Monday, December 16, 2013
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Irene
good night Irene good night
I slid the military body underneath the sheets
radio on, for back up
rest of her turned downwards
faced away from me
she is friendly but a dream
radio on, to back out
and say good night
good night you don't want me that way
September 21
I slid the military body underneath the sheets
radio on, for back up
rest of her turned downwards
faced away from me
she is friendly but a dream
radio on, to back out
and say good night
good night you don't want me that way
September 21
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
I Really Will Not Rewrite This Poem
I will not rewrite this poem.
I will rewrite this poem.
I rewrite this poem.
Rewrite this poem.
This poem.
This.
August 11
I will rewrite this poem.
I rewrite this poem.
Rewrite this poem.
This poem.
This.
August 11
Children's Book
Took pride in growing up this alligator:
Swim here, my five-inch friend, then to your cage.
And though I loved him then, I knew that later
He'd be too tough to care for in old age.
As week and week went by, he grew until
His thrashing mass (which threw me all about)
Could crawl all walls and slither round to fill
The biggest space I had. Sad day! I threw him out.
My parents don't believe me, and they say:
"How could something so big just get away?"
I think that he's still near, and since he's free
He's found the room for grace in his cold heart.
He's warm-blooded enough to forgive me
And keep me safe, his human counterpart!
August 10
Swim here, my five-inch friend, then to your cage.
And though I loved him then, I knew that later
He'd be too tough to care for in old age.
As week and week went by, he grew until
His thrashing mass (which threw me all about)
Could crawl all walls and slither round to fill
The biggest space I had. Sad day! I threw him out.
My parents don't believe me, and they say:
"How could something so big just get away?"
I think that he's still near, and since he's free
He's found the room for grace in his cold heart.
He's warm-blooded enough to forgive me
And keep me safe, his human counterpart!
August 10
The Big Kids' Table
The big kids walk over. I'm invited.
A few of them ask, at different times during the day
so I know it's not some sort of joke.
I spend the afternoon thinking about it.
When younger, didn't I always want to be cool?
Didn't I always want to be older and distant?
That rarely happened.
Ride in their cars to the school, drive home with them
from work or clubs. The big kids aren't quite so big
after all. They can't be much different from you in the future
and my my my aren't you growing large?
So when the aunts and uncles convalesce
I wear slacks and a nice shirt and a tie
with a bit of my mom's gel on the peak of my hair
and sit quite cramped and uncomforted at their table
with the fork in one hand and the knife in the other
and when I cut a piece of food I switch the knife
with my other hand I pass them over
and replace them to put the food up to my mouth
I spear it and chew it.
They're talking and I listen, and I realize how much
the big kids' table is like all of the other tables I've sat at
when I wasn't quite so young or quite so confident.
This is a real occasion.
The big kids get tired and leave, and I'm finally free
to do things that I can't think of when I'm with them.
August 9
A few of them ask, at different times during the day
so I know it's not some sort of joke.
I spend the afternoon thinking about it.
When younger, didn't I always want to be cool?
Didn't I always want to be older and distant?
That rarely happened.
Ride in their cars to the school, drive home with them
from work or clubs. The big kids aren't quite so big
after all. They can't be much different from you in the future
and my my my aren't you growing large?
So when the aunts and uncles convalesce
I wear slacks and a nice shirt and a tie
with a bit of my mom's gel on the peak of my hair
and sit quite cramped and uncomforted at their table
with the fork in one hand and the knife in the other
and when I cut a piece of food I switch the knife
with my other hand I pass them over
and replace them to put the food up to my mouth
I spear it and chew it.
They're talking and I listen, and I realize how much
the big kids' table is like all of the other tables I've sat at
when I wasn't quite so young or quite so confident.
This is a real occasion.
The big kids get tired and leave, and I'm finally free
to do things that I can't think of when I'm with them.
August 9
Register this:
It looks like these lightbulbs shine
Brighter than they seem to.
There's a gleam to them
Not apparent if you're used to their kind
Mercurial changes, harsh conditions,
"No one looks good under fluorescents."
No one looks well enough to see
That there's a light, shining, beyond us,
And, through, us and between us,
Or that it leads, back to somewhere.
Recycle that:
These lightbulbs shine
Brighter
There's a gleam
Not apparent
Mercurial, harsh
No one looks good
No one looks well enough
There's a light beyond us
Through us
It leads back to somewhere
August 8
It looks like these lightbulbs shine
Brighter than they seem to.
There's a gleam to them
Not apparent if you're used to their kind
Mercurial changes, harsh conditions,
"No one looks good under fluorescents."
No one looks well enough to see
That there's a light, shining, beyond us,
And, through, us and between us,
Or that it leads, back to somewhere.
Recycle that:
These lightbulbs shine
Brighter
There's a gleam
Not apparent
Mercurial, harsh
No one looks good
No one looks well enough
There's a light beyond us
Through us
It leads back to somewhere
August 8
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Smooth Skating
Back when I was skating
wore blades on my feet
Dug into my every move
Hurt those I met
When life is too polished
That's because something's worn down
Feel the grain on your face
When you're pushed to the ground
You can skate real fine in a straight line!
But fall over when something goes wrong
August 7
wore blades on my feet
Dug into my every move
Hurt those I met
When life is too polished
That's because something's worn down
Feel the grain on your face
When you're pushed to the ground
You can skate real fine in a straight line!
But fall over when something goes wrong
August 7
Land Feet
Land feet land feet first. Step one: Then take two.
I walked sensitive and humming to the dynamics
I heard the rain get louder
I saw the sky become brighter.
This image: The roller puts his foot out and falls down
in a graceful arc with a gentle twist onto his bottom.
Sheepish grin. Lambasted by his wife. Sore tonight.
Land feet land feet first.
August 6
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Novel
Novel. no vowels: nwl, new vowel.
An emerging sound. Like learning French
where the oo’s and the u’s and the 2’s are different
push your lips out, pull your throat back.
Novel.
(Feel the way she feels.
You built this in one year. You’d let it fall as easily.
Give it a shot or two.
Let’s make this seem like a sequence of events:
Plodding along, cause and effect,
causally affected.)
August 5
August 5
Monday, August 5, 2013
Noreastor
Noreastor, or at least enough rain released to be one
Charcoal grill (cooking by someone with far more skill)
was just a minute or two ago under the sun!
Now crouched beneath the porch, my dad, his dad, and me.
Through board gap spots the rain drops occasionally
Splotch, hang on hat fat and heavy. Conversation falls.
August 6
Charcoal grill (cooking by someone with far more skill)
was just a minute or two ago under the sun!
Now crouched beneath the porch, my dad, his dad, and me.
Through board gap spots the rain drops occasionally
Splotch, hang on hat fat and heavy. Conversation falls.
August 6
Legalism (Theology)
If poetry was my god, and poems my prayer,
then by god, I was a legalist.
Read back those passion pleas:
words stuck inside the metered lines
each other line forced in to rhymes
and so on.
If poetry was my god, and what I read my doctrine,
then by god, I followed scripture.
Who cares how relevant John Keats
Why write the next Kubla
Khan
Where did I find the
time to labor every night?
If poetry was my god, and was angry with me,
it showed me it was real
when it disappeared, as summer faded,
without an answer or a question.
August 4
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Summer Days
It’s summer days like these that make those sawmill phrases
true,
Sawmill, water wheel, grinding up and down around the round.
It works, reliably.
I try to close the door to the bathroom for some privacy,
But the house is too well-circulated. No doors left unopened
by the wind.
It works, reliably.
No hurry, really. Life’s simpler somehow.
August 3
wee ooo
wee ooo, wee ooo, policemen drive
wee ooo, ooo wee, keep you alive
ooo ooo, ooo wee, pulled off the road
ooo wee, ooo wee, this girl’s gonna get towed
There, I wrote that with sirens on the brain.
