"Alarm Clock Improbable," by Maple Dewleaf

"Alarm Clock Improbable," by Maple Dewleaf, closing poem in the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, July 30, 2011.

"Alarm Clock Improbable"

by Maple Dewleaf
from the 2011 FlagSlam National Poetry Slam team chapbook "Gossamer Outrage"

Beep, beep, beep!
Shut up!
Beep, beep, beep!
Shut up!

Suddenly the inertia of my mind’s willingness to wake,
And the gravitational pull of my arm to the snooze button
Give me an increment in time just long enough to contemplate
Life, death, breakfast, and

Beep, beep, beep!

Inertia down gravity up
In a whip smash
My clock at the wall
With the
Same swift motion my body out of bed
And making my blankets fall
And I believe that this is when things begin to gravitate
To the space beneath my couch cushions

I am as you are
Due to a series of imaginary rules
Isaac Newton’s puppet
Look at me dance
Look at us dance
Look at my pen scratch across air
Like a dagger to butter

I’m composing a masterpiece in a language
You don’t understand
On stationery you cannot perceive
It’s not even stationary
It’s moving in every direction all the time
And I have to wipe off the residue
Of yours and a million different brains
Just to communicate this to you

All things are one, right
So I see that green light
Therefore that green light, is a constant wall
From source to destination
I look at you looking at me and we are one,
This much is true to everyone we see
You laugh
Alright,
You say; “if that we’re true I could manifest a smoke right now”
You can,
You merely do not comprehend how to do so
I, however, have been cut from Isaac Newton’s strings
Now fathom that I am currently
Kicking your ass, as you are mine,
And holding each other,
Like fruit to vine
But in that we are doing all, all the time
All=1
You can’t win or loose
Now if you can see this
Cut off Newton’s strings forming noose
Around your perception
And simple accept the improbable

Copyright 2011 © Maple Dewleaf Nic Griffin

Maple Dewleaf

Photo courtesy of Tara Graeber 

Maple Dewleaf 

Born of the smoggy heart of Texas the youngest brother of five to a single mother, Maple Dewleaf was brought into this world a free spirit. As a child he would spend most of his time barefoot and in the forests of Northern Arizona. To this day Huckleberry Finn remains his biggest hero.

He became a significant member of Flagstaff’s poetry slam at the age of 16 while experiencing a slight case of house arrest fever. Having first hitched a ride at the age of 13, swears to this day the best way to catch a ride is to look very undetermined but still focused on something just over the horizon of view.

Dewleaf has worked as a grocery bagger, fence painter, fast-food cook, fry-cook, door installer, the wise hippie janitor of a truck stop, and various street side attractions including musician with classically trained vocals, alleyway poet, psychedelic amusement and $5 dare-taker extraordinaire.

At the ripe old age of almost 20 years, he was given the greatest gift he ever received: Wildflower Clementine, his beautiful daughter. Most days Maple can be found meditating with his gorgeous wife, whom he would crawl hands and knees through barrel cactuses for: Patches Dewleaf and little baby Wildflower, in the hidden woods of Anywhere, America.