Rent

Posted at PFFA (to High Critique, no less).

Rent

Advert tacked to kiosk:
"2bdrm. big ktch.
parking" and a per mo.
to make a lessor man weep.
I moved for the scrap,
but the wind ripped
it off and took my
apt. up the nice
street, beautiful area,
close to freeways and shopping.

-----

I thought I revised this at some point, but I can't find another version, older or newer. It's neat. "Lessor" is punnily intentional. The title, too (see L6) although as someone commented, it's oblique.

Prayer on I-90

Posted at PFFA.

Prayer on I-90

Erie etches counterfeits of white
onto the town, a scarious gravure
of ice, deceptive in its pleasantness.
The scene admits some beauty, I am sure,
from high above the city. I confess
I've never seen it blanketed at night
as heaven must, a globe of shaken flurries
dazzling the ground. I only know
the bobsled run of traffic, dodging trucks,
and staying out of ditches. Lovely show,
God. Take it on the road. I hear Canucks
have money, leisure time and fewer worries.

-----

Originally "Prayer on Interstate 90", the new title is snappier.
No one liked "scarious gravure." How am I supposed to revise that?

Introductions (A Cento)

Posted 07-31-2005 at PFFA.

Introductions (A Cento)

Listen great things: Brutus and Cassius
You Also, Gaius Valerius Catullus
Jacopo Rusticucci, Arrigo, and Mosca,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
For to-day we have naming of parts.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the
heart.
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Naming your pounding name again in the dark heart-root.
Who gave you the name of Old Glory? - say, who -
Seaver, Garvey, Schmidt, and Vida Blue
And Peter Mangiador, and Peter of Spain,
maggie and millie and molly and may
The ghost of Pancho Villa, Sittin' Bull and Jesse James
All of them sensible everyday names.

So I said I am Ezra
Louie Louie Louie Lou I
The man who married Magdalene
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Shirley, Shirley Bo Birley Bonana Fanna Fo Firley
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

---

Um, not great, but slightly amusing.

All poetic credit due:

1. Julius Caesar (William Shakespeare)
2. (Archibald Macleish)
3. Inferno, Canto VI (Dante)
4. Henry V (William Shakespeare)
5. Naming of Parts (Henry Reed)
6. The Names (Billy
Collins)
7. (Emily Dickinson)
8. A Letter (Anthony Hecht)
9. The Name of Old Glory (James Whitcomb Riley)
10. Talkin' Baseball (Terry Cashman)
11. Paradiso, Canto XII (Dante)
12. (E.E. Cummings)
13. Legacy of the Rodeo Man (Baxter Black)
14. The Naming of Cats (T.S. Eliot)

15. (A.R. Ammons)
16. Brother Louie (Stories)
17. (Louis Simpson)
18. (Shel Silverstein)
19. The Name Game (Shirley Ellis)
20. Richard III (William Shakespeare)

Fab Four Clerihews

Originally posted at PFFA.


Fab Four Clerihews

George Harrison
should garrison
his house against attacks
from Beatlemaniacs.

---

Ringo
could sing. Oh,
but Starkey?
Malarkey!

---

Paul
was in thrall,
not dead,
as some said.

---

And of course John, who is very stubborn about having a clerihew written about him:

John
looks down upon
mere mortals to see
if a working class angel is something to be.

John
looks out upon
his everlasting reward to see
if a working class angel is something to be.

John
looks upon
mere mortals, and mingles
with angels while penning hit singles.

Sir John
looked out upon
his reward. It ain't good:
He turned down sainthood.

Sir John
looked down upon
his reward. It ain't good:
He turned down sainthood.

Décima: Scansion Challenge

Décima: Scansion Practice/Challenge

Posted 04-16-2002 to PFFA.

Our Uncle Clive said only “piss”
in working out unpublished lines,
in drafts so rough the only signs
of humor came from using this
vulgarity. We sorely miss
the British sheen of style and wit
he once displayed. The thought of it!
His brow, a mix of high and low,
transfixed us. It was pure (although
our Uncle Clive once used a “shit.”)

