we are breath
we are vapor
we collect ourselves
a pool in the corner of the mouth
shaken free by a word
by a second word
by a smile
we run
trace the muscle
from cheek to chin
we fall
Tag: writer
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?
under a rock (20170724)
i crawl upon the earth
on my belly
like a snake
without benefit of limbs
i could coil myself
into a figure eight
the symbol for infinity
or shed my skin
and other symbol
this time for renewal
and immortality
or bite my tail
encircling the world
but the world has been
unkind to snakes
and i think i would
rather find some shade
than be a symbol
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.
the angel’s confession (20170722)
i have hated you
–the angel says–
from the moment
of your creation
so weak and powerless
can’t fly
can’t sing
you call that sound
you make singing
but it’s only noise
my gears are polished silver, gold,
my skin translucent pearl
i breathe fire
but can bring forth flowers
by kissing the earth
you are trapped in your meat
and your blood
giving birth in terror
and agony to terrors and
agonies
did you know
your screaming
is the only thing
approaching communication
with the divine
that’s the real song
he wants to hear
you were never meant
for paradise
you were built to suffer
because misery loves
company and
the stony ground
was always your final
destination
like canvas (20170721)
i stretch
you
until tau(gh)t
i pluck
you like a string
from you
the song of a
single pure note
rings
it is the ringing in my ear
love is tinnitus
there when you’re trying to fall asleep
when you wake up
(almost) maddening
both the roar of the ocean
and the dentist’s whining drill
summer carol (20170720)
a small thing affects
the senses
but still scrooge
learned the lessons
no swallowed toothpick
could ever teach him
he had to learn
from ghosts
what it meant
to be alive in his
own faltering flesh
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
Words and Feathers 