Blue cruisers cruise by with that plaintive refrain.
You feel safe when the chariots ride by but others
chafe to hear the dry cry.
wee ooo, wee wee.
August 2
Thursday, August 1, 2013
You Free Friday?
“You free Friday? Let’s go bike riding.”
So you free Friday, and we go, and by deriding you
I find out you don’t respond well to harassment.
Spokewheels spin around spoke well to you:
Spin it around on me try it out.
Make your self, make yourself a man.
Wheel it away from you.
You free Friday again and the same thing happens.
Nice guys ride with their knees to their chins.
You need to learn how to sit where you’ll win.
August 1
Friday, July 26, 2013
Thief
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.
Choked a locomotive train
back in the black and white days,
Channeled flannel-wearing men to jack
a cold sack of gold in the north land rain.
You can tell a tall-tale from the way it's explained:
Does it feel uncontrived, is the story restrained?
If so, I've not revealed my true plot.
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.
Slick hands slip quick across rich man's hips,
wallet's in grip while his trip gets worse.
He doesn't expect it, doesn't suspect
until he checks it, if he catches me I reject it,
and just in case, I am well rehearsed.
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.
New cut designer suit,
Accountants counting countless counties' fees.
What bounty is accrued
when you take a penny or three from each deal
that you've viewed.
No more a theft than thinking's a thought!
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.
Crooners sing it:
Swing tunes and ladies beneath rhymes like Moon in June,
but none of that could make her swoon.
She was his until I made him a baboon
through comparison, yet I little enjoyed the prize
once the fight had been fought.
I did lots of things as a kid, Mama, but I never got caught.
June 26
Choked a locomotive train
back in the black and white days,
Channeled flannel-wearing men to jack
a cold sack of gold in the north land rain.
You can tell a tall-tale from the way it's explained:
Does it feel uncontrived, is the story restrained?
If so, I've not revealed my true plot.
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.
Slick hands slip quick across rich man's hips,
wallet's in grip while his trip gets worse.
He doesn't expect it, doesn't suspect
until he checks it, if he catches me I reject it,
and just in case, I am well rehearsed.
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.
New cut designer suit,
Accountants counting countless counties' fees.
What bounty is accrued
when you take a penny or three from each deal
that you've viewed.
No more a theft than thinking's a thought!
I got lots of things, Mama, but I never got caught.
Crooners sing it:
Swing tunes and ladies beneath rhymes like Moon in June,
but none of that could make her swoon.
She was his until I made him a baboon
through comparison, yet I little enjoyed the prize
once the fight had been fought.
I did lots of things as a kid, Mama, but I never got caught.
June 26
Monday, July 22, 2013
Gypsy Hips
You do the voodoo that you do:
Shake snakes at me, take stakes and wave them bravely,
dance half in a trance
as if your body (not your mind) was free.
The smell of incense is a bit too intense,
open a window, let it out.
You're obvious right now.
Lying together on the grass making photographs,
half baking laughs,
drinking half 'n half from a hot coffee bath
Cut and dry
after the asthma attack.
Your boyfriend's a charmer, too,
he told me, "I don't want to harm her,
but it's the least that I could do."
I have to believe him,
we've been best friends since grade school,
since back when smoking cigarettes was cool,
since before he fell for a pretty fool.
You roll die real nice, chant scant incantations
for cages of white mice, feed them herbs and spice
mixed in with brown and light rice.
You curl up with a horoscope, hoping no Capricorns elope
with Sagitarius today while the pitch of your slope gets higher.
You don't mourn the dead, you say,
"We're born to get older,"
but you really don't mind when I cry on your shoulder.
Gypsy Hips, you've made my world seem less cold,
and so I move you into a less judgmental folder:
Friend.
July 22
Shake snakes at me, take stakes and wave them bravely,
dance half in a trance
as if your body (not your mind) was free.
The smell of incense is a bit too intense,
open a window, let it out.
You're obvious right now.
Lying together on the grass making photographs,
half baking laughs,
drinking half 'n half from a hot coffee bath
Cut and dry
after the asthma attack.
Your boyfriend's a charmer, too,
he told me, "I don't want to harm her,
but it's the least that I could do."
I have to believe him,
we've been best friends since grade school,
since back when smoking cigarettes was cool,
since before he fell for a pretty fool.
You roll die real nice, chant scant incantations
for cages of white mice, feed them herbs and spice
mixed in with brown and light rice.
You curl up with a horoscope, hoping no Capricorns elope
with Sagitarius today while the pitch of your slope gets higher.
You don't mourn the dead, you say,
"We're born to get older,"
but you really don't mind when I cry on your shoulder.
Gypsy Hips, you've made my world seem less cold,
and so I move you into a less judgmental folder:
Friend.
July 22
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Coffee Cowboy
Coffee cowboy beef jerky
US turkey atop the bully pulpit
No matter how you sculpt it, you lose.
Marble, clay, or imaginary way, watch it tumble
when the person says, "Pique a sage, speak Greek at this age?"
I M P O S S I B L E
Turn cows to gold.
Just how? I sold them.
Call Cool Hand Luke, he'll spool out the dollars.
Though he wants to call her, "Fortune,"
I say she's Luck. Luke disagrees even when he pays the fees.
I M P O S S I B L E
When times get rough, it's enough to blow
the storm door down.
The hurricane became an act to see how we'd react:
I say, "Rebuilding's the fun."
I M P O S S I B L E
Gulf coast wars post horror story lore
on message boards once hosted at the office.
Those silky spores explore more possibilities:
I feel ill, still others have to have their fill.
Blood and gore.
I'll nail complaints up on their doors.
I M P O S S I B L E
What do we know of kings?
They sing songs for us, fill a Las Vegas bus,
die and cause a fuss.
Don't tell me we don't love them any way.
Don't tell me we don't elect our royalty.
I M P O S S I B L E
Strange way to end it.
Send it to the editor.
What do you pay him for?
Your dreams laid out in reams on the copier's floor.
Get it? What seems obscene gleams some times.
This boils over. It's over?
Below the surface, it swims and teams.
Your scream:
I M P O S S I B L E
July 20
US turkey atop the bully pulpit
No matter how you sculpt it, you lose.
Marble, clay, or imaginary way, watch it tumble
when the person says, "Pique a sage, speak Greek at this age?"
I M P O S S I B L E
Turn cows to gold.
Just how? I sold them.
Call Cool Hand Luke, he'll spool out the dollars.
Though he wants to call her, "Fortune,"
I say she's Luck. Luke disagrees even when he pays the fees.
I M P O S S I B L E
When times get rough, it's enough to blow
the storm door down.
The hurricane became an act to see how we'd react:
I say, "Rebuilding's the fun."
I M P O S S I B L E
Gulf coast wars post horror story lore
on message boards once hosted at the office.
Those silky spores explore more possibilities:
I feel ill, still others have to have their fill.
Blood and gore.
I'll nail complaints up on their doors.
I M P O S S I B L E
What do we know of kings?
They sing songs for us, fill a Las Vegas bus,
die and cause a fuss.
Don't tell me we don't love them any way.
Don't tell me we don't elect our royalty.
I M P O S S I B L E
Strange way to end it.
Send it to the editor.
What do you pay him for?
Your dreams laid out in reams on the copier's floor.
Get it? What seems obscene gleams some times.
This boils over. It's over?
Below the surface, it swims and teams.
Your scream:
I M P O S S I B L E
July 20
White Stetson Hat
White Stetson hat, you jerk. Up and down, lady.
Curtsy for you. Am I douchebag to put this on my head?
Let's see those hipsters preach America.
Let's hear our slime-filled syncophants rejoice
when consumerism bubbles.
It's not the things we buy, etc etc.
