The original Geekz. Graphic poem by Bill Pelon. Check out his work at http://www.graphicpoetry.net/index.html

The TwinGeekz Artz Project (TGAP) was initiated in 2005 by visual artist, Michael Sean Piper, and musician, Jim Tyrrell, as a means to jumpstart our creative selves. The idea for the project was born out of a number of influences including a trip to the Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, FL (and a look at Dali’s Master Works) and Chris Baty’s National Novel Writing Month.

The premise of TGAP was simple. Artists working a in variety of media would commit to completing one work of art per week for one year. The first time through we had seven artists working with visual art, music, poetry, graphic poetry, short prose, and Haiku. All seven of us completed the project.

Our third time through, TGAP 3 had grown to include 17 artists and several guest artists as well. You can view that work here: http://twingeekz.wordpress.com 

Talk is bubbling up about starting TGAP 4, possibly in January of 2015, so I thought I’d revisit some of my work from past years in the meanwhile. Today, I’m going to share my first four TGAP submissions. Each of these poems are as they appeared during the project – for better or for worse.

Week One:

Editing

In that booth

My voice dropped out –

The diner vinyl

Fleck silver-red

And the formica table

Clothed in drafts set

Its steel legs between

Us (And you

thought you’d

divide mine with

words) – Because

For that year, Mentor,

I’d written on the spur

You’d created;

The  crafty critiquing,

The ulterior intent.

Week Two:

Allusion: Episode III

My son, 13,

Swaying somewhere

Between man

And boy, (as

Others snort

Heroin at school;

Become inadvertent

Parents; get

Blown to fragment

In Iraq) rolls

A toy spaceship

Across the floor,

Between notes

From girls, rolled

Up socks, stuffed

Pandas. As I

Spy, he reaches

For Anakin;

For Padmé.

Week Three:

Incantation: Allusion Episode V

Han Solo in the Carbonite;

Han Solo in the Carbonite;

Han

So

Lo

In

The

Car

bon

Ite.

Somewhere, Beowulf endures,

(as I’ve loved you

trapped there

since 5th grade)

Yet you’re still

Stuck, Myth Maker.

As the Evil Empire breaks

Democracy; changes

Rules to suit their game;

And flexes its oily self

To push you back under –

Grendel’s arm hangs, but,

Han Solo, Woodward

And Bernstein have become

Unferth; in the blurb

of a media eye,

Truth is dead.

Week Four:

Snap. Crackle. Pop. Run for Cover

The young man –

Sticky from pancakes –

With crisp black hair

And drab olive-green fatigues

Boards the bus,

And will never return.

The dog-tags that

Tinkle and he climbs

The two-steps up,

Will return around

The neck of something

War created. The practical

Joker (who hanged dummies

from trees last Halloween; had

his hands on the fuzzy, violet

cardigan in the Olds) was left

Behind, dead in some jungle,

Clutching his Purple Heart.

And the shell-filled

Man here with terror

His companion and eyes

That stay mostly open

As he sleeps, can’t see

The girl in her

Yellow satin nightie.

Across from him,

Eating Rice Krispies;

Smelling him

Polish his boots.

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