ron androla
|
nat king cole
it's only a paper moon in the livingroom
8 this saturday morning. ann chose
the tape & just now the shower is squirting
as she prepares for work. doug is sound
asleep -- medicine for allergies
knocks him out. i need a shave.
2 mugs of coffee & the morning paper,
belly growls -- there's syrian bread,
& if i want i can mix syrian cheese
with butter & stuff
my mouth. another winston.
ann had cereal.
she's been blue.
she works daily on her novel.
i started prose with a pen
last night, scribbling in the
recliner, but the story
is so long & frantic.
neil young cd
had me remembering
mike denardo & point
park college
25 years
ago. ziggy stardust
& hashish,
red microdot & dylan.
ann is wet.
she's certainly drying
off this moment.
spinning these words
between inhalations
i am a
happy man
in love
with a loving
woman.
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jesus' left hook
Jesus rope-a-dopes
like Ali leaning
in a corner
blocking punches w/his
elbows forearms gloves
moves his left sandal
outside his oponent's right
finds the track over
a right cross
the empty space to freedom
a half explosion beginning
at his ankles
twisting up through
his hips
turning his cross/bearing shoulders
in a half jerk
culminating in a 16-inch
left hook from heaven
right on the button
comes back with a bolo
from the same side
same place
it's all goodnight
sweet prince & smiles at
ringside
Jesus skips
across the ring
arms raised
motions for the
next opponent
drinks water from a
plastic bottle
spits
in a plastic bucket
dreams about
the purse
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Jim Chandler
|
Michael McNeilley
|
I think it was the meth
that came between us
I think this was why
she shaved her head that time
and why another later day
I came home to an empty house
why I became committed after
that to sleeping with as many
people as possible
about whom I cared
not at all and why
my sinuses became
battlegrounds my arms
began to cramp when reaching
for things I did not want
and how my heart slowed down
when I gave this up at last
as there are never enough lines
never a point that does not
jab its way in never
roses when roses are needed
though sitting in a bar alone
at 2 am someone always
comes in and shoves some
under your nose
though I do know when this
happens the solution is
to buy one
put it in your beer bottle
carry it home
after last call
its head down hanging
there from an
unnoticed thorn
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deux poemes
if your worldview is flowery, bite my cock
blood and wind
tumble in my
empty beer bottle
endorphinanced
potsmoke high
obligates
wisdom
instead of thought
and gold feeling
profundity over pleasure
pleasure Simplicity
her button entongued
stroke the opulent breasts
and cast a stare in the
kelly green eye
if your worldview is flowery, bite my cock
-----------------------------------------------
this is the story i'm setting out
bespeckled in destiny.
This must be rebellion
against Cartesian anything,
an attempt to formulate original thought,
and
not merely
an increasingly complex aggregate softness.
Instead of Santa Claus,
i'm sure that every one of you knows that it is Death who brings you your presents wrapped in yuletide oddysey.
I've passed through
...winter in a moment.
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dAev dembinski
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Cheryl Townsend
|
LAST NIGHT AS I WORKED OUT
battling heat with hot flashes
like an earnest fireman and
realizing the cencept does not
convey I remedied the simple
Stepping outside
where the rain
flowed like estrogen
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IN ONE ENVELOPE OF MY MOTHER'S PAPERS
me, at 4 months, 2
days. Later, I'm blond,
squirming in my mother's
arms. A wedding photo,
the dress my mother is
wearing hangs in the
coat closet 8 years
after her death. A
Dirty poem she kept,
typed and handwritten.
My uncle Mike's life
insurance, to Frieda May
Lipman, 10,000. Seminary
St, Middlebury, signed at
Camp Forest, Tennessee.
Divirce oaoers, mine and
my mother's. A Tom
Thumb wedding, August
7, 1947. A letter to my
father from from a jeweler
describing my mother's
diamond as a perfect stone.
A letter from Malden giving
my father's age in 1922
as 30, a eyar before his
1963 death, a 1089
cardiogram film of my
mother's heart with its
increase heart size since
December 88. Pulmonary
vasularity. Moderately
engorged with patchy
increased bronchovasular
markings suggesting
increasing failutre, lungs
hyper inflated. Photo
graphs from the 80's, my
mother losing weight
but not yet skinny as lilac
sticks that never bloomed
---------------
ANOTHER ENVELOPE OF MY MOTHER'S PAPERS
clips of me with my project
on The Eye. "Eye catching
is Rosalyn Lipman of Middlebury
and and her lavish eye exhibit.