What we never use
July 20
Curtsy for you. Am I douchebag to put this on my head?
Let's see those hipsters preach America.
Let's hear our slime-filled syncophants rejoice
when consumerism bubbles.
It's not the things we buy, etc etc.
What we never use
July 20
Ears
There's only one mouth here,
it's not working for the both of us.
There's just a bit more.
We can either believe we're the ones talking
Or shut up and listen to something beyond both of us.
There are more than enough ears to go around.
July 20
it's not working for the both of us.
There's just a bit more.
We can either believe we're the ones talking
Or shut up and listen to something beyond both of us.
There are more than enough ears to go around.
July 20
I Am Here
This is not California. North or South Dakota. Illinois. Alaska. Missouri. Delaware. New Mexico.
Forget about Michigan, New York, Alabama, and West Virginia.
Not Colorado or Idaho. Washington or D.C. Tennessee. Florida.
Never even been to Nebraska, Oregon, Georgia, Oklahoma, or Texas.
Didn't mess with Iowa, Mississippi, Kansas, Montana, or Wisconsin.
Nnnnnnorth Carolina. South. Virginia. Pennsylvania. New Jersey. Arizona. Nevada. Hawaii. Indiana.
Maryland. Arkansas. Minnesota. Ohio. Wyoming. Utah. Louisiana.
Couldn't be Vermont. Maine. Massaschusetts. Kentucky. Not Rhode Island. Not Connecticut.
July 20
Forget about Michigan, New York, Alabama, and West Virginia.
Not Colorado or Idaho. Washington or D.C. Tennessee. Florida.
Never even been to Nebraska, Oregon, Georgia, Oklahoma, or Texas.
Didn't mess with Iowa, Mississippi, Kansas, Montana, or Wisconsin.
Nnnnnnorth Carolina. South. Virginia. Pennsylvania. New Jersey. Arizona. Nevada. Hawaii. Indiana.
Maryland. Arkansas. Minnesota. Ohio. Wyoming. Utah. Louisiana.
Couldn't be Vermont. Maine. Massaschusetts. Kentucky. Not Rhode Island. Not Connecticut.
July 20
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Delilah, Delilah
I have no idea how long you’ve been standing behind me,
running your hands through my hair.
Awake I’m hunched over my chair, writing or reading.
To count the number of promises hung on my wall:
Shakespeare’s plays, from All’s Well That Ends Well to The
Comedy of Errors.
Beethoven’s symphonies, all nine numbered.
Three fantasy novels from a druggie.
Robert Frost.
The story of Odysseus in Ireland, 1904. How the West was Saved by Ireland.
Warm, bright, and balanced guitar strings.
A garbage bag filled with dusty laundry.
If when I turn around your face has followed your body
to this place, will you betray me and release my hold?
July 2
Monday, July 1, 2013
Little Arcs
You've spent years tracing neat little arcs in the sand,
Waiting to meet someone who can complete them and who understands.
The grains feel cool and smooth, weigh light, look dark.
When my hand lands down I doubt I am the first to recognize your mark --
But being where I am, as the first that you have met,
I put a finger to my lips and smile, "Not yet."
July 1
Waiting to meet someone who can complete them and who understands.
The grains feel cool and smooth, weigh light, look dark.
When my hand lands down I doubt I am the first to recognize your mark --
But being where I am, as the first that you have met,
I put a finger to my lips and smile, "Not yet."
July 1
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Discouraged
Don’t be discouraged by
words you hear.
The clicking track goes to
my ears,
My hands still flag and fail
to keep the beat.
I find that after all these
years
I have not made a single
song complete.
Here’s things that don’t
make sense
To many people: Crescendo to
the end,
Diminuendo first.
Semiquavers then
A couple of crotchets. Pull
off then bend.
Don’t be discouraged by
words you hear.
June 30
Smithereens
Just as Caesar fills a bunghole,
Shakespeare’s clay’s (like his plays) inside of us today.
Our not too solid flesh stays fresh for only so long
Looking for the tiny pieces of others in us:
Smith-ereens and Wilde-beans in me.
I could sublet my house and subdivide myself
to search smaller and smaller worlds.
There, pluck the electromagnetic spectrum
with my spectrographic plectrum –
sound, wave to magnetism,
o o o ripe ripples ripping
once again in rings (sings).
This is the sound of
singing: o o o
June 29
June 29
Dwarf Alberta Spruce
Deer resistant but not deer proof - depending on scarcity of food.
Dwarf Alberta Spruce.
A small, dense e'ergreen.
Takes 25-30 years to reach maturity.
Foliage and cones.
Now I'm just copying and pasting.
I need something hardy and strong.
June 30
Dwarf Alberta Spruce.
A small, dense e'ergreen.
Takes 25-30 years to reach maturity.
Foliage and cones.
Now I'm just copying and pasting.
I need something hardy and strong.
June 30
Never Give The Woman To The Money
Never give the woman to the money, he says,
As if it was a thing animated and
Capable of controlling her and ordering in some way
As if it had a mouth, slow and deliberate
speaking: feed me, feed us.
As if it had watery eyes and watched her
except when she didn't need the guilt to act.
As if it had no ears to listen to her
brief protestations as she finally gives in.
June 25
To The City
My love by bus why train
try car no parking no place
All roads lead in to
Underneath the common ground
Nineteen dollars.
A flat fee for a round trip
Through bridges and under the road
No roads lead out
Common round and under
June 28
Be More Responsible
(What? was the expiration? date)
Taint misbehavin’. Misdemeanor. Seen some things.
Not a plant, not an animal – something else.
Fungus spreading. When one gets it, they all do.
Softsmell burning, sickly sweet.
Sweet, sweet, sweet. Sweet in your mind.
Sweet in your mind but repulsive in your mouth.
June 23
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Cool Down
When she takes a shower –
Shampoos, scented soaps, hair conditioners
Can’t cool her down soon enough.
Dare I disturb her there, bare and in that secret place?
Nay! Not I!
Not when I am the one that made her mad
Not even when it’s no fault of my own.
Later,
Bathroom baptism over
Water swelled and drained away.
June 24
Wanderlust
This poem is about wanderlust.
I could write this poem about Odysseus,
and it would seem to be an obvious choice.
He wandered the sea, and upon returning home
decided to leave again as soon as possible.
But I’m more interested in the “lust” part.
Wanton teenagers sidewalking the streets
throwing their rocks at girls’ windows
humidity still in the air as the lights turn on
ghastly orange and sweating
Sadie turning prigs and pigs to men
Sweeter Jane enchants and Sweetest Jane sings songs.
There’s still the girl that they return to at home.
Maybe it’s got a lot to do with Odysseus after all.
June 27
Waiting for, Frustration
I’m waiting for frustration here –
Each day I want to do, to feel, and more,
but even when I’m working and appear
to reach a satisfaction with and for
my life – there’s something missing when
I’m home or even when I’m out with those
I thought would be the best – but then,
of course, the moments that we love the best
are those inside
our memories
June 26
Depth
The sea is deep and so am I.
Tiny robots dig the depths and I watch them
From the comfort of the television couch.
June 25
June 25
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Complex
She said, "I'm complex." In a moment
of levity, or anger, he told her
she had a complex.
Ten minutes later, he was outside.
"You never think about things,"
she had cried. "You only do them."
The houses on his street are smooth
and calm and he walks by them
and counts down from his age.
29...27...25...23...29 greater than less than happy.
She says what he thinks
He is defined only by what she says:
You're never angry at me for anything I do
Why can't this be the first time?
June 26
of levity, or anger, he told her
she had a complex.
Ten minutes later, he was outside.
"You never think about things,"
she had cried. "You only do them."
The houses on his street are smooth
and calm and he walks by them
and counts down from his age.
29...27...25...23...29 greater than less than happy.