---

Posted 04-19-2002 to PFFA.

All lackeys in this thread should hail
my poem's presence. Don't you see?
The crap was introduced by me,
by Weathering, the son of Dale!
No toilet, outhouse, sturdy pail
or bedpan would be full without
my contribution. Damn the lout
who dares decree another post
the winner! I propose a toast:
to me! Now, throw your praise about.

-----

This is taken out of context, so click the link in the title to see the challenge.
Not for the -- poetically or metrically -- squeamish.

Scarab in a Barrel

Posted 06-08-2004 at PFFA.

Scarab in a Barrel

"Break the crown, Tiger. And point
the trident up. Remember, up
then down into me," Scarab says.
"Smoke me, wax me; if not
I will go berserk."

Anyone like Scarab -- gutted will, hunched,
weathered, sour of bladder -- bends, but snaps.
Blend the antidote: lime in his whiskey.
Slowly, he slurs inside and pales.

"Oh, Tiger, balance
the crowbar, carefully needle the hutch's hinge,
drive your trident through."
You and I will crawl forever.

-----

Not just a fill-in-the-blank poem, oh no no no. See here.

i.e.

Posted at PFFA (verrrry early on).

i.e.

I said it once and I'll say it again,
that is, I will repeat my previous statement:
redundancy, that is, reiteration,
is the beating of a dead horse, that is,
the pounding of some concept into one's skull.

To sum up, repetition, that is,
the aforementioned redundancy,
is the reiteration of a dead horse's
skull. Maybe I should clarify.

I will qualify my statement,
crystallize my thoughts, that is.
I repeat: redundancy, repetition, reiteration,
that is the topic (the theme, that is,
or actually the themes, since they are plural).
Now the topics, yes. What goes over
and over and over and over
and over is redundant or repetitive,
often said of a droning orator,
that is, a monotonous speaker.

Clear? No? What? Oh.

-----

An ancient one from my notebooks. Old immature poems are either burnable or frameable. This leans toward framing since I find it cohesive and focused. I still get a chuckle out of it.

Cudgels

Posted/workshopped/revised at PFFA.

Cudgels

Just go here.

-----

Holy yikes.

What Price Neologist Cinquain?

Posted 04-19-2009 at PFFA.

What Price Neologist Cinquain?

Two, four,
six, eight, two and
macaronstrosities
will dysphragmate my next double
dactyl.

Seasonal Cinquain

Posted 12-16-2004 at PFFA.

Seasonal Cinquain

The light
in the candle
holder bathes my face. Christ
has thirty years and three before
the weep.

As E'er My Conversation Coped Withal (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 30, 2006

As E'er My Conversation Coped Withal

"The candied tongue is licking pomp,
absurdly crooking pregnant knees."
That Ham's a scamp. He's on a romp!
The candied tongue is licking pomp?

Indeed? Horatio says, "Well, trompe
le monde. But now in English, please:
The candied tongue is licking pomp?
Absurdly crooking pregnant knees?"

Lakeside View

Posted 04-28-2002 at PFFA.

Lakeside View

In building up the lakeside view,
the city planners seek consensus:
widening the avenue
to rid the shore of chain link fences.

The city planners seek consensus:
golden beach with ferris wheel
to rid the shore of chain link fences?
How would all the tourists feel?

Golden beach with ferris wheel,
a boardwalk like Atlantic City --
how would all the tourists feel
when spending money? It's a pity

a boardwalk like Atlantic City
costs too much. No one agrees
when spending money. It's a pity
lining up celebrities

costs too much; no one agrees,
even if it's worked before.
Lining up celebrities
won't work. We'll find another shore.

Even if it's worked before,
widening the avenue
won't work. We'll find another shore
when building up the lakeside view.

-----

A pantoum. I spelled "consensus" wrong in the original posting. Please proofread your work.

Terse Verse (Times Four)

Posted March 2004 at PFFA.

r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r

(D)
\q|h|/u|/
(am)i(nb)
(ug)
s
(s)
s
:boot.

