WE’VE GOT THE POWER

philly01

 

WE’VE GOT THE POWER

The lights dim and you can hear the soprano sax in the stairwell echoing a rambunctious discordance. It provides background to the dull hiss of the noise track the DJ’s cued up and everyone who talks over it.

A musician walks out with a kora, handmade from the driftwood of the Delaware River.

Another musician walks out and starts kicking the keys of an upright piano, the not-so-subtle signal for the crowd’s dull din to slow.

Sounds of the saxophone descend the stairwell and enter the darkened hall. Held by a hooded figure, an African Lion in a cloud of fire emblazoned across the breast of the player, who is busy summoning the heartbeats of the ancestors with squeals of lightning struck out by his every puff of thunder.

The room is shook to pause. Everyone frozen as this chieftain rounds the room and takes his throne. From there he begins to strum the winds to storm. The kora like a sorcerer’s staff bending under the weight of all the years casting spells. He does this till everyone is properly stewed and mind’s are blown.

Then the golden soprano sax is again drawn. It lights up the room all on its own. Staccatos and frequencies that jar the audience to life.
The whole crowd snapping fingers, shouting, “Yeah, man! Go!”
Kicking legs, toppling drums. Piano again kicked to riff some dreams to be born. The whole sound cosmic. Like Sun Ra re-embodied. But this ain’t the Marshall Allen show. This is the midnight after hours post-show. Desert to a five course meal. It has some of that same soul and takes it further with elements of magic exposed by the light of the moon.

The sparks fly upwards. West Philly atmosphere grows. All those healing tones. And everyone knows…these moments fill the spiritual impact of all this city’s potholes. Chemistry for the heart chakra.

Zip! Zoop! Doo bop! Beep! Bam! Boom! Go Man! Go!

The machine can cut at the life chords. Stomp on this city’s residents’ souls. Pound away at them with all that concrete gloom and doom. Tear away at the pieces that are dearest to hold. But no one’s got the power to make the legends grow old. They’re not dying, no. They’re growing more power, full! Feeling the call. Blasting those spiritual hymns and tones. The jazz that’s needed to take us home. Back to our hearts immemorial!

Reminding us, we’ve got the power! We are the power of storms!

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WE’VE GOT THE POWER

Help me finish writing my first novel!

Do you want to help your favorite Dream Poet get through the coldest months of the new year? BECOME A PATRON! I’ve expanded a campaign for you to support my writing and get back for what you give.

Click here: https://www.patreon.com/marshalljameskavanaugh

For any amount you’ll get access to my collections past and future of Travel By Haiku, as well as a behind the scenes look at a novel I’ve been writing for four years now. Give a little more and you’ll be able to read the rough drafts of this novel as well as other collections I’ve published in the past.

The novel I’m working on is about the first road trip I took across the country in 2014. A lot of you have already heard excerpts from it, but for those who haven’t, it takes place mostly in a month-long stretch between San Francisco, Big Sur, and LA featuring a style of borderline fiction and beatnik reflection leaving the reader breathless, caught between dream worlds, seeking the meaning of the American Dream in general. This will be the opening saga of the Marshall Deerfield legend and I am restless to get it to its completion.

I really appreciate any support this winter, since I won’t have as many opportunities to type on the streets and as a result I’ll be living pretty frugally. If you’ve enjoyed my writing in the past, this would be a great chance to support me while engaging in the process.

If monthly fees ain’t your thing and you’re looking for another way to offer support: I’m always open to one-time tips or commissions to write poems for loved ones. Anything and everything goes a long way for this simple poet / zen lunatic. Thanks again for all of the support of my community in the past. I hope to have this novel in a place ready to be published by the end of the year, so y’all can read it from cover to cover.

Help me finish writing my first novel!

Winter Tour 2018 – Don’t Forget The Magic

majaka31

 

Hey all, my tour kicks off today in Atlanta! I hope to see you out, somewhere along the East Coast. Ma Ja Ka has returned and is ready to share some light on the shadows. Don’t forget the magic! Shadow keep on, keepin’ on!

Ma Ja Ka – Poetry Tour, Winter 2018
DECEMBER 2018
4 – at The Bakery Atlanta in Atlanta, GA
6 – at Moon Lake Manor in Atlanta, GA
8 – at McDonalds in Athens, GA
8 – at The Mill in Athens, GA
9 – at Rainbow Cave in Savannah, GA
12 – at Whirligig Stage in Greeneville, NC
14 – at house show in Asheville, NC
15 – at Carriage House in Blacksburg, VA
18 – at Rhizome DC in Washington DC
19 – at The Crown in Baltimore, MD
20 – at The Random Tea Room & Curiosity Shop in Philadelphia, PA

Winter Tour 2018 – Don’t Forget The Magic

SUMMER OF LOVE

I fall into the dream and don’t look back. The Muse is there. Her green eyes transfixed on the form my body takes between foolish leaps of inner revolution.