She says what he thinks
He is defined only by what she says:
You're never angry at me for anything I do
Why can't this be the first time?
June 26
First Magazine On The Rack
First magazine
On the rack
Rifled through
By everyone
Put back, we take the next one
Or keep the one after that.
Like first package of meat. Is it okay?
Don't want to be first.
Glossy, glossfeel.
Slender and last to go.
June 26
On the rack
Rifled through
By everyone
Put back, we take the next one
Or keep the one after that.
Like first package of meat. Is it okay?
Don't want to be first.
Glossy, glossfeel.
Slender and last to go.
June 26
Born and borne and with
third person lens -- see through childhood.
and scenes are narrated unfiltered.
that was unfiltered life, where words
followed (or preceded) thoughts.
thought about it until it became colorless.
colorless? NO, but less colorful.
different shades of the same color.
first personal and only occasionally mixing.
how could any other color be correct?
June 26
and scenes are narrated unfiltered.
that was unfiltered life, where words
followed (or preceded) thoughts.
thought about it until it became colorless.
colorless? NO, but less colorful.
different shades of the same color.
first personal and only occasionally mixing.
how could any other color be correct?
June 26
Arm's Length
When I hold my hand at an arm's length
it seems too far away
I cannot control it
with or without my thoughts
I don't tell myself to stand
or ask my mouth to move
(it does this on its own)
June 26
it seems too far away
I cannot control it
with or without my thoughts
I don't tell myself to stand
or ask my mouth to move
(it does this on its own)
June 26
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Hamlet For Breakfast
It’s breakfast. This Danish tastes odd – tastes old? Mom
says
I’m crazy. Just eat and get washed up. She says Stop playing
around.
I stab my fork into these eggs. Stop praying around.
She’s tried to get me out of here before. Chicken! Drown her
out
Chicken and eggs, mother and son reunion. It’s time to go.
June 22
Spambot
It’s like those horror movies where the family is
transformed:
So innocent looking. Same face, but inside
it’s all different!
Opening up the email, it’s a spambot
that’s taken control and probably has already infected me
takes fer earaskr
June 21
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Honestly, It Was Getting Old
Honestly,
I never
much enjoyed reading back
The poems I wrote, darkened and black,
Week in and out for that poetry class.
Have I abandoned meter now? Alas!
I do not know.
Don’t tell me which way this ship will blow.
This tired metaphor’s about to set sail,
But I have brought a glass and pail.
The pail’s to bail myself when I begin to sink,
The glass is for when I begin to think.
June 18
Half As Many Twenty-Four Rhymes
Twenty-four times : half as many rhymes.
Learning the Latin to say : puella pulchra est today.
Or French tous les doigts : all my ten fingers, or so I thought.
Held them, hold: getting too cold.
This line is misplaced and : was done intentionally, understand.
Still too warm : for the words to correctly set and form.
Please rearrange these : couplets how you like, to see.
Some new unconventional story : of love written most confusingly.
Don't let the colons throw you : off or skew.
Nine, ten, counting lines to fill the sonnet : how many more to get?
Don't bother writing your story : to another's rules, get free.
Show some compassion, ἀδελφός : give it another go.
June 20
Learning the Latin to say : puella pulchra est today.
Or French tous les doigts : all my ten fingers, or so I thought.
Held them, hold: getting too cold.
This line is misplaced and : was done intentionally, understand.
Still too warm : for the words to correctly set and form.
Please rearrange these : couplets how you like, to see.
Some new unconventional story : of love written most confusingly.
Don't let the colons throw you : off or skew.
Nine, ten, counting lines to fill the sonnet : how many more to get?
Don't bother writing your story : to another's rules, get free.
Show some compassion, ἀδελφός : give it another go.
June 20
Recomfit Comfort
What is comfortable? Rolly, round.
We're not meant to sit: stand,
Lie-down, or squat.
Squatters in my sisters' apartment
Just won't leave. But comfort leaves:
Stress? This is comfort.
Er, I meant to say: What is comfort? This is stressful.
It's not that I don't know what to do here.
But comfort leaves us again and again.
We work towards it, squat in it.
Are too afraid to give it up and leave it alone.
June 19
We're not meant to sit: stand,
Lie-down, or squat.
Squatters in my sisters' apartment
Just won't leave. But comfort leaves:
Stress? This is comfort.
Er, I meant to say: What is comfort? This is stressful.
It's not that I don't know what to do here.
But comfort leaves us again and again.
We work towards it, squat in it.
Are too afraid to give it up and leave it alone.
June 19
Bird-Brain
tiny little thoughts, tiny little heart beating
through tiny little veins, tiny little arteries leading
(their lives are fleeting)
to tiny little bird-body bleeding
June 17
Glamor
Glamour is a woman when I write her
Why not a man?
She was glamour,
sin personified.
I parsed her as a paramour,
her pursing lips, most dignified.
She was lipstick tube, boobs,
hips thick, loose shoes.
Half off high heels! What a steal!
She was glimmer of glamour in my mother’s eyes
Sisters all were reconciled,
Brothers agreed she had great thighs.
Let’s all keep our heads, why don’t we?
June 16
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Curses
Gamblers ramble on about the day they’ll strike rich
drink their dream from the bottom of the ditch
but when it’s time to roll, roles reverse
toast the chances that coast on the dance of their curses.
June 19
Vonnegut
When the man walks in
With a dog under one arm
And two packs of Pall Mall cigarettes in his sagging shirt pocket,
I can't help but think of him.
Pall Mall's killed him, right?
If the characters in his books travel time why can't he?
He was crazy
June 14
With a dog under one arm
And two packs of Pall Mall cigarettes in his sagging shirt pocket,
I can't help but think of him.
Pall Mall's killed him, right?
If the characters in his books travel time why can't he?
He was crazy
June 14
A Day Off
A day off
the beaten path,
the rocks,
the bandwagon.
Wiedersehen!
A day off
from work,
Broadway.
The payroll.
A day off
from school,
for good behavior.
My meds
track
the rails,
the coast,
on the wrong foot.
A day off
her rocker:
my back.
Her high horse:
my conscience.
June 14
the beaten path,
the rocks,
the bandwagon.
Wiedersehen!
A day off
from work,
Broadway.
The payroll.
A day off
from school,
for good behavior.
My meds
track
the rails,
the coast,
on the wrong foot.
A day off
her rocker:
my back.
Her high horse:
my conscience.
June 14
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Businessman
Something stinks:
The awful offal of daily productivity.
Can’t a businessman leave the land better than
when he began his damn activities?
It goes like this: Tie over shoulders as you piss
Shirts tucked between rib and elbow
when you start to go.
June 13
England
I'll have to go to England someday.
I imagine Great Britons hate it when
us flabby-willed Americans
fill their wharves or quays.
How many stone does it take to get stoned
here in the U.K.?
Well, I have no idea what the country
looks like, really,
but I've been imagining the streets are still
paved with cobblestones,
trodden down right to bone
by carriages, the horse-drawn cars,
and there's just one long road that spills
past pastry shops, that passes bars
(called pubs?) the Romans must have built,
much older than the dirt or sand.
Roll the stone, cool in hand,
cool in mouth, and fool of this land.
June 13
I imagine Great Britons hate it when
us flabby-willed Americans
fill their wharves or quays.
How many stone does it take to get stoned
here in the U.K.?
Well, I have no idea what the country
looks like, really,
but I've been imagining the streets are still
paved with cobblestones,
trodden down right to bone
by carriages, the horse-drawn cars,
and there's just one long road that spills
past pastry shops, that passes bars
(called pubs?) the Romans must have built,
much older than the dirt or sand.
Roll the stone, cool in hand,
cool in mouth, and fool of this land.
June 13
Hardware Store
"There aren't too many people like that anymore."