---

anyone lived in a pretty how town

noone and anyone wed
the witness was someone named Why:
'what was it that Somebody said?
you're born and you live and you die'

---

Song of Myself

I am all.
(Curtain call.)

---

Goblin Market

Maids eat fruit, become unsteady
in Glengarry Glen Rossetti.

-----

Four from a "terse verse" challenge. I'm darn proud of my version of Goblin Market.

Ire and Rice

Posted at PFFA.

Ire and Rice

Most times my woman's meals are dire,
Too few they're nice.
From what I've tasted of her cooking
In recent days, I favor booking
A table in some paradise --
No, I don't want the special plate.
I say that for my dinner rice
Would compensate
At cheaper price.

(with apologies to Robert Frost)

-----

A Frost parody, and a largely unsuccessful one. The joke isn't really funny or well-thought-out. I'll probably try a completely different approach -- meaning, a parody with a funnier punch. (I still like this version, though. Frost's original is one of my all-time favorite poems.)

Two "J" Double Dactyls (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 28, 2006

Jamie Lee

Higgledy piggledy,
Jamie Lee Curtis is
aging as gracefully
as is allowed.
Hollywood standards and
rhinoplasticity
mean next to nothing when
you're well-endowed.

---

April 29, 2006

Jennifer

Trilling tranquility,
Jennifer Juniper,
Donovan's flaxen-haired
lady of song,
only exists in the
mind of a songwriter
psychosomatically
smoking his bong.

Up 'n' At Them (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 27, 2006

Up 'n' At Them

Oh coffee! Realm of bold bean, cream and hot
mugs with a handle! Sing of Folger's gift,
and Maxwell House and Starbucks! Make a pot
of morning-making, artificial lift,
the jolting joy of new-take-on-the-day!
We horrid early risers work a shift
that bustles, sir, with caffeine interplay,
with sugar seiges, having half-and-half
as mediators till we get our pay!
You don't agree. You sleep till noon and laugh.
Espresso jokes. "Thanks a latte!" Man,
you sure can put a damper on the staff
that cranks the engine of the world. Or can
you buy adrenaline? I'm not a fan.

Riddle

Posted at PFFA.

Riddle

With three of them, the least on top
(One two three, plop plop plop),
They make a man, but in the sun
Drop drip drop they come undone.
If you can't guess my riddle, well,
You don't stand a chance in hell.

-----

On the Grauheim/Tate Riddle Difficulty Scale, this is a 2.

After Pear-Picking / Geometry (First Sonnet)

Second version posted at PFFA.


version #1

After Pear-Picking

Geometry: You learn it in the wrecked,
entangled trees where garbage, broken glass,
and rats are tangents. Circled in the center,
equidistant from the killing points
encompassed on detectives' maps, the line
of alleys, streets, and parking lots is cubed
and divvied up. A problem to be solved
is how the sine wave vines have choked the growth.
You twist an arc of stem; the tapered sphere
of pyrus communis, as stubborn hard
as trig and calculus, as wonderful
as numbered shapes inside of shapes, resists.
Ballistics shows the bullet miss the mark
at only minus two degrees of arc.

-----

version #2

Geometry

You find geometry among the wrecked,
entangled trees: the curve of hemisphere
and taper, shape on top of shape. A pear
that sine-wave vines have failed to protect
hangs perpendicular to broken glass,
a rusted green above the city mulch.
The fruit is stubborn-hard, like trig. You clutch,
but nothing here resembles calculus.
The area of Collinwood is known
from Five Point Square to up on Nottingham
as Shooting Row, a parallelogram
of ammunition, gun, and bullet drone,
a gauntlet, ghetto, seedy neighborhood.
You figure, if it grows, it must be good.

-----

The first sonnet I ever attempted. I ignored rhyme - except for the final couplet - so I could get through the darn thing with something resembling pentameter. Then I attempted revision with rhyme with so-so results. I now leave them be.

