drown in the miracle
of my fire
It lures them close
before
turning them to instant ash
Neither fire nor victim
aware of the danger
until survival
is out of the question
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Open Link Night
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Poem #15-2012 Fire Danger Today
Hearth visitors
drown in the miracle
of my fire
It lures them close
before
turning them to instant ash
Neither fire nor victim
aware of the danger
until survival
is out of the question
drown in the miracle
of my fire
It lures them close
before
turning them to instant ash
Neither fire nor victim
aware of the danger
until survival
is out of the question
Monday, August 13, 2012
Poem #14-2012 Jack Attack
Jack, Jack, Jack
Ti Jean
Kerouac
Ti Pousse
Mickey, Michael, Leo
Francis, Peter
Zagg, Wesley
Sal, Ray
Mike, Robert
Richard
Maggie Cassidy, Tristessa, Satori in Paris, Doctor Sax, Visions of Cody, Desolation Angels, Big Sur, Visions of Gerard,The Town and the City, Orpheus Emerged, The Subterraneans,
Atop an Underwood, Book of Dreams, Vanity of Duluoz, The Sea is My Brother, On the Road,
The Dharma Bums, And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks
Atop an Underwood, Book of Dreams, Vanity of Duluoz, The Sea is My Brother, On the Road,
The Dharma Bums, And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks
Richard
Mike, Robert
Sal, Ray
Zagg, Wesley
Francis, Peter
Mickey, Michael, Leo
Ti Pousse
Kerouac
Ti Jean
Jack, Jack, Jack
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Open Link Night
This is a slam poem meant to be recited aloud from memory. It's a riff on all the characters that Jack Kerouac used for himself in his books (the latter in italics). I plan to perform it at Lowell Celebrates Kerouac this October. Wish me luck - memorization ain't easy at my age.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Poem #13-2012 Cut-Up Journal
I hope your fickle uterus disappears in a rage without explanation
Every dream dies
Good enough
A season full of lessons
Listen with the possibility of being changed
The language of deficits
Every human being is of incalculable value
Education is not neutral
What did I do today?
Maybe it's time
Destiny henceforth
You made your bed
But how short?
It's kind of a clamor
Soup sounds better
I censored myself at least 40%
Drinking bad beer is out
Sometimes nothing makes sense
Writers write
All dead as are their husbands
More is welcome -- what's been is sufficient
The Buddha was the first one to see it
Cake for everyone
Jack wrote at least 1,500 words/day
I need to stop that
The blank page
A Child's Garden of Verses
The best unknown poet alive
I am no good on my feet
I assume I'll be alone
More impressive in person
What the elders said is true
Does this help or hurt the future?
The muse comes from any direction
Poetry ought to be a refuge
Infucking competent
Wrongs I committed out of selfishness
The mindset of discovery
Generating ideas
Because of a fucking meeting
There is a poem that will save you
A psychic toll, indeed
"Order up!"
Sometimes it is all one can do
A second look
Trust me
When am I happy?
Should we get a convertible?
Timing
Creative thought is dead to me
"Who are you to ask me such a thing?"
What makes something "fun"?
Naked Lunch
In my wildest dreams
PARADOX!
For an undetermined period of time
I have been the betrayer
Sparkling sin
Hovering death
Tribes
It's not. You know that.
Something needs a poem written about it today
Quit whining and do your work
Nothing matters
Tighten up
Make me believe your corvette skin
Needs too much work
No problems identified
Trust me, you are not that important
"What would you like to dip your chicken tenders in?"
I have a whole new appreciation of Cake
Beats the shit out of me
Death transcends such things
Close your trunk using a bungee cord
Waiting for the tab
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Every dream dies
Good enough
A season full of lessons
Listen with the possibility of being changed
The language of deficits
Every human being is of incalculable value
Education is not neutral
What did I do today?
Maybe it's time
Destiny henceforth
You made your bed
But how short?
It's kind of a clamor
Soup sounds better
I censored myself at least 40%
Drinking bad beer is out
Sometimes nothing makes sense
Writers write
All dead as are their husbands
More is welcome -- what's been is sufficient
The Buddha was the first one to see it
Cake for everyone
Jack wrote at least 1,500 words/day
I need to stop that
The blank page
A Child's Garden of Verses
The best unknown poet alive
I am no good on my feet
I assume I'll be alone
More impressive in person
What the elders said is true
Does this help or hurt the future?