That single act of thoughtfulness, he told me,
sent shivers down his spine and up his chest.
He was surprised by what the man had expressed:
"Thank you for your patience," when he
was made to wait in line too long at the hardware store.
June 13
That single act of thoughtfulness, he told me,
sent shivers down his spine and up his chest.
He was surprised by what the man had expressed:
"Thank you for your patience," when he
was made to wait in line too long at the hardware store.
June 13
My Nose Presses On The Glass
I never want to see outside my window
Superimposed over the outside world
A reflective face (my own)
This view should be objective.
At night I shouldn’t have to turn the light
To see more than a few feet away
Into the darkness of the corners and in the fringes
Because when I draw too close I see nothing
But myself and I see too much of that
The rest of the day.
June 12
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Drudgery!
When I begin to roll my verse
out with iambic arms and feet
you may feel that it crawls much worse
than modern stuff, though I still think it’s neat
to have a steady way to move
(one step, next step, next step, one at a time).
I will admit I let the groove
and it’s compatriot, the rhyme,
control the ways these poems go.
At least this drudgery’s more fun
to follow in its throbbing throes
than some dis-join-tedly-re-run
complaint about the current state
of my poor mind’s puerile debate.
June 11
Impotence
The sit, the squat,
You little shit, you’re still a twat!
I wish that I’d been impotent
So that my life was different:
No kids to swat,
No bills to pay, no interest,
Maybe then I could invest
My time in something more meaningless.
June 10
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Care For Me
I paid her to care for me.
She promised that she’d care for me.
I believed her when she said it.
Dolores, you must elaborate
while it’s nice to have friends and family who love you
It’s really most important that I have a doctor
who can care for me.
June 9
Sunday, June 9, 2013
It Wakes Me Up
I can’t escape.
I close my eyes, slow down my brain.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
My pencil starts to scrape.
I try to wait until later to explain.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
I try to let it down.
I try, just once, to douse the flames.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
It burns with verbs, with adjectives, with nouns.
It burns with a singular aim.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
I get from bed and walk.
I walk through streets and yards and under the rain.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
I listen to my own voice talk.
I listen to the rain and each raindrop sounds the same.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
I go to school and rest.
I go to class and try to lay my mental claims.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
I take a test.
I drag a thought through too, but drag in vain.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
I go to work and try to smile.
I get to work just to hear the same refrain.
It wakes me up and calls my name.
I’ll be asleep and ready to leave.
I’ll be ready to leave and take all that I’ve claimed.
It will wake me up and call my name.
I’ll pull the veil over my face and breathe.
It will wake me up and call my name.
June 8
Wardrobe
She was a constant wardrobe malfunction
if her clothes were the faces she wore,
her interactions with those around her.
She drops clothes while she changes,
those kind of actresses learn to switch fast
slipping one right on to the next.
She finally started to take them off
when she started asking me about you.
I told her to trust more on these things,
suggested that she pick one outfit to wear.
June 7
if her clothes were the faces she wore,
her interactions with those around her.
She drops clothes while she changes,
those kind of actresses learn to switch fast
slipping one right on to the next.
She finally started to take them off
when she started asking me about you.
I told her to trust more on these things,
suggested that she pick one outfit to wear.
June 7
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Freshman Year
Those careful faces
she floated above
were two sincere, and two sarcastic
the rest rested rusted eyes on the table.
Ready to grip their ears, if offered
smaller circles drawn about them
when she lands her crooked purple talons
sinking down, deeper –
Use fewer words, but more of them,
Don’t try to fight the nature of the poem,
You shouldn’t say should or shouldn’t,
regurgitating straight into our mouths.
Relenting at first, we sat stiff in our chairs
and began to swallow what we liked.
Writing now without her
breath no longer down my neck
no scent of secret cigarettes.
Free to stand up and move around.
June 6
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
"The Indirect Effect of the Invisible Man"
If the best that we can do is say,
“Thank you for everything.
Good-bye.”
Then I hope I gave the best to you,
As you gave nothing less to me.
June 4
Chisel. Mallet. Sand-paper.
Chisel. Mallet. Sand-paper.
He dreams of rolling these Elgin Marbles:
Run fingers round chilly and quick
down the sides, still, cold.
If life could emanate from ivory
could brain be complex enough
from someone else’s mind,
sufficient to enchant and please?
Trying to capture the mind on paper
breaking down at the improper veins.
Slipping from hands too worn to care
or carry this sculpture from its place.
June 4
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Bookstore
You can't walk into a bookstore
and pull poetry off of its shelves
It must be coaxed, charmed, seduced
sometimes tricked!
Convince it that you'll treat it well
it may think highly of itself.
But when you bring it from its shell
you'll offer to it more and more
let it know that it was you who picked it out
and begin together.
June 3
and pull poetry off of its shelves
It must be coaxed, charmed, seduced
sometimes tricked!
Convince it that you'll treat it well
it may think highly of itself.
But when you bring it from its shell
you'll offer to it more and more
let it know that it was you who picked it out
and begin together.
June 3
Monday, June 3, 2013
Tastebud Camaraderie
Her lips taste sour
I taste sweet
We waste hours
Make each other's palates feel complete.
June 3
I taste sweet
We waste hours
Make each other's palates feel complete.
June 3
Dear John
When prompted I respond
“To whom it may concern…
Though I’ll be here
Our love may not on your return
I’ve had my hair done many times
In a little while you will see me no more
It’s best if we divorce, and quick
I won’t be married to a man who’s poor.
If you love me, you will obey my commands
Yours truly, forever and…”
June 2
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Head Hunters
Three points a head, and that’s two more
than when you strike the body.
They call the ones who try to score
with just this way head hunters:
Their legs tap once, then fling upright
and pom-te-pom. Good strategy.
I keep them off by closing tight
and when their legs are under
flip their body upside down!
June 1
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Short Story #2
I have completed my second short story. More will definitely follow this summer.
Short Story #2
Total word count 714.
Short Story #2
Total word count 714.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
She Tied Her Hair
She tied her hair in a way so that
barely
it was just together
but every few minutes
a wisp fell down
put back in place
as if she were
distracted
or annoyed
but inside she smiled
and drew them closer.
May 21
barely
it was just together
but every few minutes
a wisp fell down
put back in place
as if she were
distracted
or annoyed
but inside she smiled
and drew them closer.
May 21
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Home
I came home on May 9th from my first year of college to find those same nourishing rains that fed my creative urges last May when I wrote a poem every day.
I wandered the yard that I had spent so much of my childhood playing and developing in and found memories in plants, sights, and feelings. I wrote down many ideas for short, humble poems and publish them here tonight. They are all labeled "May 9th, 2013" with the subject appended. Please read all nine together; they are meant to be processed, enjoyed, or frowned upon as one work.
I wandered the yard that I had spent so much of my childhood playing and developing in and found memories in plants, sights, and feelings. I wrote down many ideas for short, humble poems and publish them here tonight. They are all labeled "May 9th, 2013" with the subject appended. Please read all nine together; they are meant to be processed, enjoyed, or frowned upon as one work.
May 9th, 2013 - Last Year's May's Alive
Each step closer to the woods
makes the rain louder and louder.
It’s as if the trees are drinking all they can
before the summer dries them up.
Each drop of rain is personal and distinct.
As the rain quiets down I write faster and faster
as if I can only create while my world fades,
trying to keep what remains of last year’s May
alive.
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Garden
I told my Mom
I wanted to learn how to garden.
Looking at the patchy vegetable plot
my Dad built years ago,
the wire walls are curved, bent over
the gate is rotted out and tufts of not-vegetables
sprout here and here.
I simply step
over the walls
into the soft dirt
and pretend I’m a plant.
Grow
faster, grow faster!