Mr. Picture-Taker (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 25, 2006

Mr. Picture-Taker

His pictures told a thousand wordless stories:
the crags that no man put a booted foot on,
the broken bulbs in lightless rooms, the glories
of a sundown cloudburst. The man who put on
a fake nose and ruffled dresses to get the shot
of nervous children, calm now, sniffle free
and grinning, also has his proper lot
of upper-crusters, those who pay the fee
and then ignore the art. He framed them all
at sad distances, not the focal point.
He lets them stare at him now, covered wall
of gray, and blocks the voices that anoint
the space between observed and maker shut,
cropping the story out, the needed cut.

Eructo Et, Ergo, Cogito Sum (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 23, 2006

Eructo Et, Ergo, Cogito Sum

I often talk before I think.
I talk and, therefore, think I am.
My lips will flap and ships will sink.
I often talk before I think.

My mind's a blank, it's on the blink.
My mouth? It doesn't give a damn.
I often talk before I think.
I talk and, therefore, think I am.

The Fifteen Second Glengarry Glen Ross

Reconstructed from PFFA (couldn't find the original).

The Fifteen Second Glengarry Glen Ross

John. John, the leads, John.
What is this, your farewell speech?
God, I hate this job.

Bolingbroke Says Ay (The Fifteen Second Richard II)

Reconstructed from PFFA.

Bolingbroke Says Ay (The Fifteen Second Richard II)

Greet I thee, my earth,
little, little grave obscure.
Cousin, sieze the crown.

Upon Receiving Harsh Criticism, The Poet Gets Drunk And Reflects (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 17, 2006

Upon Receiving Harsh Criticism, The Poet Gets Drunk And Reflects

You think I'm not able to? Well, I can
take a few simple iambs and stack 'em,
like Christopher Walken says pelican,
like James Gandolfini says whack 'em.

The pedigree? Daniel Day-Lewis.
The swiftness? Suzuki Ichiro.
I'm a poetry heavyweight who is
a cross between Hulk and DeNiro.

You are spiteful and vengeful, a meanie
who is waiting for old age to set in,
so take your Federico Fellini
and stick it like Mary Lou Retton!

-----

Yes, Mary Lou Retton. The poem didn't quite go where I wanted it to. The title is accurate and true to life, if I remember correctly.

Two Julains (NaPoWriMo 2006)

Hokku (A Julain)

He sets his brush aside and, having said
the final line of his hokku, commands
his son to hold his words with younger hands.

-----

Death Poem (A Julain)

The dropping petals leave the scent of plum
upon his robes. The wind can hear the sigh
the shogun breathes, his gesture to the sky.

-----

The julain is a poetic form invented by Julie Carter.

All Hallows Evening (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 14, 2006

All Hallows Evening

The Sugar Daddy wrapper's tamper-torn.
The death of Halloween has made me older;
they hide the razor blades in caramel corn.

Don't stop for bloody fools who honk a horn.
You'll feel a ghoulish hand upon your shoulder.
The Sugar Daddy wrapper's tamper-torn.

Beware, you hobbits, Gandalf, Aragorn,
the city orcs are feeling ever bolder.
They hide the razor blades in caramel corn.

They curse the day and hour that you were born
and seek you through their sheets with eyes that smolder
and offer Sugar Daddys, tamper-torn.

This eve is theirs, and when their welcome's worn
they'll slip below to home, more earthy, colder.
They hide the razor blades in caramel corn.

The Night of Ghouls precedes the Saintly Morn
(my mom was just repeating what was told her).
The Sugar Daddy wrapper's tamper-torn.
They hide the razor blades in caramel corn.

New Pantoum (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 13, 2006

New Pantoum

New pantoum?
Damn the luck,
now we're doomed.
Motherfuck!

Damn the luck,
damn your eyes!
Motherfuck.
Falling skies

damn your eyes
in your face.
Falling skies,
comet race.

In your face
awe appears.
Comet-race
doomsday nears:

Pa appears,
snaps his belt;
doomsday nears,
welts are felt.