Fat arms in a shirt waist dress.
Vaseline model my mother
lugged bottles of glue and
vaseline up the stairs for me to
fill six papier mache molds with.
Letter to my father from Paul
Dudley White thanking him for
the fine shirt and tie you sent
me this Christmas. "I assure you
that they are much appreciated
and will be very useful." In
the bottom of the envelope, me
again on August 12, my mother
holding me closer, the house behind
us, high, in a hill of weeds, clothes
lines, kites
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Lyn Lifshin
|
elaine thomas
|
younger brother
who pretty much obeyed me,
who listened while I wove
fantastic stories so we both
could fall asleep, who rose up
in the middle of the night that
we might sneak outside
and then wonder what it was
we were supposed to do next,
brother who used to be allergic
to cats but now sleeps with
three to my two, who carries
a notebook to catch his poems
in and keeps a heart that locks
me safe inside, brother who
would like to be young again,
playing monopoly around the
kitchen table, drinking cola
and eating popcorn, younger
brother with three divorces,
factory blues and a scar-mangled
hand listens to women singing
softly on the radio, singing to him
about love, listens and remembers
what that felt like, waits
for it to find him.
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**bite me**
"BITE ME!"
is all I said to her…
she was in my ear
hollering obscenities and
phony accusations…
in vain
I look at barman Charlie
the worry wart
he looks back
pryin' a cap off a Bud
slidin' it along the counter
to somebody
down the other end
he looks at her,
then at everybody
then the phone,
then everybody looks
at him and her and me, but
I don't look at
any of them or the phone or
her…
I roll my eyes
lean on the counter
against my elbows
flick a peanut
into inner-outer space
joggle my head
in mute laughter
I am composed and
drunk
upon the barstool…
she kept at it,
megaphone-mouth
alligator breath
I don't know you
ho-hum annoying bitch
I didn't look back and
THAT annoyed her
silence oftentimes tops
a fist in the face…
the 'new' guy on the next stool
the conversationalist
the player of the night
everybody's lover
and bullshit artist
leans over and grumbles:
"meet Virginia, my x"
I blew smoke across
my shoulder
into her blatant face
suddenly
the joint was quiet
except for Virginia---
some band on the juke box damned
by her wicked soap opera
rants
dilapidated ceiling fans
clatter 'round and around
competing with her
nagging nature…
then at once she snapped!
and she grabbed
and yanked and jerked
the back of my head and
shirt
'til I was off the barstool,
flat on my back
on the cruddy floor,
surrounded by another life:
nut shells, the peanut
I flicked someplace whirled
about inside a beer bottle
cap and a bunch
of my natural curls
hovered about
parts of buffalo
wings and saloon-type
things;
cock roaches had
the fat chance
down here…
she stood over me
arms whipping
everywhichway
like Medusa's dreadlocks
her eyes heaved
Satans' cinders
as she looked
down and
the room spun into hell
via ameretta sours…
"what the shits
the matter with you, heifer?"
I asked.
"you're fuckin' with my
man…" she wailed, "aren't you,
aren't you...?"
I got up
sat on the stool, ignored
her, emptied
my glass, jiggled
the ice to the air, signaling
for another…
the crowd grew loud
cheering anybody on
begging for action
she pressed against
the back of me,
hard
Virginia and her mouth
with her neverending crap
was bigger than
any SUMO monster...
charlie called the cops
smiled at me
laid my drink
on some brand name beer
coaster and
handed me a napkin
I took one last
sip, looked Charlie straight
in the eyes and said:
"Virginia, Virginia, Virginia, you
damned fool
this one's for you!" and
I flung the rest of my drink
over my shoulder
into her flaming face
handed her my napkin
on the way out and
some band finally
played on.
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cait collins
|
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Michael Hathaway
|
ANTICIPATION
oh sweet Jesus,
hurry!
i eagerly await
Your Second Coming
when You will swoop down
like a giant Hoover
sweeping these godawful
hysterical squawking
"Christians"
out of our hair.
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I wait to wake up
or get stoned
before I attempt to write
it just doesnt seem right to do so otherwise
my eye hurts
when I rub it it feels like theres something inside it
that isn't supposed to be there
can't sleep
it's 230 am
I had my head on the pillow at nine
now here I am
theres always something I seem to forget
it keeps popping into my mind
so as I can't let it go
but it's never there when I need to remember
I should burn the whole shopping mall down
(the bookstore hasn't seen Bukowski's 'Love is A Dog From Hell' in ages!)