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Holes
We asked my grandfather what kind of animal
was creating these holes on the edge of the yard
fraying as if what little world we owned
was slowly coming undone
“These aren’t animals,” he said
when he saw what we were worried about,
“the earth is settling.”
And he put his entire arm down one hole
to prove himself right with mind and hand.
He knew how to get results.
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Yellow Plant
This plant here is the color of my favorite sun
dress.
Not that I wear dresses:
I think that girls who wear this color
look very pretty.
It only happens in the spring but
you can see the plant through the window
it looks like sunshine any time of day,
raining or not.
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Frogs
When I was a boy I would walk
through the puddles
by the garage and look for frogs.
I found them almost every time;
I would corral them into my fingers
and see how patient they could be.
Would I crush them?
Would they pee on me?
After a few moments rest they would hop away,
their cool slime lingering on the touch of my
fingers.
Home now, and much older,
I can’t find anything yet
but each blade of grass bounces back
after being hit by a drop of rain
could be another one.
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Deer
The deer knew better
than to eat the sides of the bushes
that face the house.
Years ago we sprayed repellant
on the plants to save them from the vagrant animals.
They must be getting smarter, though.
They’re just as destructive
as they ever were, if not more.
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Purple Plant
My sister is allergic
to the purple plant that grows on the side of the
house.
I don’t think that I am as well
but when I approach,
breathe in the thick perfume,
my head hurts and I can’t think
quite as clearly until I’m out of its sight
and myself again.
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Bird Houses
I wish that birds lived in our bird houses.
My mom loved to watch the blue birds,
and I remembered the things I learned from school
Don’t
touch baby birds or their parents
won’t
take them back
If
you disturb their nests
they
don’t return.
and so on and even if those aren’t true,
why risk breaking open such a tiny world?
I’m still afraid to look inside the boxes,
lest I spoil something
May 15
May 9th, 2013 - Echoes
Even after the rain is gone, it echoes
through our woods, keeps some memory alive,
sounds like the sweetest thing.
From my window, I can hear the rain
and when the lights are off
I can see it too
May 15
Creativity
Creativity is your river
changing in depth and speed and width
emptying into larger lakes and rivers,
following the pull of gravity down to the ocean,
down deeper and deeper into the earth.
What was direct and purposeful bends and winds
after years of running, seems to disappear
until a flash of rain rejuvenates
surging and muddy again
(not many can make it to the banks)
Rivers can be polluted miles up stream
filth and disgust drunken day after day, year after year,
can’t be cleaned that easily
you can drown in your own river, become too self-absorbed
don’t be surprised if, when others catch you,
staring at your reflection in the water,
they only laugh or politely smile
because they don’t understand
A subtle body of water can remain undiscovered for years
or underestimated
and occasionally
Welcome those that share their rivers
feel their waters flowing into yours
together you could do so much
search for the paths long since dug into the earth
Creativity is your river,
encouraged by others at your meekest hours,
carved into your mind as if
there was no other way to travel.
May 15
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
I Return To Memories To Finish Writing Things
Prompt: Poetry (Think sound, feel meaning.)
He would write out poetry for girls when he liked them
and giving them the only copy, he would regret that
he had nothing left for himself.
If a girl threw away his writing
he would think about how at some point
the sound of him reading it to her survived longer
than anything put down on paper
March 31
He would write out poetry for girls when he liked them
and giving them the only copy, he would regret that
he had nothing left for himself.
If a girl threw away his writing
he would think about how at some point
the sound of him reading it to her survived longer
than anything put down on paper
March 31
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
No Longer
Prompt: Lost Time (Don't worry.)
Don't be afraid of these.
Don't be afraid of calculus:
It can help you understand so much.
Try this problem:
Derivatives only hold value when something is changing
with respect to something else.
The distance between us changes with time.
At any instant we are the same distance apart,
but things aren't so consistent or certain as time changes
we can't measure how much we've changed.
Don't be afraid of your friends:
They love you and respect you and when they see you
they don't think
he is a good person
or she has done bad things
and they don't mention the time you were vulnerable and everyone heard
the sounds of anger and disgust from your mouth.
Please don't be afraid of lost time:
Please don't worry about how things could have changed
or about the time you wanted nothing
more than to hold something important inside of you
and become important yourself.
If we stop changing it's to be anything worthwhile.
March 30
Don't be afraid of these.
Don't be afraid of calculus:
It can help you understand so much.
Try this problem:
Derivatives only hold value when something is changing
with respect to something else.
The distance between us changes with time.
At any instant we are the same distance apart,
but things aren't so consistent or certain as time changes
we can't measure how much we've changed.
Don't be afraid of your friends:
They love you and respect you and when they see you
they don't think
he is a good person
or she has done bad things
and they don't mention the time you were vulnerable and everyone heard
the sounds of anger and disgust from your mouth.
Please don't be afraid of lost time:
Please don't worry about how things could have changed
or about the time you wanted nothing
more than to hold something important inside of you
and become important yourself.
If we stop changing it's to be anything worthwhile.
March 30
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Twenty-Three Knives
Prompt: Freeze the President!
This is violence:
where everyone holds a knife
but no one knows which hit killed
where everything is for the greater good
where those closest to us are the last we see
and you, too, were children until
suddenly
there was nothing left of who was once there
and it took twenty-three knives to kill Caesar
but there’s not enough time for all of us
to do the same
March 29
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Eager Easter
Prompt: Eager Easter
What if his buds were all in on the joke:
they snickered in secret and knew that their bloke
was coming back soon to talk to the folks.
On Easter they took off their taciturn yokes
and waited with weighted breaths…
March 28
Portrait of Columbia
Prompt: Columbia
Liberal Lady, lick up/lap down
the taste of freedom.
The trouble with gravy is how
it’s reapplied to the meat it was freed from.
Ride the boat, tried the train,
now the automobiles wheel below planes.
She can’t stop her mouth, and anyway
it all sounds the same
as “I tall!” her too
portentous claim
she cries while she climbs to our porch
raising up her bug-catching torch
while the barbecue cooks the meat
(yes, the same) that was delivered,
ground and hamburgled, to our feet
as if we were born here free only to receive,
never give.
March 27
Why Bother
Prompt: Assassinated Love
“It’s said when Shakespeare coined the terms
“assassinate” or “elbow”, “bump” or “gust”
he took those words from colloquial forms
and wrote them down first, without a fuss.”
and Harold Bloom claims the bard
created our modern man
gave us our minds
So what of love? Why bother
if Shakespeare thought up that concept too,
and years later we repeat his words
and cling to stories that run thicker in our veins than
blood
it’s real in our world
even to those who haven’t found it yet
March 26
Monday, April 8, 2013
Pirates
Prompt: Pirated Inspiration
I imagine that this is how some people feel
about stealing the ideas of others:
Avast! Arr matey, etcetera era era. A ship off
the starboard brow! Fire cannons, destroy the deck –
It’s not going anywhere, boards and plunders, pillage and
filch,
take what’s left and sail away a patchwork victory.
When does an imitation take away from the original?
If anything, the ship sailing away will be stronger
But more often than not, the new pirate simply joins the
crew
and assimilates into the operation.
March 25
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Cost of Living
Prompt: cost of living
When someone drops change
you take the time
to get closer to the ground
and help them recollect
that is the cost of living
March 24
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Waking Up
Prompt: Armpit jocularity
There is something in this air
after waking up, the earth yawns
the sun becomes warm again
and a certain a certain smell emanates
from the armpits of the world
as it rolls over and gets out of bed.
March 23
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Sticker Shock
Prompt: Sticker shock
Putting a suspiciously succulent fruit into your mouth,
don’t be surprised to find the label still there.
Which farm? What grade?
Spit the paper and adhesive out,
or be more careful next time.
