wrote this poem.
*girls*
i wish there were more boys around
i sit with the girls all the time
girl parts don't smell as good
as boy parts
and mini beef tacos
Monday, April 04, 2005
Mike Sammons
is catching up with us. Here is his first.
Gretchen At The Pool
Not even the sun itself knew how shining you were just then,
as we spoke briefly of Kant, Hume and Nietzche
and I told how the old fool went mad, in Turin,
kissing the mouth of some horse.
Then I kissed your mouth
and went a thousand times madder.
You smelled like the Fourth of July.
Gretchen At The Pool
Not even the sun itself knew how shining you were just then,
as we spoke briefly of Kant, Hume and Nietzche
and I told how the old fool went mad, in Turin,
kissing the mouth of some horse.
Then I kissed your mouth
and went a thousand times madder.
You smelled like the Fourth of July.
That Moustache Is Playing You
Watching old movies at dawn because the cat woke me up. Those are some moustaches, specifically Clifton Webb.
Wanton April Poets
meet here. Other NaPoWriMo-ers include Sam and Michael, Stephanie, Erica, and many others via our Great Nurturing April Poetry Mother.
Jen's for April 3rd!
The World’s Largest Florida Retiree
After I tell a woman I am the world’s largest
manufacturer of medicated lollipops, anything
can happen. One especially fetching brunette broke
into tears on the middle of the dance floor--
one big blonde busted out laughing, then
wouldn’t shut up about it, kept repeating
“medicated lollipops,” haw-hawing like a donkey.
Yep, it’s a real litmus test alright. The indians
who used to live around here ate each other
which surprises me because the weather’s warm,
which means they never had to worry about shelter,
and the water’s right there which means fish to eat, so
what was the problem? Too much leisure time
maybe? Is cannibalism only wrong because
it’s against the law? I’m asking because you seem like
a nice person, and because you haven’t moved
in a while. Hey, I know what would cheer you up--
have a lollipop--pick a color: I got cherry red,
lemon yellow, purple grape, orange orange, parrot green…
After I tell a woman I am the world’s largest
manufacturer of medicated lollipops, anything
can happen. One especially fetching brunette broke
into tears on the middle of the dance floor--
one big blonde busted out laughing, then
wouldn’t shut up about it, kept repeating
“medicated lollipops,” haw-hawing like a donkey.
Yep, it’s a real litmus test alright. The indians
who used to live around here ate each other
which surprises me because the weather’s warm,
which means they never had to worry about shelter,
and the water’s right there which means fish to eat, so
what was the problem? Too much leisure time
maybe? Is cannibalism only wrong because
it’s against the law? I’m asking because you seem like
a nice person, and because you haven’t moved
in a while. Hey, I know what would cheer you up--
have a lollipop--pick a color: I got cherry red,
lemon yellow, purple grape, orange orange, parrot green…
Jaime's for April 3rd!
{Where is Cranbury, New Jersey?}
I rest on a crutch,
the palsied hand of a snowman.
It might takes days in this weather.
The storm mellifluous and self-governing.
Powdered crutch:
silly hand for birds.
The texture of longing
is the texture of a cloud,
stria-vertebraed water
croons on the wicked wind.
Beaks are frozen smiles.
When I kiss you,
cracks a pond.
If I do not return to you
by Spring, it is for thinking
anything that spreads its arms
can fly.
I rest on a crutch,
the palsied hand of a snowman.
It might takes days in this weather.
The storm mellifluous and self-governing.
Powdered crutch:
silly hand for birds.
The texture of longing
is the texture of a cloud,
stria-vertebraed water
croons on the wicked wind.
Beaks are frozen smiles.
When I kiss you,
cracks a pond.
If I do not return to you
by Spring, it is for thinking
anything that spreads its arms
can fly.
Ada's for April 3rd!
Check Please
Perhaps this poem isn't big enough
for the both of us. I'm already here
and you're trying to sneak in like
you always do. You're that last piece of
lint the breaks the seem of the pocket,
you're the drink that sends me home.
Perhaps this poem isn't big enough
for the both of us. I'm already here
and you're trying to sneak in like
you always do. You're that last piece of
lint the breaks the seem of the pocket,
you're the drink that sends me home.
Shafer's for April 3rd!