Snaps his belt --
not at us.
What we felt:
Gravitas

knotted us,
throttled us.
Gravitas
bottled us.

Throttle us
now. We're doomed.
Bottle this
new pantoum.

Feed (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 11, 2006

Feed

The graygreen slick the tunnel runoff hocked
like housepaint glopped on crabgrass sucked down boots,
bicycles, trees. My plastered ankles locked
in lunchmeat squish, I grabbed at handle roots
while cussing out my need for such pursuits.
A day's reconnaissance at Squalid Creek
turned up the muck spat from the gothic chutes,
that olive drab, synthetic as its reek,
and fed it sock and shoe, the food its spirits seek.

-----

Ugh. I forced almost every aspect of this Spenserian stanza.

Love Bobs (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 10, 2006

Love Bobs

Love bobs and weaves. It dodges, ducks
from view and wears its camouflage.
In summer, love's oasis shucks
illusion off, a heat mirage.

Its presence fills a room like smoke,
the same for shed or house or hangar,
but try to trap love in a poke
and (Boo!) you've got its doppelganger.

Love can't be held, arrested, caught,
subpoenaed for a court appearance,
bartered, traded, sold or bought
or haggled for at year-end clearance.

Your wily E. Coyote schemes
have failed to snare or even find it.
And down the Acme anvil screams
with (Help!) a boulder right behind it.

For love, it's game and set and match,
Olympic gold, the Stanley Cup,
the ring of brass. You've got no patch
on love. But you're the runner-up.

Joke Poem (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 9, 2006

Joke Poem

You want to hear a joke I heard today?
Okay, a rabbi walks into a bar --
stop me if you've heard it. Anyway,
"According to the Jewish calendar,"
the rabbi says, "I'll have a beer--" Oh, wait,
it's wine. Or something. Jewish wine, I think.
I screwed it up. I know some people hate
that, screwing up a joke like that. A drink,
he gets a drink, okay? And no offense
to you or anyone. I mean, I know
some people get uptight. It makes no sense
to me, but hey. I got it: Two Jews go --
it's funny, trust me. At the very least
you'll get a chuckle. Hmm. Okay, a priest...

Found Poem: Dictionary of Americanisms

Posted 07-27-2001 at PFFA.


Found Poem: Dictionary of Americanisms


• BETTERMOST. The best. Used in New England.

The bettermost cow, an expression
we do not find in Shakspeare or Milton.
--Mrs. Kirkland.

• B'HOYS. The New York Commercial Advertiser:

All the b'hoys will vote, aye, more than all.
Let every Whig do his duty.
Another year with a Democratic Mayor--
and such a Mayor as the b'hoys would force upon the city!
Who can tell what the taxes will be?

• BIBLE CHRISTIANS. The Philadelphia Mercury:

"This denomination abstain from all animal food
and spirituous liquors, and live on vegetables and fruits.
They maintain the unity of God, the divinity of Jesus,
and the salvation of man, attainable only by a life of obedience
to the light manifested to his mind and a grateful acknowledgment
of his indebtedness to the great Giver of all.
The congregation numbers about seventy members."

• BIG-BUGS. People of consequence.

These preachers dress like big-bugs,
and go ridin' about on hundred-dollar horses,
a-spungin' poor priest-ridden folks,
and a-eaten chicken-fixens so powerful fast
that chickens has got scarce in these diggins.
--Carlton's New Purchase

• BIG-WIGS. People of consequence.

Demagogues and place-hunters make the people stare
by telling them how big they talked and what great things
they did to the big-wigs to home.
--Sam Slick.

-----
From Dictionary of Americanisms,
by John Russell Bartlett (1848),
p. 31.
-----

A kind of found poem. The challenge: pick a book, open to random page. Use the words on that page, in the order they appear without adding anything, to construct a poem. So, basically, a challenge in selective editing.
Here is the book and page I selected.

North Coast (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 8, 2006

North Coast

I see your waves that curl like leaves
in student bluebooks, endless sheaves
of longing, wherein each believes
the truth resides.
But, shallow lake, your din achieves
no ocean tides.