I've checked constantly for many months
a minute shelf for poets
for the first times in ages
I've had headaches
two days in a row
and my back hurts like I've pulled a plow all day
climbing over the passenger seat to get out of my truck
god damn that other door needs to be fixed
a putrid burp
did I eat eggs
I swear it was pizza earlier in the night
before the clock flipped and that day will never exist again
GOOwebsite
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goo
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rohe
|
The son who left the dinner table
And sometimes the walls fall
and you peek from behind the rubble
wondering why such simple things
as what your parents told you
leave your life in such disarray.
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boppin'
the jazz man rolls in me,
rags in me,
grows
in me.
the tunes stay alive,
dance 'n throb,
boppin' me
in 'n out
of beaten
prosidy,
blowin'
lettin' the
lines come
outta
me 'n wail.
i
gotta go go go man,
sometimes
i jes gotta
jam.
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Scott Holdstad
|
| Jay Miner |
black majic ladee
This morning I saw you on the street below my upper level apartment porch
bent over on your knees busy working over a pair of voodoo dolls. The hairs
on my body rose to Jupiter. Pin prick sensations all over. I gotta admit
it's the first thing ive felt in a while and it felt strangely good. Now I
think I'll just swing my arms frantically and randomly until I can knock
out all the lights. Good night.
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trellis
|
Hungry Ghosts
if you live a life of frightened conformity
and die with the taste of regret on your lips
you will become a wandering hungry ghost
unable to know anything
other than the craving for fulfillment
which will never come
for only in life may we give
and only giving fulfills the soul
a wandering hungry ghost is never sated
but may occasionally slake its endless thirst
on only one thing in the world
the warm streaming tears of an innocent
those people with the power of sight
always find crying children disturbing
not because they feel sorry for the poor child
but because of the hordes of hungry ghosts
swarming crowding around the pinkened cheeks
long grey tongues extended
trying to catch one drop one sweet teardrop
there is only one way
for a hungry ghost to find peace
transcend into grace
pass from loneliness to omniscience
cease empty dead desire
they must see beyond their selfish cravings
and while feeding on the tears of an innocent
they must suddenly feel true compassion and love for the crying human
at which point the human's tears will become golden tears of joy
at which point the wandering hungry ghost will be released
into the spirit
into the all
to become one with joy
to never need or want for anything again
forever and ever
amen
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MY HEART BELONGS TO DADA
Surrealism
Is the only mother I've known;
I was drawn to her bosom,
at an early age;
It's true
Her bosom crawled with insects...
she was already dead,
But so was dada;
I was a readymade born of longing;
I was a circumstance woven from clouds;
Junkyard coitus...clutching...
Knitting needles with eyes like salmon....
The junkman eyes the whore's fat ass
And wipes his greasy hands on a cloud.
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Marc Ellis
|
Jarred and Danny
I Wake Up he's Out in the Living room.
Curled her sleepy on the opposite couch:
Suddenly venetian, the light still grooms
Essence from Purchase, Seems evenly sprout
Of Icons that Flex to Amuse him, obituary towns
Render the thought of Limits pressurably moot.
I'm not as dumb as I look. Captive as any noun,
I simply enunciate the contours of slimmer fruit:
Walks in coffee, amorous retreats, Special
Pornography that at this particular level
Could be as Scar to that ever-distant womb,
That One in closets precariously mushrooms
Until containment is neccessary, congruent to soon.
I think eventually you'll work the kinks out. Glue
A pretty patter of loathsome tone to Vibrate Moon.
Is it true that all your thoughts forgive you?
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Lewis LaCook
|
Donna Hill
|
so many men
so many men
don't realize, he said to me,
that you just don't start
making love
to a woman when you want to fuck.
you have to start first thing in the morning
with the little things
that go on all day long
treating her special.
it may not be till 10 at night
that you get to the sex
but the two of you have been
making love all day long.
a rare and hopeless romantic, I know
but right then and there
he gained a little more
of my heart.
website
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Rebbeca's Tale
I once knew a girl, Rebecca,
that had a note left on her apartment door
left by an admirer, or voyeur it seems,
at that time, No one was sure:
Dearest neighbor,
Being that I am a full blooded American male,
with the overactive hormones associated with my age,
and the fact that I have not been laid in over a year,
I would be most appreciative
if you could do me a very small favor.