Night of the Unusual Cat
Usually the cat will curl
up in a warm place and mewl
occasionally, but now
this cat Cyclops
has a taste for mouse,
and he tears up and down
from the North end
to the South end
of our apartment,
knocking things over
and waking people up,
so I am up now,
I am writing a poem.
Cyclops sneezes as he runs;
I think he has a cold.
A few minutes ago I sneezed once too,
which made me briefly worry
that I had become a cat.
And what an unusual cat
would I make!
Usually the cat will curl
up in a warm place and mewl
occasionally, but now
this cat Cyclops
has a taste for mouse,
and he tears up and down
from the North end
to the South end
of our apartment,
knocking things over
and waking people up,
so I am up now,
I am writing a poem.
Cyclops sneezes as he runs;
I think he has a cold.
A few minutes ago I sneezed once too,
which made me briefly worry
that I had become a cat.
And what an unusual cat
would I make!
Ada's for April 2nd!
Why One Should Not Compare One's Self to Stephen Hawking
I hear at the age of 17,
Stephen Hawking could
comprehend the entire
universe. And here now,
me, on my 29th birthday
still surprised at the refrigerator
light, neon signs, and other
non-stars. At 19 he was rethinking
the logistics of a black hole,
and here I am, still trying to make
you smaller in my mind, until
you become the black at the back
of my brain, the emptiness
that does not disappear, but
becomes a larger thing--
an atmosphere into which
I cannot go without
massive protective gear
and even a layman's
knowledge of our brief
history in time.
I hear at the age of 17,
Stephen Hawking could
comprehend the entire
universe. And here now,
me, on my 29th birthday
still surprised at the refrigerator
light, neon signs, and other
non-stars. At 19 he was rethinking
the logistics of a black hole,
and here I am, still trying to make
you smaller in my mind, until
you become the black at the back
of my brain, the emptiness
that does not disappear, but
becomes a larger thing--
an atmosphere into which
I cannot go without
massive protective gear
and even a layman's
knowledge of our brief
history in time.
Jaime's for April 1st and April 2nd!
{I Will Make No Apologies for the Brief Affair I Had with Your Sister}
In caritas, obligato.
When her hair came down,
her hair came down.
The back bare refrain
of two shoulder blades,
one poised an octave
above the other
shaping the sound
lady plovers make
to hike up the tide
when no one is looking,
when the guests have gone home.
The ocean tasted like
the back of her neck
when the black Scylla
of her hair drew
me under.
*
{Get to Know Your Dead}
—for Jack, Esq.
Down in the earth
where the salt pipers clear their throats
you find them.
You, Havisham,
buried in your wedding dress.
You, General,
calmed by your silence.
You, innocent.
You, baby, taken in blankets,
taken in sleep.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Did you watch like a cat
that hollow spin of birds change direction,
deciding upon a season?
Jack pats with the bully of his shovel
the soft earth
made softer by the renewal
of its trance.
This is hard work.
He sweats,
drinks ice tea from a carton,
is alive.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Did you feel the sun crescent your face,
as in winter, you grew
a longer night
to protect yourself
from a light now cold?
Jack is leaning on your stone.
He is quick to remove your daughter’s
flowers turned sour.
This tune he sings as he works
reminds him of another life.
One he left behind.
One like yours.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Did your weight feel somber on the bed,
on your shifting bare feet
and stretch this length of
uncertain paradise upon
every object you touched?
Jack, grown fond of his work,
buried something in himself:
"Good-bye, Lover" tattooed
inside the shallow of his lower lip.
Maybe it belongs to someone else
or is his to share
with the whiskey in his flask
at the end of the day.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Tomorrow Jack will wake up.
Gravity makes his job tiresome.
Sometimes he thinks
it’s you below, pulling.
He’ll stop to wipe his brow,
watch above
those birds fold flight into each other
with graceful confusion.
He sees them every morning
and wonders where they are going.
In caritas, obligato.
When her hair came down,
her hair came down.
The back bare refrain
of two shoulder blades,
one poised an octave
above the other
shaping the sound
lady plovers make
to hike up the tide
when no one is looking,
when the guests have gone home.
The ocean tasted like
the back of her neck
when the black Scylla
of her hair drew
me under.