When June, unselfish-seeming, warms
this strip of zebra mussel dorms
then turns with pent-up thunderstorms
to strafe the beach,
the luscious sand Hawaii forms
is out of reach.

But still I dig my toes in hard
and write until my soles are scarred;
I script myself a new canard:
The Erie Sentry.
And find that I am standing guard
at Eden's entry.

-----

This needs some work (esp. S3), but I love the Burns stanza.

Chess with the Monsignor (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 7, 2006

Chess with the Monsignor

The king's as good as dead without a queen.
The pawns and crooked bishops all are caught,
an opening the like I've never seen.
Your grab at easy targets comes to naught.

The pawns and crooked bishops all are caught.
You can't ignore the knights at center board.
Your grab at easy targets comes to naught.
Let us pray in silence to the Lord.

You can't ignore the knights at center board.
The rook is best employed when ranks are thinned.
Let us pray in silence to the Lord:
"Forgive me, Host of Heaven, I have sinned."

The rook is best employed when ranks are thinned
and endgame is the only game in town.
"Forgive me, Host of Heaven, I have sinned;
I sought the enemy and put him down."

Endgame is the only game in town.
Remember this before you move a pawn
and seek the enemy to put him down.
Heed the call from angels of the dawn.

Remember this before you move a pawn,
an opening the like I've never seen.
Heed the call from angels of the dawn:
The king's as good as dead without a queen.

"I'm Just Saying"

Original posted 06-10-2002 at PFFA.

"I'm Just Saying"
by David Mamet

I'm just saying.
I ate the plums
the freezer.
For breakfast,
saving for, listen,
no, list-- oh fuck
me.... I'm... I...
forgive me, for breakfast.
Sorry. Forgi-- Cold.
Yeah, cold.
And delicious.

-----

Obviously a riff on William Carlos Williams. I think this is okay-funny, but I don't think it's well-crafted. Too choppy. I have tried to revise this to be a) truer to the original's format, b) truer to Mamet, and c) truer to teh funny. None of these revisions really worked. So here's another one:


"I'm Just Saying"
by David Mamet

I'm just saying.
I ate the plums
the freezer.

What can one man
say to that?
I am thawing plums.
Plums Thawed --
Since Nineteen Senny-Nine.
For breakfast, probably.

I'm sorry.
Forgive me.

Fuck me they were cold.


or


"I'm Just Saying"
by David Mamet,
as read by Joe Montegna

I'm just saying.
I ate the plums
the freezer.

I figure, for breakfast.
Since nineteen senny-nine
you were saving them
or what, I don't know.

I'm sorry.
Forgive me.
Guess I can't
come to your
birthday party.

Fuck me they were cold.

-----

There's still something wrong, though. I really want this one to be great, but maybe it's just not going to happen.
EDITED TO ADD: I am now enamored of the Montegna one.
Also, see this one.

Strategy (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 6, 2006

Strategy

Fill balloon at faucet,
tie it with a squeak.
Throw at girls and hide inside
the treehouse for a week.

Sci-Fi Marathon (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 5, 2006

Sci-Fi Marathon

after a (much better) poem by R. S. Gwynn

A cybercop patrols Detroit with zeal.
A woman wants a mother-monster dead.
A hacker finds reality ain't real.
Wafers made of people aren't red.
Frenchmen shoot a bullet at the moon.
A rebel crosses sabers with his dad.
Some aliens are greeted with a tune.
A ship's computer goes a little mad.
Some monkeys keep a human in a cage.
An android wants to live a little longer.
A planet made of sand is all the rage.
The Martians meet the germs (the germs are stronger).
A spaceman comes to Earth to spread good will.
A cyborg travels back in time to kill.

30 Poems in 30 Minutes

It's Rob's fault.


30 Poems in 30 Minutes

1.
I caught that cat looking
at me with eyes like an unshoveled driveway.
Goodbye Sly.

2.
Tetrahedron. I fondle its lanes and corners,
rough corduroy angles and sharp
pockets. I calculate: not beyond my sphere, it won't.