Please move your bed to a different wall of your bedroom,
or wrap the top to cushion the impact,
or conduct your activities in another room.
Your extracurricular after hours
have been very "hard" for me to withstand.
The pounding of your headboard on the wall,
and the insatiable moans capped by intense carnal screams
keeps me up and excited all night.
My ability to function at work is decreased,
and my boss is questioning my productivity.
I would be most grateful for your help in this matter.
Cordially yours,
Perry Tenneyson
your neighbor
She hung this on the refrigerator for a week
showed it too all her friends
went to the guys apartment
dressed only in her bathrobe.
The insatiable moans and carnal screams
had been relocated to another room.
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R L Stephenson
|
Jamie
B.Lepore
|
*Title:Just one DAy in hell~The Fatal Mistake*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ya I did alot a dancin through ya dirty streets
- through the all thE... laughs
- Through the pain
but ,,,,no,,,scary day of february
-can ever kiss ,,,,the BETRayal of ,,,,,,,JUnE)
- So oblivious ....yet so damn awake
finally realize the worlds gone ______MaD*
-A quiet nitTE^ depressed yet sooooo dramatic
-Lucy calls friend ,,",drag queen Eric"..
- on the telephone....so..SAd...so..MAd...
but hes tryin on bras
-has no time..and...
- Eric calls cops instead,,,,,,,
- no holdin lucy near
unware ,,,,,Lucy....says...
-okay..lets ,,,,,,,log on ,,internet shup bop
-sha..al..la..la.la..Then!....
"Hard knocks"
-scary socks
- men in navy
should i think there scarY?
-they smoke
-as they play my guitar
guns at theyre sides
-kickin through......my life
--Brace- Lucy ,,knows........this aint right!
in,,brace...PainST? is there law?????
-Facade fades
-as cold clasps
-go click click click
round my wrists
-I cry no not me!
- a mistake a sorts
but they cant see
- innocent BEaT
-A marked Lucy walks cuffed in the streets
an the neighbors ,,,gather popcorn
-Front row seats
-- :
-Threw lucy in a cell
where she sang for a spell
-- mo-town
-- and wind ,,,,,,,blow ,,,,,wind ,,,,,,,
so as not to sink
- to the brink
-of exclusions
while pushed against a wall
-legs kicked wide
-Lucys hugs ,,,,Brace.....for her ..Strength ,,,inside,,,,,,,
From cell to shining car
-Handcuffs carry ~~~~~~far
-Against all will
Brace---trapped,,,,,,,,
-PainSt?....whatta ya say bout that?
-Horrid smells
- to protest is..... HELL
For i protested ,,,,,,,for ,,,,,a ....cigarette..........
-While shortly after
-ThE nurse ,,,,,,sorta mental ,i believe
5 black men
Corners Lucy in the lighted halls
-steppin on my feet
-rubber gloves
She tried to escape!
The insanity!
Lucy thought!":thiS is not a moviE!"
-Me, Lucy ,,,,in,,,,,Brace
....painST?
- fragile to be held
down__soo,,,,,hard
-BY monsters of the night-didint go easy!~~~~~
didnt knock me out the shots of ,,,,,,,quiet
-The determination ,,,,,,,in Brace
- this fatal ,,,mistake
didnt knock me out the shots of ,,,,,,,quiet
-the determination ,,,,,,,in Brace
-this fatal ,,,mistake
And will they say theyre sorry??
My over dramatic freind Eric?
-Or the cops who played my fender?
-or the monsters who attacked me..with
needles in my back
- :
-- I look around ...Waiting to leave
-one niTE^ one mistakE^
- I see the poor bastards
-Cryin in theyre beds
~I played basketball before i left
that... morning
a poor bastard awakes
from under the tree
stumbles to the ho0ps
Falls flat on his face
inside-Brace-OH damn it,,PainST!!
-
I see the nurses and wonder ,,,,this......
-( To be..able to determine ,,,,,,,,,illusion from reality)
- (truth from a lie)
This is something.....the best of us ..
..sometimes..can never,,,,,,,,win.....*
-
- As I encountered ..........insanity....
from people i felt" were safe an,,,sane"
I wonder who should really be locked up*
-SAD.. to find out.........
-the outsides ....looking in,,,,,,,,,
scary days ....of june*
-Princess-Brace- inBrACE__to Lucy*
-Princess-Brace- ++++++++++++++++++++
BrACE
(Mistake_no_Apology _was ever _made_)
As I sit safe home _an_Smoke_1 day..later.