*
{Get to Know Your Dead}
—for Jack, Esq.
Down in the earth
where the salt pipers clear their throats
you find them.
You, Havisham,
buried in your wedding dress.
You, General,
calmed by your silence.
You, innocent.
You, baby, taken in blankets,
taken in sleep.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Did you watch like a cat
that hollow spin of birds change direction,
deciding upon a season?
Jack pats with the bully of his shovel
the soft earth
made softer by the renewal
of its trance.
This is hard work.
He sweats,
drinks ice tea from a carton,
is alive.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Did you feel the sun crescent your face,
as in winter, you grew
a longer night
to protect yourself
from a light now cold?
Jack is leaning on your stone.
He is quick to remove your daughter’s
flowers turned sour.
This tune he sings as he works
reminds him of another life.
One he left behind.
One like yours.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Did your weight feel somber on the bed,
on your shifting bare feet
and stretch this length of
uncertain paradise upon
every object you touched?
Jack, grown fond of his work,
buried something in himself:
"Good-bye, Lover" tattooed
inside the shallow of his lower lip.
Maybe it belongs to someone else
or is his to share
with the whiskey in his flask
at the end of the day.
Yesterday was your last morning.
Tomorrow Jack will wake up.
Gravity makes his job tiresome.
Sometimes he thinks
it’s you below, pulling.
He’ll stop to wipe his brow,
watch above
those birds fold flight into each other
with graceful confusion.
He sees them every morning
and wonders where they are going.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
John's for April 2nd!
Blood in the Butter
After Brenna came back for her book
and Russ ran out of the house & shouted
I realised I'd been mixing ... distracted
by how Zoe kissed me
once right outside that video store ... blood
in the butter. I'd thought there was someone
in that room, but I didn't check everywhere.
THAT'S NOT BRENNA, he shouted,
THAT'S NOT BRENNA!
After Brenna came back for her book
and Russ ran out of the house & shouted
I realised I'd been mixing ... distracted
by how Zoe kissed me
once right outside that video store ... blood
in the butter. I'd thought there was someone
in that room, but I didn't check everywhere.
THAT'S NOT BRENNA, he shouted,
THAT'S NOT BRENNA!
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Jen's from April 2nd!
A Chance on Saturday
Yesterday the TV told me what the weather would be like
today, and it was right--rain rain rain--but I like it dark
and cold--it feels easier, like looking into a mirror and seeing
nothing. I don’t know what the weather will be like tomorrow
because I haven’t watched the news--all morning I’ve been
watching Bonnie and Clyde, although I already know what happens--
which is funny because the beauty of the movie is that neither
of them believed what was certain to happen would happen.
It’s noon--the parrot probably knows by now I’m not coming
in today, but doesn’t know why, or what will happen tomorrow.
Today is grey as the feathers on its chest.
Yesterday the TV told me what the weather would be like
today, and it was right--rain rain rain--but I like it dark
and cold--it feels easier, like looking into a mirror and seeing
nothing. I don’t know what the weather will be like tomorrow
because I haven’t watched the news--all morning I’ve been
watching Bonnie and Clyde, although I already know what happens--
which is funny because the beauty of the movie is that neither
of them believed what was certain to happen would happen.
It’s noon--the parrot probably knows by now I’m not coming
in today, but doesn’t know why, or what will happen tomorrow.
Today is grey as the feathers on its chest.
Shafer's for April 2nd!
Let's Play Astronaut
Drape your right arm loosely
over nothing, this will be
your helmet. Walk slowly
with your hidden fear
down the ramp
into this mighty rocket ship.
After you've pressed yourself
outside of gravity, remember
you are in another neighborhood
now, a place where the rules
are different.
Try to recall
your grade-school French,
try to recall your debonair.
Drape your right arm loosely
over nothing, this will be
your helmet. Walk slowly
with your hidden fear
down the ramp
into this mighty rocket ship.
After you've pressed yourself
outside of gravity, remember
you are in another neighborhood
now, a place where the rules
are different.
Try to recall
your grade-school French,
try to recall your debonair.
John's for April 1st!
The First of April
Vamoose opium nights,
huddling in the dark;
you'll get hacked loose
along the brick walks of Huron
at the highway loop
where my jog bends back
and my eyes prick to
let go March's mirage.