3.
What waits for me there, in trees and in the brook?
I run, but not to run. I run to rake in what makes its bed.

4.
From eighteen green fields comes my wager:
twelve or six husks for the family?

5.
Harry, you're a nonsensical construction.
You know that, right. I am talking about
what made you think of the fish, Harry.
It is not seemly to linger at the spout.

6.
By gum and gummy, I sense the shimmy
in the jellied car. It can't take the brake,
so I apply pressure elsewhere, at my heel.

7.
Yes, yes, and yes, are the answers.
I try to stay positive and respond with
inaccuracies. You, sir, question with a text
known to you. I am this close to peeking
in the back.

8.
Tonight, it rains. I know the feeling of heat when it rains.
Going to waste, all that radiation.

9.
Hello morning crew! Yes, I want to rock all morning
with you. I will do that. I will be the tenth caller at...

10.
Along the row, I notch the wood with makeshift
knife-edge marks, not quite notches.
Nothing prepares me for the loom.

11.
Ostinato. Twelve tones for some pleasure other than listening.
Were I to order the sounds this way, and take attendance,
all would pass.

12.
Beaning cool, the boy hums his song
of being frightened. Strikes two and three.
He can sing now.

13.
Just allow a breath,
a huff for the king.
At coronation,
it's regal to do so.

14.
Blame game with matches. Have you flicked one?
Is it lit, smoking in a fanned octagon in the dirt?
Good. Your fault.

15.
Asking for a retreat is not winning the war, son.
Make it your honor to face that which will take you
over and back, to victory and the loss column.

16.
Mean timing in the water: clocks blub
and click their stasis. Finished.

17.
Up the snoot, harpy. Take that with a grain
based alcopop. After twelve, bets are off.

18.
Work at finding a finger length of reach.
Then, flick that bluebook over and write the back.

19.
Belittled, I crawl back to my door. My mom
is shopping. I've seen my dad cook. There is
no one to talk to.

20.
Horses don't pull the car, son. Do you see any horses?
It's just what they call an engine's power.
Well, they have to call it something.
They used to ride on donkeys, too.

21.
Whip palms on Sunday. It's not done,
but my friends would laugh if I didn't try.

22.
Where exactly did he go, though?
Up, up there, to heaven. Weren't you listening?
So, he got a ride? From God?
Cool.

23.
Going to teach, I don't have any memory.
It is gone, like my old poems. Gone,
and sitting there in the dusty yellow notebook.

24.
Vile and pernicious, I've been reading Zappa
and about Zappa, and ze continuity.
I can't make it through this paragraph, though,
on Adorno.

25.
Look there's a helluva good unicorn next door.
Let's throw rings on it, three chances for a dollar.

26.
Vodka has deserted me. 100 proof desertion.
The blue bottle aches to sneer. I got this chip,
and I am not giving in to liqueur, either.

27.
Run paint, the captain says, run, run.
You used me like a heart. I still smoke,
so that your attention will waver.

28.
Petty. Pretty, too, but small-time
change-a-dollar antes ain't my style.
You can hold that hold 'em, too.
Ponies, no, not me.

29.
I gotta go now. That last oolong
has waited till now. Intestinal requirement
ahoy.

30.
Black like demons, I applaud you.
It takes so little to grin at a cat.

Pantoum: My Spring Song

Originally posted 05-04-2006 at ILXOR.

Pantoum: My Spring Song

The banjos are not seeking after me,
and piccolos ignore my sprightly stride.
I cannot tell the brass band from the sea,
its volume can be so undignified.

The piccolos ignore my sprightly stride.
The sunlight fuzzes down from heaven's Marshall;
its volume can be so undignifed.
The tulip tambourines remain impartial.

The sunlight fuzzes down from heaven's Marshall,
a bongo circle forms among the weeds,
the tulip tambourines remain impartial
while queen bee gospel singers spread their seeds.