FALLING. Falling. falling.

The way two bodies merge in such tranquil motion. Atop mountain boulders. Beside the trickle of wet streams. Upon the shores of desert lakes resembling surrealist paintings from another century.

She the High Priestess. The Queen of Cups. A faerie springing from the leaf in the wind. The waterways that flow through us. Blood lines that brought us to this place together.

Funny how you can fall for someone in an hour and a half car ride where for the last half hour, half the car is asleep and the other half is saying to himself, “Well, at least she exists. I was starting to think I’d been holding too high expectations. But now I see she’s out there. I’m satisfied just to know she exists,” and not expecting anything beyond the crossing of their transits.

But two stars built of the same cosmic dust tend to find an alignment in their gravitation at least for a short bit.

“Wouldn’t it be interesting for two people to go on the road together traveling to national parks across the country, sleeping together underneath the stars, finding waterfalls to lay each other under, climbing trees to hang upon the view in one another’s arms, so that when finally they conceive a child they could say this starseed was conceived in a beautiful place,” she muses.

Warrior rambling between revolution and lovemaking. Her soft embrace a sacrament to boost both their life forces. Even in conflict, their conversation of peaceful resolve. Gaining a better understanding for communication that lies beyond the tongue. Eye gazing till the gold of the sun adds depth to their inner light. Magic that illuminates the path they both stand on.

“You’re such a romantic,” she says.

“I’m one of the last,” he replies.

Poetry read out loud during these long car rides. Roads blocked because of the forest fires, but with every orgasm another monsoon to douse the flames. Soon the earth is wet and fertile again. He, her humble Pan, pantomiming the flute as they climb the rocks and go swimming in the river. She, his Artemis, her beauty soaking up moonlight, soaking up river bends, bouncing upon forest undergrowth in tune to the beat of his heart rhythms.

Purple lupine line the roadway. Datura blooms on every city street corner.

“I love how you’re such a Dreamer,” he exclaims.

“What do you mean when you say that?” she asks.

“It’s something in your eyes.”

“Oh, you mean the madness?”

“Perhaps that’s what it is. But how I see it, you have one eye focused on this plane and the other sees deeply into the spirit world, beyond it.”

They talk of hallucinogenic trips they’ve took. Lessons they’ve learned. Ceremonies they’ve held. They eat mushrooms while sitting at the edge of a painting and examine the fractals that overlay their bodies.

Green chile and lime sauce. Enough to move a peyote button to skip across the roof of a purple adobe cavern.

Time melts. The sea splits in half. They move between worlds unseen by the general populace. But their motions are felt. Must be all the love. The look on each one’s face. A little glimmer of hope in this great wasteland of chaos.

The dreams they craft. Drifting out. Rippling out. Writhing from skin on skin contact. Everywhere they go, the rains follow. She commands him with her hands to grab her breasts and ride the infinite crescent moon she holds beneath her dress.

Both panting, but not exhausted, they connect the worlds and bridge their passions in a way that only lovers can.

SUMMER OF LOVE

Currents New Media Festival – Update

Working today with Anthony Carson on our ManifeSTATION Station, which will premiere at Currents New Media Festival in Santa Fe, NM during opening weekend, June 7th-June 10th.

Step inside this lotus tent and add your manifestations to the air. There will be audio and visual projections to make all these manifestations come true. We’re talking about the simple things and the big things. The everything that is personal and the way things like the Earth call us home.

Outside the ManifeSTATION Station, Anthony and I will be offering #dreamsbyrequest in the form of drawings and typewritten poetry. Can’t wait to pull this wild experience together and share it with you all, come June!

Currents New Media Festival – Update

 

I woke up Sunday morning and wondered if it had all been just a dream. The kind of dreaming where it is hard to distinguish the surreal from reality. A whirlwind of sound and experience. And every element falling into place exactly as it should be.

It only happens once every few years, but on Saturday night I separated from my dream body, the magical unicorn, Ma Ja Ka. It was the closing night of “A Poem Is Where The Heart Is…” and the mood seemed right for us to become two bodies in order to read some of the poetry everyone has written throughout National Poetry Month inside the gallery.

Thank you everyone for attending this grand dream exhibition! Thank you to everyone who played such a big role in creating it. So much beauty and community was shared. I’m still frolicking in the euphoria stirred in my heart. I thought I’d be relieved to have the month over, but honestly, my heart aches for more. Looking forward to everything that comes next in this wild life.