limbs (20170727)

really went out
on a limb there
metaphorically speaking

there were no actual trees involved

but there were trees
the ones in the park
as we circled the lake
delighting in ducks
and geese in this man-made
paradise
finally surprised by a pair of swans
because who thought
we would find
swans in our own
backyard

but that limb i went out on
it thinned so much
it became razor wire
a good way to lose a hand
or at least fingers
advancing with my considerable
weight tugging at me
like so many sandbags
hand over hand
like in a training montage
about an army platoon

the swans
they say
mate for life
——

for
Jilly’s
28 DAYS OF UNREASON, POETRY: Day 11

“I’m unsure if all of me returned” ~ Jim Harrison

https://jillys2016.wordpress.com/2017/07/27/day-eleven-he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not/

shoulders squared, back curved (20170726)

never meant to be atlas

never willingly carried the world
on my shoulders

never wished
to be weighed down
by anything

but that candy you liked
–pecans wrapped around
caramel and brown sugar fudge–
weighs on me

wrigley’s double mint gum
always always in your jaw
even while you smoked

your favorite cigarettes
stain my fingers
linger in my hair
and my shirt

even your horrible taste
in music
your delight in department
store nachos with plastic
looking cheese
your willingness to
eat anything
and then diet for weeks

your utter obsession with
keeping secrets
so many
that you emptied out
and filled the house
with things and piles
of things

some days
the world seems like
a lighter weight to bear

The Tupelo Press 30/30 Project for August

Yes, the world has gone stark, raving mad. Someone, somewhere has made a terrible mistake, and accepted me as a participant in the Tupelo Press 30/30 Project for August.

What’s that you say? I already write a poem every single day?

Well, you’re right about that.

HOWEVER,

for the entire month of August, you (yes, YOU) can provide the fertile seeds from which will spring my fevered verse. And, in the process, you can support Tupelo Press in their endeavors to keep independent presses viable, giving writers of all kinds a place to voice the things only they can voice, and reach audiences that they might not be able to engage with on their own.

So, here’s a link to my donation page. There’s a current picture of me. Very, very rare.

And here’s what you can hope to get out of me this month for your support:

  • Pick the Title—For $15, you provide me with a title and I will write a poem about it. Yes, the poem will in some way relate to the title, unlike many of my usual poems. Yes, your title can be whatever you pick.
  • Pick the Words—Also for $15, three words of your choosing will somehow be magically incorporated into a poem.
  • Collab—Another measly $15 will give you the option of writing the first half of a poem, up to five lines, and I will complete you endeavor in my stylish… style.
  • Listen to My Words—For only $25, pick one of the first three options and I will throw in, for a nominal surcharge, a recording of my voice reading that same poem. Two out of three listeners can’t tell the difference between my voice and a burlap sack full of rabid badgers.
  • Put it in Writing—Also for $25, you can pick any one of the first three options and I will send you a physically typed on actual paper copy (including smudges and typos) of the poem you have selected.
  • Kitchen Sink—For $30 you can pick any of the first three options and receive Listen to My Words and Put it in Writing benefits AND save $5. I feel like a KickStarter.

Did you scroll all the way down here, and you’re exhausted by the possibilities and lack the stamina to scroll up to that link? I’ve got you covered. Just move your mouse. Just a little right >here<. Doesn't that feel better?

babel (20170723)

minute 500-077
inside animals
sorrow
fear
residue
new seeds are planted

——

I wrote a very short piece in English and translated it using Google Translate several times into multiple languages, eventually returning it in a somewhat fractured form (and edited). Interesting exercise. I have no clue how numbers got in there.

manual (20170719)

the most pleasant sound
in the world is a typewriter

key striking a fresh piece of
paper and leaving a smudge free
ink-filled crater

behind

a close second the sound
of the bell when the right margin
has been attained
like a marathon runner
crossing

a finish line only to hear
the advance of the platen
zipper crunch slide to the left

finish line is just
another word for starting line

shutting up (20170627)

sew my mouth closed
pack my tongue in
pickling salt and alum

i have no benediction
left

blessed are the hungry
they will be told to get a job

wire my jaw shut
pour fast-drying wet cement
up my nose
and leave my head in the sun
to dry

blessed are the infirm
they will die in misery

replace my head
with one of stone
use my vocal cords
for penny guitars

blessed are the other
they will be forced into corners
into alleys
into slavery of all forms
cut out of their skins
and trapped within them

——

for
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
Blessings

the life you save (20170606)

approach from behind
place your arms
around their torso
under their arms
[if you can manage it]

if they’re flailing
and their eyes are
rolling up
staring backwards at
frontal lobes
just go ahead
and encircle their arms
as well
[since it probably won’t
make much difference now]

bracing with your left
make a fist of your right hand
and a stone of your heart
drive one or the other
forcefully into
their diaphragm

force those lies
they’re choking on
up and out

clean their face liberally with
water and allow
to air dry

——

for
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
Poetics: Poems that could save your life