A bongo circle forms among the weeds,
a music stand of trees displays their scores
while queen bee gospel singers spread their seeds.
A soaking rain of notes will clean my pores.

A music stand of trees displays their scores.
I fix my pitch that wavers, slightly wrong.
A soaking rain of notes will clean my pores.
To tuneful winds, I calmly add my song.

I fix my pitch that wavers, slightly wrong
(I cannot tell the brass band from the sea).
To tuneful winds, I calmly add my song:
"The banjos are not seeking after me."

-----

My contribution to a linked poem. Joyous!

Dactyl von Frankenstein

Posted 02-03-2009 at ILXOR.

Dactyl von Frankenstein

Zippity-zappity
Baron von Frankenstein
said, "I'm a character,
here, in this book.

Says I'm a blasphemous,
pro-resurrectionist,
God-playing maniac.
Me! Take a look."

Igor the servant said,
"'Modern Prometheus,'"
quoting directly the
words on the front,

"'Shelley's incredulous
übermonstrosity'?
Didn't she WRITE me yet?
God, what a cunt."

----

Sorry, the rhyme was just there, ya know?

Lohan Hits Another Stationary Object

From a headline at IMDb

Lohan Hits Another Stationary Object

Lohan Hits Another Stationary Object
Driver keeps a calm repose before the onslaught
Second episode this week for harried starlet
Lawyers, family and friends, and paparazzi
spin the story: Major kudos to her moxie!

Livmerick Tyler

New!

Livmerick Tyler

There once was a Tyler named Liv
who swore she would never forgive
her dad for the time
he dressed like a mime
and renamed the group Arrow Shiv.

Limerick After William Carlos Williams

New!

Limerick After William Carlos Williams

I ate all the plums in the freezer
I said in a note just to tease her.
But now they're recalling
the fruit! And she's bawling
I never do nothing to please her!

-----

See this also.

A Lullaby for Presidents (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 4, 2006

A Lullaby for Presidents

A lullaby for presidents
should not be all magnificence
and pompous blaring. God forbid
a head of state, a little kid,
should snap out of his somnolence.

No, let it foster tolerance
by being simple, common sense.
A seed of hope can grow amid
a lullaby.

And there it is, ladies and gents,
the cure for this bald arrogance,
for in his little brain is hid
contrition for the things he did.
Inducing sleep can help this. Hence,
a lullaby.

Gertrude's Philosophy (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 3, 2006

Gertrude's Philosophy

after a (much better) poem by R. S. Gwynn

The life seems nice enough until you find
your husband gone, your only son a loon,
the lonely nights grown longer. Winter's grind
means insulation must be put in soon.
That stuff ain't cheap.

O, summer! Why do you deny your season?
I've half a mind to fall for Claud and quell
the itch within me. "Parties need no reason,"
he always says. So cute! Oh, what the hell,
I'll take the leap.

Junkyard (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 2, 2006

Junkyard

They called me fat, not white. They called me Bro
when, grunting up the desiccated dead
machines, I found the Cadillac. My head
got big when Juice and Agee gasped: below,
the ride, a too-unlikely indigo
as peaceful as a baby put to bed,
a former playa's rolling stash of cred
without a wheel, engine or radio.
The junkman must have gently laid it down
between these stacks of husks for cracker-boy,
the roly-poly honky haystack, me.
I sometimes wished my skin was just as brown
as all my friends. And, heavy with that joy,
we cruised, then pushed it up to seventy.

Cornerstone (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 1, 2006

Cornerstone

The dedication: 1932.
My mom and dad would just have met, in time
to see the floors ascend and end in blue.
They built until they stopped, back then. A dime
would get a copy of the evening news,
an ice cream cone, a tram ride down the Row
to downtown. Maybe they would pick and choose
their mansions -- certainly, the wealthy know
the value of a buck and where to put it.
And every home on Euclid makes dad wonder,
"That thing's so tall. Couldn't be taller, could it?"
But mom is thinking, "No man put asunder".
They'd dig, and get their own foundations set,
and build the skyline's tallest buildings yet.