The muse comes from any direction
Poetry ought to be a refuge
Infucking competent
Wrongs I committed out of selfishness
The mindset of discovery
Generating ideas
Because of a fucking meeting
There is a poem that will save you
A psychic toll, indeed
"Order up!"
Sometimes it is all one can do
A second look
Trust me
When am I happy?
Should we get a convertible?
Timing
Creative thought is dead to me
"Who are you to ask me such a thing?"
What makes something "fun"?
Naked Lunch
In my wildest dreams
PARADOX!
For an undetermined period of time
I have been the betrayer
Sparkling sin
Hovering death
Tribes
It's not. You know that.
Something needs a poem written about it today
Quit whining and do your work
Nothing matters
Tighten up
Make me believe your corvette skin
Needs too much work
No problems identified
Trust me, you are not that important
"What would you like to dip your chicken tenders in?"
I have a whole new appreciation of Cake
Beats the shit out of me
Death transcends such things
Close your trunk using a bungee cord
Waiting for the tab
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Open Link Night
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Poem #12-2012 Death From Above
Hovering
black-and-white death
a few false drops
teasing the watery prey
then, head first, at
bullet speed
Spaaaa-looossssh (talons first)
Wet pause
airborne again -
one quick hover and shake
Look - a flying fish !
black-and-white death
a few false drops
teasing the watery prey
then, head first, at
bullet speed
Spaaaa-looossssh (talons first)
Wet pause
airborne again -
one quick hover and shake
Look - a flying fish !
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Open Link Night
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Poem #11-2012 Velveteen Bird
"Why?'
asks the little bird.
"Because," I say,
"they told me all these
things are real."
"Are they?"
the little bird asks.
"Who are you to ask
me such a thing?" I say.
"Why don't you ask me
why I sing?"
the little bird asks.
"What's the point?
I know why you sing," I say.
"You do?"
the little bird asks.
"Of course," I say.
"Why?"
the little bird asks.
"Instinct," I say.
"And do your instincts
tell you that these
things are real?"
the little bird asks.
". . . No," I say.
And I begin to sing.
asks the little bird.
"Because," I say,
"they told me all these
things are real."
"Are they?"
the little bird asks.
"Who are you to ask
me such a thing?" I say.
"Why don't you ask me
why I sing?"
the little bird asks.
"What's the point?
I know why you sing," I say.
"You do?"
the little bird asks.
"Of course," I say.
"Why?"
the little bird asks.
"Instinct," I say.
"And do your instincts
tell you that these
things are real?"
the little bird asks.
". . . No," I say.
And I begin to sing.
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Open Link Night
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Poem #10-2012 The On Road*
My wife and I
had something miserably dead
coming before planning
perfect
naively intellectual letters
shrouded out of New York
The beautiful cafeteria
reminded me of leftover things
so I went flat
jumping to sex
sweat
curse
like a young Gene Autry
blonde ringlets
hanging like a serious
gloomy fluctuating crystallization
*This is a "cut-up poem" (a la William S. Burroughs) using words (in the order they appear) from the first four paragraphs of Jack Kerouac's On The Road.
had something miserably dead
coming before planning
perfect
naively intellectual letters
shrouded out of New York
The beautiful cafeteria
reminded me of leftover things
so I went flat
jumping to sex
sweat
curse
like a young Gene Autry
blonde ringlets
hanging like a serious
gloomy fluctuating crystallization
*This is a "cut-up poem" (a la William S. Burroughs) using words (in the order they appear) from the first four paragraphs of Jack Kerouac's On The Road.
Contributed to dVersePoets.com
Open Link Night
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Poem #9-2012 Colored Things
Ribbons
Rainbows
Flags
Sunsets
Color is light –
made, lost, or moved
Black is coldest
Then red, orange, yellow-white, bluish-white
Yarn
Hair
Bowling balls
Flowers
Stripped to its essence,
color is perception
Wielded by the artist,
color is passion
Birthday candles
Backpacks
Construction paper
Socks
Taken for granted,
color retreats
Seen through bias,
color condemns
Songbirds
Sunday comics
Traffic lights
Crayons
If music is what feelings sound like, then
color is what music looks like
Don’t just see the colors –
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