Well… I Failed on the 2010 Front
I couldn’t get it together for 365 posts during 2010, but you know, that’s okay. Recently, I’ve been finding my poems as a result of a move/divorce/fresh start in my life. So…
Gonna start scanning/typing poems in and putting them up. Really for my own enjoyment, but if you dig it. Say hi.
Thanks, and drink up.
Poem from November
Green walls hug high enough the sky
Child down the lame lane with hedge clippers
Copies cloaked in bad generations
Outdated & operated on til nonsensical
Oak American Maple Abercrombie has a hitch
Flat footed femme fatales in polyester padders
Complaining via digital dissemination
That their paid-for life is unfair
Abandoned acorns crack open
surreptitiously squat in bushes
Their seed seeks satisfaction never coming
Onans overlooked and feed on by squirrels
As the whine of wine fills and is spilt
On Monday afternoon sidewalks of the city.
-11/1/10-
Is this parody or praise?
Wrote this just now after seeing Fred Moten read last night. It feels like a return to how I used to write in late high school/ college 1.0 period of my life. Can you dig it?
Treatement for Season Affective Disorder (on pulp magazine paper)
A Terminal, Wednesday July 14th 2010
A storm front moved maculately
West to east like weather
Delaying flights of fellow improvisatori
Sepia tones overlaid on eyes like heather
Dull gray weather, hardy like the heath
Ahead of horrid humidity
Far away, is there sunshine on Leith?
Only Scottish proclaimers know with certainty
Fake trees and grass
Sit before window glass
And internal highways beckon
But first I’ll wait
as this flight is late
By some 3600 seconds.
-071410-
Shouldn’t you be in bed?
The lion asked me tonight
Shouldn’t you be in bed?
Haven’t you had enough of life
Why don’t you rest your head?
I turned to answer him
and to ask him not to shed his hair
but when I turned toward his leonine frame
I found he wasn’t there
I’ve been up too long.
-071210-
The long ago, and the short of it, now
Bring it into focus
Turn up the light
Turn down the heat
Wind it up to 160 bpm again
Slow it down to 90 and repeat
Fleet fingers riding the rosewood boards
Single note lines and chords
Whole songs memorized to play
For crowds of peers
Who thought my skills
ruled the day
Years later, I’m a man
with no time to sit
and practice
the songs have all been forgotten
but my fingers ache
my ears are thirsty
my heart still wants to play.
-070610-
They used to call it the TLA…
Feeling nostalgic for something that makes this city and country great: live music!
You weren’t my first
and won’t be my last
but baby, maybe
you’ll always be the best
surf rock or vocal crooners
punk Irish or psychobilly looners
stand-up, spoken word and solo
you are the place I come to
you are the place I love to go
they can change your name
or alter your face
but the sloping concrete floor
feels delicate like lace
even amidst drums
and crunching guitar chords
the PA system always giving more
than my ears ever bargain for
And though some suits bought you
and defaced your name
you’ll always be my hot venue lover
you’ll always be the TLA
-070410-
Lies a lobster.
Tough customer
Hard fists wrapped in iron
No freedom for claws to crush
Tiny mens’ hearts and souls
The rounded chamber awaits him
Stainless steel walls and
Roiling, boiling water
His brain is too small to
Contemplate scavenger sins
But not small enough
To erase the pain
Of dying.
-062110-
What I wanted out of tonight.
I wanted less of the tension
More of the release
Sending out seeds of love
To gather under the leaves
Something the old man heard
Caused him drop from the eaves
The shock was entirely worth it,
The shock was entirely worth it.
-061910-
