Tag: writing

Poem 20150711

crow

the lump is solid and dead and wet
when you unsack it

you don’t even pull it out
just let it slide out on its own

gravity does the dirty work
you just guide with with your hands

watch it impale itself on a wooden stake
not that it has a heart

not yet

and you hear it separate from its skin
which you reserve

the peeling off of skin
the baring of red flesh not yet alive

after all, this is eden
you haven’t breathed life into it

not yet

as you take it apart
cutting with wire and knives and fingers

you save the pieces for later
keeping the bits in the old skin

keeping them wet because when they dry,
they are useless shards

Poem 20150709

crow

everything slows down
the hands of clocks
the stretching of shadows
the rustle of wind
the grumble of voices
the songs of birds
the roar of cars
the arc of planes in the sky

everything slows and everything takes a little longer
a little longer to get from a to b
from here to there
everything slows
except

except for the beating
the beating of the heart

it continues to race
threatening to burst
in place

and what a mess that would be
who would clean that up
and how slowly they would respond
still caught in that drag of time
that you broke free of
for a moment
not falling
down the
well

Post 20150708

crow6 Comments

I don’t think I’ve ever just written a plain old post on this blog.

Well, there’s a first time for everything. First off, today’s poem was somehow inspired by reading the poem here and by following the link to her “inspiration.” I don’t know how inspiration works. If i ever figure it out, I’m going to stop writing and start teaching overpriced workshops.

Secondly, I have had three of my poems accepted for publication in the upcoming issue of Pomona Valley Review (PVR). The current issue is PVR8. PVR9 should be available at the end of July. One of those poems is on this site. I’m going to remove it for a while and replace it with a link to the magazine. The other two were written either before I started publishing a poem a day here or somehow didn’t make it on.

I want to thank my wife Lisa for always giving me time to write, and my friend Erica who continues to encourage me to submit my work when I usually don’t see the point.

Poem 20150708

crow

if you put me in a crucible
and turned the furnace up to high

(i’m sure forges have settings like
my kitchen stove)

i would catch on fire, melt,
turn into a real mess,

but would i liquefy as my water
boiled away and my elements

freed from their captivity in my organs
would they puddle deep in the bell

their components seeking like to like
what gold and what iron

would be separate from the dross
and would the pearl of my soul

shine like an unbreakable diamond
among the slurry

Poem 20150707

crow

it breaks inside you like your bones
and muscles and organs are blown sugar

like that candy you bought
one year when you went to disneyland

–years and years and years ago
when they had paper tickets the color
of crayons–

and that candy was clear like blown glass
always in a swan shape and broke like blown glass

in your mouth
it dissolved

and tasted like nothing so much as
sugar and syrup and summer and not like swan

and that’s how it breaks inside you

Poem 20150705

crow

everything comes out on
independence day

and it all comes out in
the dark

illuminated by old men
in swim trunks

illuminated by remembering
the dead

illuminated by kids with glow bracelets
because fireworks are banned

(though you hear the illegal m-80s
exploding all night long)

watered down with beer
baked with too much sun

filled to bursting with hot dogs
and burges and barbecue

and finally an inevitable tumble
down a hill, face first into a wall

but the miracle of the lights
and the thundering booms

and the excited animal sounds
of the children watching

pure in excitement, redeem it
not only in america, you think

Poem 20150704

crow

IMG_3697

the hawk pursued something
into the bushes

i didn’t see if what it was after
had flown or scurried
but it made it safely
into the thick underbrush

the hawk backed out
stood on the pavement
and peered into the grasses
willing its prey to come out

failing that it
flew up to a branch where
it could wait
patient
with the resolve that hunger provides

he didn’t move when
i took his picture
or the family of three
jogged by with their
youngest on a bike

raptor is like rapture
his orange eyes cold
for all their heat
his next meal in question

i wouldn’t fit in those talons
so didn’t merit consideration

Poem 20150703

crow

turning my head
i hear the crack in my neck
that snap crackle pop
moment of
can i twist it just right
just too far
will the disc finally
slip this time
and slice through the cord
like a razor blade

but the most i get
is a pulled muscle
stiff for days maybe
and a story i repeat
every time anyone mentions
how i’m turning my head