Poems by Luther Jarman

Luther Jarman

I refuse to have writer’s block

I refuse to have writer’s block. I come from the school of hard knocks. I’ll write about dirty socks. Pickup your pen and begin. Stir up the gift of God within. You can even write about sin. Write about something you love. Write about Michael Jackson’s glove. Write about the stars above. Poet, write or die! You can write if you try— You’ll create something by and by. All poets know how to lie. I refuse to have writer’s block. Come from the school of hard knocks. I’ll write about dirty socks Or hitting somebody in the head with a rock. I refuse to have writer’s block. Luther Jarman

Martin Luther King Jr., the dreamer

The dreamer went to the mountaintop. The dreamer can be killed. But the dream can’t be stopped. Let Justice roll down like a mighty stream. Thank you, Martin, for your dream. Luther Jarman

Martin and my father

Martin was born in Georgia, the son of a black minister.

My Father was born in Georgia, the son of a black minister.

Martin was a man of peace.

My Father was a violent man, full of hatred, wild and crazy.

My Father lived by the gun and died by the gun in Lockland, Ohio.

Martin died by the gun too.

I hope I don’t die by the gun. Luther Jarman

I interview Luther Jarman on the four elements

Question: What is your favorite element? Answer: Earth. Our birth is from mother Earth. Everything of worth comes from the dirt— the food we eat, the precious gems, automobile parts, and artificial limbs.

Question: Which element do you like least? Answer: Fire. It can keep you warm or do you harm, but it is good for cooking your food.

Question: Being an Aquarius, do you feel at home with water? Answer: In the desert water is more precious than gold. Water quenches the thirsty soul.

Question: Which brings us to wind—what association do you have with it? Answer: Wind is the air we breathe. Cool air always relieves. That’s why we have the windows open. Luther Jarman

Genealogy

Ignorance and alcohol has made many men fall. Granddad always had a half-gallon of Old Granddad 100% proof Kentucky straight bourbon. Drinking corn licker and dandelion wine, sick and crazy out of his mind. Beer and cheap licker swiss up made your car drive quicker. Drinking vodka straight, vomiting on your date. Kentucky Hustler and hunks, a bunch of bluegrass drunks. Mama was a drunk, daddy was too. Being an alcoholic will make you blue. Luther Jarman Poet on an ego trip

I am the master poet and I know it. I write, write, write. I recite, recite, recite. I take the word and make the word “Flesh.” I write better than the rest. I am P-O-E-T with capital “P”. The master poet, they don’t write better than me. I been writing for forty years. Through blood, sweat, and tears. Through the Vietnam War. I have my battle scars. I wrote about almost everything you can name. I’m the master of the poetry game. I am the language-maker. I am the heart breaker. Being a boozer made me a loser. I remember everything I did. Now I am the comeback kid. Luther Jarman

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