.. 1 scary nighT..1 scary morning in junE...)
((talking to freinds can be dangerous)))
*The Baker AcT^*=The Fatal Mistake*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Brace For ..Lucy,,,your the dearest.....
!Thing in the world to me....*
Signed: Bracelets_HELL
Jamie BL All rights Reserved 1999
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"Daydreaming"
The portly midget approached
wearing nothing but a tube top
and a pair of silky panties
Which was odd, I suppose, since it was male
But the midget walked right up to me
and asked me if I could give him a ride
"I don't have a car" I replied
"I meant on your back" he verbalized
with a wild-eyed grin.
I took a step backward
and observed the tiny fat man..
And in seconds I was running down the street
like a mad woman
with a dwarf on my back.
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Sara T. Punk
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Dancing Bear
|
**2nd poem in the Atlas series**
Atlas Alone
there has always been someone
to fill the room
or play off of him
someone to validate him
he is in his empty house
with night pressing the walls tight
he turns on the tv and the radio
talks to himself after no one
answers the phone
he becomes the voices in his head
critical an examining his life
he feels old sand kicked in his face
the cut on his knee
after being pushed to the ground
the ridicule from a father
who wanted a different son
family jokes at Christmas
Atlas grabs his head with both hands
the weight of this loneliness
is more than he can bare
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dickens
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Carpe Diem, Eigo Sensei
when i was in japan
teaching english
i used to go out to this bar and
get drunk.
they loved me there
because i was the only one
who could speak english.
they tried.
one night
this drunk jap guy
was giving one of the bar girls
a hard time.
i was drunk enuf
that i used
every word of japanese
i knew
just to tell him
to back
off.
in japan,
they think americans
are crazy
and pull guns
at any excuse.
i could tell
he was afraid
of me
so i kinda pushed him
out the door.
i felt like
a big man.
the barmaid
felt so grateful
she took half an hour
with 3 or 4 of her girlfriends
pitching in
with the help of a dictionary
to invite me
home with her.
dici wanted to go
but couldn't.
a few nights later
i was available
and wanted that rain check
honored---
no dice.
she had been humiliated
in front of her friends
and the dictionary.
she informed me
in broken english
of all that
and sort of
pushed me out
the door.
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Male Order
Deliverance
is the key in the mailbox
that means I wear
new lingerie tonight
your silken tongue
upon my twat
we rhyme with everything
I spread before you.
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Allison Inaba
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Sally Mour
|
Discovery
On my part curiosity brings
Along new knowledge that
At times is overwhelming
And requires sorting it all
In deep thoughts so devoted
~+~
As a young child I did not
Require the presence of God
First forming my own theories
Based on visuals I perused
First and then pondered in time
~+~
In my home books were left
Lying out on the coffee table
Innocent by cover deadly
When opened and viewed
And I remember the bodies
~+~
Across a field of cement steps
Bodies of children in death
Mothers and fathers gassed
Left nude with no dignity
Thousands of souls hovered
~+~
Page upon page this child's eyes
Wet nausea attacked my stomach
As I searched for that non entity
That God no form appeared in
Page after page of ghosts
~+~
From that moment on I listed
Myself as an atheist although
I had no knowledge of that word
I saw no mercy, not an inch
Of caring, where was that love
~+~
Today a half century has past
I ask myself what has changed
The world over still commits genocide
Still I have yet to discover in fact
Or fantasy who lies beyond the clouds.
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Behind the Page
Just behind this page
lurks the monster.
If you listen very hard,
you can almost hear
the scratch of his claws
and his leathery wingtips
trailing through the dust.
The paper may lift and fall
slightly, with the breeze
of his dervish whirl, as he
spins out dread fantasies in the
flapping dance of the insane.
The glee is almost tangible
as he thinks of mashing up
children to season the stew,
or pulling the legs off
small puppy dogs, and flies.
You might imagine a sigh
as he considers his fate,
trapped here behind the paper,
but as you turn the leaf and
free him, he will not stop
to grace your ears with his
midnight howl of relief.
website
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Dan Symonds
|
Steven Ellsworth
|
how do you eat an elephant?
how do you eat an elephant?
with a shovel and a five gallon bucket.
dig, fill, haul.
no where to pitch the dirt
and gravel so walk it through
the rocks and wall
to the hill above the
body shop junkyard.
follow the paint fumes.
every spider in town lived
back there.
evil black mosquitos
bearing white hunting stripes
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