March 22
Thursday, March 21, 2013
The Situation
Prompt: The situation
The situation becomes more complicated each time it’s
explained:
Calling for the help of others is no use.
Like flies in a spider’s web, our movements are anxious and
strained,
desperation only luring victims to the communal noose.
March 21
Demon
Prompt: The Demon in the System
I've heard a demon is not inherently evil,
it's conjured, brought to our world to follow someone's commands.
I've also heard that demons don't exist
but don't tell that to my aunt,
as she spins faster and faster
disappearing in the smoky air,
mouth frothing and frantic,
transforming the air around her to ether,
fingers gently touching
March 20
I've heard a demon is not inherently evil,
it's conjured, brought to our world to follow someone's commands.
I've also heard that demons don't exist
but don't tell that to my aunt,
as she spins faster and faster
disappearing in the smoky air,
mouth frothing and frantic,
transforming the air around her to ether,
fingers gently touching
March 20
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
The Spirit
One last visit,
chance to make it worthwhile
there it goes again,
moving slowly
crouched as an old man in arthritis,
waiting in line for his pay check
from the amusement park.
The spirit feels different from other things:
It doesn't feel the way that I used to.
It doesn't seem to care about what you think.
If it had a face, a body,
it would turn to me and shrug
fading like music
or poetry of the sweetest kind.
March 19
chance to make it worthwhile
there it goes again,
moving slowly
crouched as an old man in arthritis,
waiting in line for his pay check
from the amusement park.
The spirit feels different from other things:
It doesn't feel the way that I used to.
It doesn't seem to care about what you think.
If it had a face, a body,
it would turn to me and shrug
fading like music
or poetry of the sweetest kind.
March 19
Family Disconnections
Prompt: Belittle the colossus
When Jason arrives, much to his chagrin,
his evil uncle strives to kill the handsome kin.
With one sandal left along the river’s route
the scandal was now on the other foot,
as when uncle was cooked into a stew,
he was disemboweled by his family, too.
It seems those closest to us hurt us most;
they linger on our minds as haunted ghosts.
March 19
General Sherman
Prompt: No compassion
Raking their bodies across the earth,
salting the wounds,
stiff upper lips.
Some believed it necessary,
some were crazy,
some smelled of tobacco dip.
From the massive sequoia tree,
to the sprightliest bug,
stuck in paws of compassionless grip.
March 18
Checkered Reality
Prompt: Checkered Reality
At the end of Junior
Year of high school, I tried to paint a single chess piece on a checkerboard on half of a canvas. I had a lot of fun painting the board, but when I showed my teacher the lonely piece, he didn’t understand what I was trying to do. He didn’t understand my checkered reality. At the time I was suspicious that he just couldn’t understand my artistic vision. But then I realized that the best of visions, when poorly presented, are worth little.
Somewhere, the half finished painting is sitting squashed between two other mostly finished paintings. I suppose I could dig it out from beneath a pile of dust, but I would much rather begin it again than continue where I had left off.
March 17
Monday, March 18, 2013
The Happiest Man
Prompt: Funereal birthday party
A television program foretold
the day that he would die.
He no longer celebrates getting old;
He drinks to death the first of each July.
If death is as significant as birth,
why shouldn’t he enjoy the years
until he leaves his body on the earth?
His happiness is somehow more sincere
than those who fret and moan,
“Maybe today is the day.”
His body holds no fearful bones,
has no more hurtful words to say.
March 16
Dew Drops
Prompt: On the cusp of freedom
In the still world
before the true sun is up
dew collects on a petal
until one too many arrive.
Each individual weight couldn’t be more than an insect
but together they slowly drag upon the petal
rotating the axis, changing something
one drop falls, the petal
springs back
closer to freedom until the next one forms
in the still world
March 15
Days and Days Spent the Same Way
Prompt: Farce
mock mock
when the alarm clock
wakes up
and the mask is put on
mock mock
home, way back
there was an old fashioned one
in the kitchen like an old tv
mock mock
and another day lacked
smiling and shaking
hands, where they belong
mock mock
when the day is black
going to sleep
and waiting for the clock
March 14
Reflection
Prompt: Reflection
I turn to be an older me
within the mirror on the door.
I yearn to see my body free
from vanity forever more.
March 13
Thirsty and Searching
Prompt: "I have sailed down mighty rivers." -Shelley
I have followed the trails to once mighty rivers,
seen the ways their currents pulled,
stood upon the banks that they delivered to.
I have walked along side them.
The path quickly turns,
and you can see that I want
my writing to be the clear stream
you discover mid-hike, thirsty and searching,
in your ascent to the summit.
It will be quiet but forceful,
never yielding, always moving:
It is safe to drink from.
March 12
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Precipitation
Prompt: Falling from the sky
When the water starts falling from the sky
she opens her mouth to drink.
Crowds around her continue to move
but she does not hesitate to collect as much of the world as possible.
Only so much directly enters her body:
drops collect in her hair, glistening,
soak into her clothes,
the corners of her notebooks curl, excited.
No one could take it all in at once
and she knows this,
raising her body upwards
drinking in the sky.
March 11
When the water starts falling from the sky
she opens her mouth to drink.
Crowds around her continue to move
but she does not hesitate to collect as much of the world as possible.
Only so much directly enters her body:
drops collect in her hair, glistening,
soak into her clothes,
the corners of her notebooks curl, excited.
No one could take it all in at once
and she knows this,
raising her body upwards
drinking in the sky.
March 11
Brochure
Prompt: Interdisciplinary bedlam
Broaden that perspective for only
a couple hundred dollars
more!
Be the change
you want to see!
Studying humanities will get you
nowhere but does anyone like
science?
Why not give up?
here is the answer:
UNDER OUR PROGRAM,
STUDY EVERYTHING IN ONLY
70 YEARS YOU WILL BE READY
TO TACKLE ANY PROBLEM
After our courses, nothing matters
March 10
Broaden that perspective for only
a couple hundred dollars
more!
Be the change
you want to see!
Studying humanities will get you
nowhere but does anyone like
science?
Why not give up?
here is the answer:
UNDER OUR PROGRAM,
STUDY EVERYTHING IN ONLY
70 YEARS YOU WILL BE READY
TO TACKLE ANY PROBLEM
After our courses, nothing matters
March 10
The Young Writer
Prompt: Writing everything down
When he started, he couldn't stop.
He wrote everything down.
Words that people gave him,
interactions from books and movies,
stories of the girl who couldn't keep her pants up,
the neighbor who cheated on his wife and left town.
He wrote down things that disgusted him,
enticed him, made him curious,
he sat in his bed on mornings when he hated himself,
didn't talk to friends at dinner,
read good books so he could steal ideas,
forgot to call his family,
and he wrote everything down.
His fingers, working to hold a pencil,
grew tired or unresponsive.
His eyes, gentle wanderers,
were heavy, pulling his head down toward the earth.
He knew people very well:
What about them was unavoidable,
their undesirable characteristics,
their fatal flaws.
He wrote about them, moved their bodies,
watched them fail time after time
inside the worlds that he mirrored from ours.
He wrote everything down,
scenes emerging and dissipating.
He read the best and wrote the best.
When someone stopped to listen, he spoke.
What sounds escaped his mouth -
of lofty towers and enlightenment.
That was not what he meant.
He bottled their reactions,
thought of Joyce, thought of Salinger, of every high-school tortured soul
who felt their wings, still wet from metamorphosis,
still stunted by the weight of gravity's authority,
dulled from the humidity of society.
He wrote this down.
March 9
When he started, he couldn't stop.
He wrote everything down.
Words that people gave him,
interactions from books and movies,
stories of the girl who couldn't keep her pants up,
the neighbor who cheated on his wife and left town.