I am in terrable shape,
but give me time, sweetheart-give me days
I'll whistle in your cool 8pm.
Vamoose opium nights,
huddling in the dark;
you'll get hacked loose
along the brick walks of Huron
at the highway loop
where my jog bends back
and my eyes prick to
let go March's mirage.
I am in terrable shape,
but give me time, sweetheart-give me days
I'll whistle in your cool 8pm.
Jen's for April 1st!
Gleaning the Parrot
It's back to the old cage.
The new cage was too heavy
to drag up the stairs, plus the parrot
hated it, or seemed to--who really knows
what it's thinking? We must rely
heavily on our powers of observation:
1) It didn't leave its perch for 48 hours
2) It shook and shivered constantly,
all puffed up 3) It stopped saying hello
or what passed as hello, was good
enough for us 4) The slow blink
it started doing, like cats, do parrots
do that too, does it mean the same thing
--I love you--or something very
different--once for yes, twice for no?
It's back to the old cage.
The new cage was too heavy
to drag up the stairs, plus the parrot
hated it, or seemed to--who really knows
what it's thinking? We must rely
heavily on our powers of observation:
1) It didn't leave its perch for 48 hours
2) It shook and shivered constantly,
all puffed up 3) It stopped saying hello
or what passed as hello, was good
enough for us 4) The slow blink
it started doing, like cats, do parrots
do that too, does it mean the same thing
--I love you--or something very
different--once for yes, twice for no?
Ada Limon's for April 1st!
Trying to Read a Sales Report While My Soul is Dying
This pain supercedes and replaces all previous pains.
The Office Group shall, at all times, have the right to change
this pain in any and all respects, including the expansion
or contraction of the amounts of pain distributed, the requirements
for qualification of personnel benefiting under this pain,
or at the Office Groups' absolute discretion, to discontinue it.
All changes to this pain must be made in writing.
This pain supercedes and replaces all previous pains.
The Office Group shall, at all times, have the right to change
this pain in any and all respects, including the expansion
or contraction of the amounts of pain distributed, the requirements
for qualification of personnel benefiting under this pain,
or at the Office Groups' absolute discretion, to discontinue it.
All changes to this pain must be made in writing.
Jamison's for April 1st!
10:34am
This morning
My drip, drip, explosion
Timed out magicly
With an In-N-Out Burger
Jingle song.
It must be Friday.
10: 53am
I don't speak French
But I could crawl on my knees
From this toilet
To your window.
Just give me a moment.
1:09pm
Leggo My Bonio
Ostensibly,
I have done.
Done whacked myself
So much, so long
I chafed.
Now I am every bit
Blood-lube hot dog
And I can't
Be fucked with.
So don't try.
This morning
My drip, drip, explosion
Timed out magicly
With an In-N-Out Burger
Jingle song.
It must be Friday.
10: 53am
I don't speak French
But I could crawl on my knees
From this toilet
To your window.
Just give me a moment.
1:09pm
Leggo My Bonio
Ostensibly,
I have done.
Done whacked myself
So much, so long
I chafed.
Now I am every bit
Blood-lube hot dog
And I can't
Be fucked with.
So don't try.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Shafer's for April 1st!
The Ancient American Calendar
Diffident April is upon us,
too earnest to shine
but not so cruel as they say,
not cruel enough for cold.
We’ve put our lions
away for the year,
and our beards no longer
keep us warm.
Diffident April is upon us,
too earnest to shine
but not so cruel as they say,
not cruel enough for cold.
We’ve put our lions
away for the year,
and our beards no longer
keep us warm.
Rachel Shukert's parents and I
are pleased to announce her debut on the NaPoWriMo scene. She will be paricipating...
...oh hey it's APRIL! I got to write some poems!
...oh hey it's APRIL! I got to write some poems!
Nothing says poetry like rock and roll.
So come on out to help kick off National Poetry Month with the rock and roll of Ben Murphy, and the poetry of Sam Amadon, with special guest appearances by Daniel Nester and Rachel Shukert.
2:30 on Sunday at "The Cuatro" 165 W. 4th St. and 6th Ave.
2:30 on Sunday at "The Cuatro" 165 W. 4th St. and 6th Ave.
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