder Abramovic—
sunshine in Your eyes,
for where there’s darkness, please lay me down
to bring heaven
up from the ground
into Your eyes.
Your divinity, is not a sandcastle crushed
Your godliness runs everywhere throughout the night—
is here in all Being,
God, You are the fountain and the spring.
You clothe the poor and feed the weak, You walk into
my very sleep,
with rainbow cry
tears roll down my cheek
cherub rosy sweet,
listening life aglow,
glistening in my mind.
You, God, are the miracle of the night.

 

Joshua Corwin, a Los Angeles native, is a neurodiverse, Pushcart Prize-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 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” 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).