He wrote down things that disgusted him,
enticed him, made him curious,
he sat in his bed on mornings when he hated himself,
didn't talk to friends at dinner,
read good books so he could steal ideas,
forgot to call his family,
and he wrote everything down.
His fingers, working to hold a pencil,
grew tired or unresponsive.
His eyes, gentle wanderers,
were heavy, pulling his head down toward the earth.
He knew people very well:
What about them was unavoidable,
their undesirable characteristics,
their fatal flaws.
He wrote about them, moved their bodies,
watched them fail time after time
inside the worlds that he mirrored from ours.
He wrote everything down,
scenes emerging and dissipating.
He read the best and wrote the best.
When someone stopped to listen, he spoke.
What sounds escaped his mouth -
of lofty towers and enlightenment.
That was not what he meant.
He bottled their reactions,
thought of Joyce, thought of Salinger, of every high-school tortured soul
who felt their wings, still wet from metamorphosis,
still stunted by the weight of gravity's authority,
dulled from the humidity of society.
He wrote this down.
March 9
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Confession
Prompt: Why You Should Not Marry Me
How could I give my life to something
I have loved for so long?
I've seen you in all the right places,
in show windows
television commercials
billboards off Mystic Parkway
all the familiar cafes and rendezvous.
How could it be anything but love?
And if it is, I can't risk losing that
by taking such a big chance
on something so important
March 8
How could I give my life to something
I have loved for so long?
I've seen you in all the right places,
in show windows
television commercials
billboards off Mystic Parkway
all the familiar cafes and rendezvous.
How could it be anything but love?
And if it is, I can't risk losing that
by taking such a big chance
on something so important
March 8
Relative Potential
Prompt: Relative Potential
Relative to you - I suppose I don't have much potential
yet setting the bar lower, we find that
I can do so much more - but not just me
Together there is something to be done,
wonders to be accomplished,
connections to be felt.
Relative to me - We share something,
don't take my word for it. Take my word
to new places, just as I take yours.
We can do so much more.
March 7
Relative to you - I suppose I don't have much potential
yet setting the bar lower, we find that
I can do so much more - but not just me
Together there is something to be done,
wonders to be accomplished,
connections to be felt.
Relative to me - We share something,
don't take my word for it. Take my word
to new places, just as I take yours.
We can do so much more.
March 7
Fatherhood
Prompt: Fatherhood
If I could imagine what it's like to hold you:
I want to learn to garden
Do I understand what I must do?
If I knew the hours I must sacrifice,
analyzing and worrying,
giving blind trust,
the cost of food, expense of waste,
I would not do it.
But I do not understand these things.
March 6
If I could imagine what it's like to hold you:
I want to learn to garden
Do I understand what I must do?
If I knew the hours I must sacrifice,
analyzing and worrying,
giving blind trust,
the cost of food, expense of waste,
I would not do it.
But I do not understand these things.
March 6
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Painting Hanging Out In The Living Room
Prompt: Painting Again
I feel it, I perceive differently
How can a picture that has not changed
still be a reflection of myself?
I still see the same depths and flaws
and it's difficult to conceptualize
but I find a new part of myself every time I return.
Well the only difference is the series
of smudgy finger prints on the glass
evidence for my physical life
while the rest of me lives inside
March 5
I feel it, I perceive differently
How can a picture that has not changed
still be a reflection of myself?
I still see the same depths and flaws
and it's difficult to conceptualize
but I find a new part of myself every time I return.
Well the only difference is the series
of smudgy finger prints on the glass
evidence for my physical life
while the rest of me lives inside
March 5
Monday, March 4, 2013
Doting
Prompt: Dote
The foolish fingers touched her face:
Spoiled, impulsive, too eager.
Pinched the cheeks,
let the foul perfume linger.
Yet some connection was far deeper
between the two
than would be apparent.
Some gurgling wheels,
like chain smokers perpetually coughing,
continue to perpetuate.
The girl will take her place.
March 4
The foolish fingers touched her face:
Spoiled, impulsive, too eager.
Pinched the cheeks,
let the foul perfume linger.
Yet some connection was far deeper
between the two
than would be apparent.
Some gurgling wheels,
like chain smokers perpetually coughing,
continue to perpetuate.
The girl will take her place.
March 4
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Short Distance to the Well
Prompt: A friend becomes something less.
We used to drive that short distance to the well
when Papa took the car and went far away.
I walked much further than I ever had felt
to get to the same place,
empty bucket swinging by side,
rubbing against my leg.
That same source, which we drank from until
we noticed it was running out.
Less water every day.
We needed a new well.
March 3
We used to drive that short distance to the well
when Papa took the car and went far away.
I walked much further than I ever had felt
to get to the same place,
empty bucket swinging by side,
rubbing against my leg.
That same source, which we drank from until
we noticed it was running out.
Less water every day.
We needed a new well.
March 3
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Monkey
Prompt: A Monkey Song
In a distant jungle,
one monkey throws his voice in search of companions.
When none return his call,
he stops.
Another monkey, believing he is also alone,
does not stop when he receives no reply.
His song grows in the widening night,
even as his fur chills,
his eyes water,
he knows someone is listening.
March 2
In a distant jungle,
one monkey throws his voice in search of companions.
When none return his call,
he stops.
Another monkey, believing he is also alone,
does not stop when he receives no reply.
His song grows in the widening night,
even as his fur chills,
his eyes water,
he knows someone is listening.
March 2
Friday, March 1, 2013
Silently
Prompt:
"My God is dark and like a clump
of a hundred roots drinking silently."
Silently, I enter the earth.
Each day more deeply,
searching and growing.
Once I am secure, I will return to the surface,
ready for the embrace of a loving world.
March 1
"My God is dark and like a clump
of a hundred roots drinking silently."
Silently, I enter the earth.
Each day more deeply,
searching and growing.
Once I am secure, I will return to the surface,
ready for the embrace of a loving world.
March 1
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Scattered
I leave parts of myself wherever I go.
Scattered books, papers, thoughts, scattered ideas
that I held.
Maybe I don’t want you to forget about me,
or maybe
I don’t want to forget those things myself.
There’s so much of me inside those things;
within you.
Those parts of me remind who I am
and I could hardly reassemble it all,
I could never see all of myself.
You keep something of me with you,
showing it back when we meet.
I could never see all of myself,
yet stumbling on something
I left in your house,
I see that’s what I was.
February 24
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Backlog
Think of this as a "rarities" collection. To make up for my lack of new posts over the last two months, I posted several poems that I started over the summer or last fall.
Michelangelo
I wanted to start this poem
with a thundering line
and thrust open the gates of awareness.
I wanted to feel the veins of a forgotten friend
beneath my fingers.
I wanted to break someone’s heart.
The line was:
‘I’ve
read about the ways that men build towers,’
written in trusty iambic pentameter.
But every time I could not follow through,
my metaphor did not sit comfortably on the page,
it rolled and then refused to rest.
I had been trying to write a poem about how
I could not write poems like the masters could,
then realized that my poem was the perfect example
of itself:
It could not do what I wanted it to do.
It could only do what it was born to,
and so I let it grow:
I’ve dreamed about the ways men sculpted statues,
feeling their marble blocks, rocky surfaces
cool against the heat of their cheek
searching faults in their argument
the veins that would ruin their art
working for years to bring a single vision
to life, only to see it fracture, displaced
by the slightest movement. The chisels worked to
shape
the concepts and words grew those perfect nudes.
I’ve read about how sculptures were constructed,
piece by piece
of marble ready as white paper.
As my mother said, you just have to draw
the face that’s already there. Or my
great-grandfather,
whittle away the parts that aren’t supposed to be
and once each piece is finished, just connect them
one to the next until it starts to make sense, if it
ever does.
You have to watch out for the veins.
Once I finished my poem I rewrote it again
and again, the ideas circulating, working towards
what beauty there is left to make art from.
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