Tuesday, April 26, 2011
The richest woman in the world holds a deadly asp
to her bare nipple.
She had searched the Egyptian dynasty for the
perfect poison to give Anthony - the Playboy.
She used subjugated subjects for her trials.
Some lived, some died . like you and me.
So Cleopatra came to milk the asp for its venom
that would be Anthony's last
She stood atop a block of petrified wood
outside of Ephesus where she and Anthony after they wed
honeymooned in the past.
Paul spoke in the amphitheatre
other worldly things
the asp that then struck Cleopatra dead.
Monday, April 25, 2011
The river bucks its bed, rising erect
upon its flowing fork. What is a swan
that’s not a river? Rocks, flows, plucks, drops, drifts
all wriggling in in the temporal delight
of gravity defiance. Strings take flight!
As when waves break into misty insects,
the whole seems to split suddenly and fall
back into a familiar bed, but then,
the reclined body hovers, suspended,
beyond angelic midair river swan.
[This is based on a still from a video clip, viewable here:
Sunday, April 24, 2011
the painter gave me my brother's face
i was always running in the woods
knee scowl tree tromp
why they gussied me up
and the painter stole sky for my cloth
i'll never know
i was a force of nature
not this delicate aristocrat
they stole my unborn brother's face
shined me beyond recognition
and made me into a boy
stole the sky and moved all the dirt to the back
what kind of picture is that?
Monday, April 18, 2011
of a visual artwork in the medium of words.
This week, choose a work of art as a starting point. Then write a poem
to respond, describe, deepen, reflect, explore, react, explain, transcend...
If possible, post the image with your poem (using the insert image function—
the button in the toolbar that looks like a tiny landscape painting), or post a link to the image
in your comments or as part of your post.
The work pictured here is by Donald Tarahonich.
Keywords: poem, ekphrasis, your name.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
in the phone conversation
she speaks of liking silences
[when the person we're supposed to be helping
is flummoxed to find euphemisms
for their disappointment]
"liking" here means
savoring someone's discomfiture--
which is something
that is ethically co
last night i watched the new star trek
on hd - first time watching on that type of machine -
and i knew i was lost forever to the bright
on the other side of the wall
where it is still possible to be gallant, just,
and make a difference
i will walk through, doubtless
is this better than liking terse walls of silences,
the deeper worldwish
in the heart of me
is for right-here-breath,
the notsilent silence of tidal windtreebreathing
the notsilent peace of skin-in-earth
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Part lover, part Zen teacher,
slapping the back of my hand
Til I awaken
You want mountain? Easy--
Sling me across the landscape
like the body of a voluptuous
a voluptuous, sleeping
or a river
calling one fickle moment after next--
go on, just try to step into me twice
I could claim my calm pool and my drop
rapids and my many many eddies
But that’s too easy
because really what lies at the bottom
of each breath
is the line of ants doing the bunny-hop
along the edge of my bathtub,
and you know what we are all asking,
what you are already thinking—
Why do ants carry their dead?
this tiny army of pumped-up amazons
hoist their fallen sisters onto their backs
and carry this mystery with each body,
as they spill into the hole at the edge of the caulking
..they carry them back and devour them to absorb their memories
...they are delivered to the great ant graveyard
and laid to rest where their sisters,
like weeping elephants, will visit
season after season, to graze their antennae
against the beloved and hollow exoskeletons
..that when they tap each other as they pass
on opposite commutes, they’re playing
an endless game of telephone,
so when the deceased are dismantled
like old motherboards
the punchline data is finally retrieved,
the fruit of a million messages
passed a million times.
I sit for 20 days in silence,
every moment a wrestling match
with god, and a hope
to emerge with my life purpose,
or at least a better sense of humor.
Instead, I emerge from the cave
with only this:
and the oracle I consult
heaves up a thousand pages of Darwin
and a thousand more, asking the same question
I know the answer is there, but I prefer,
I think, to end my days not knowing,
every time I ask, that long line
of the humble and mighty sisters
carries me back to the colony
sublime and grotesque,
is happening at once
Monday, April 4, 2011
During this time of Mercury retrograde, this week's prompt relates to the telephone. Write a poem where the lines play telephone with each other, or where the poem is sparked by a line from a telephone conversation. Modern riff: text or tweet sparks the verse.
Alternately, on a Star Trek riff, how can poetry be like telephone conversations with the past or future, or with some other part of ourselves? What would you want your Star Trek communicator to look like and function as? -- Or what would your character's signature line be, rather than "Beam me up, Scotty"?
Bonus: a Star Trek Communicator sound - this one with music
Post keyword labels: telephone, poem, [poet's moniker]
Sunday, April 3, 2011
hope's eager trembling made flesh
looks like daffodils plump emerald leaves
only 2 inches high when it snowed again
now at 4 inches they have decided to make a run for it
their elongated swelling explains how
crumpled yellow satin, bunched and morphing,
is gathering everything it has to fling itself
(how opening is like a leap and a freefall)
and uncurl into this decidedly uncertain world.
it is the answer, the same answer everywhere
to almost every question i ask.
the river, slamming our april fools snow down into the valley,
guttural cooing to and fro,
the tree hidden bard owls repeat it.
teenagers strut in sudden april tee shirts,
they know too.
spring hopes eternal.
and the world answers every question i pose
straight from the senses of babes
now now now now now.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
from penney's, sunrise peach, bent-ended
with the rubber bands arrayed
in longwise plinths
i am in the strumming fingers
of this gimcrack lyre
the music rising as air castles
from this fount of pling
2 april '2011