Posts tagged ‘words’

January 3, 2017

free as i freeze (habit and time)

wake up to routine,
OK Google, play morning jazz.
watch people kiss at the
drop off spot.
it’s cold, there is ice–messages, go outside…
tie shoes and salt the walk.
change diapees of all sorts.
my son makes more art
than the lot in the books
than the lot on the poster
than the lot at the press
than me, and yes, i wrote that
and it’s exclusive to your publication
and i won’t send it
to anyone else, i promise.
no more surprises.
she asks me why i don’t wear
a jacket in 9 degree weather
to fill up the gas tank
so the fuel line doesn’t freeze overnight,
i don’t want to be restricted.
i want to not be cramped.
i just want to make ends meet
even if they have no interest
in meeting and becoming friends
and they just try to avoid
that moment, which i have set out so boldly
to make a reality, on my account.
wake up to routine,
OK Google, bring me a beer.
and deconstruct structure–
wood, screws, metal, shelves, etc.
they tell me i look nice in a blazer.
into packs cramped.
trying to be more free as i freeze
if you would just let me,
it only takes habit and a moment.

December 30, 2016

english majors are the smartest people in the world

i love it when a colleague
tells me that English majors
are the smartest people
in the world. to me, it makes sense,
everyone, everywhere has to eventually
read and write and on and on–
i aver any language major is smart,
but especially if you want to
be a writer and write about your
life, it is wise. tho i suppose if you
want to make money and eat
you had better study finance,
because even dilettantes
can write Moby-Dicks, and even
heartbroken bums can write supreme poems,
and even the most crossed-jaded can
write an eloquent essay of purpose sometimes.
so if you want to stay full and paid and happy
and moderately sound safe sane,
you had better study some finance.
there is smart English logic for you.

December 25, 2016

holiday cheers!

i guess well here’s
a christmas story,
the presents were piled
’round the tree,
in my heavy coffee mug
i substituted
pumpkin spiced liqueur
for bailey’s irish creme.
and i say happy holiday!
cheers, cheers cheers!

December 23, 2016

what to expect when you sit down to write a poem

When you sit down to write a poem
it mostly happens. I believe that anyone can do it.
Writing poems is easy, depending on the poems
you write and the audience you write to.
If you were a press and your goal was to make money
off of poems, then your audience would be donors.
I assume they are harder to write to than bloggers.
I guess an idea that blew my mind is
publishers would have competitions
and offer cash prizes and then after they rejected you
they would send out emails about
how they need your money. I never got that.
People asking for donations after they rejected your work,
as if the words you wrote lacked the luster
and the importance of the words of others.
I suppose certain grant writers get more money
for certain words, certain editors need salaries,
and certain ideas hit closer to home.
I mean, I am a father, a husband; I am white and male
(but none of that matters; but identity is chic now);
I have tried hard as any to get to where I am.
I would say I am a poet but by most accounts
and the emails I get, that means I am a failed poet.
I don’t make rent or pay bills off of my work,
it pays in smiles and a sort of pride
that only you and I would understand.
What I do is safe as a handrail on icy stairs.
What I do is very, very, very easy
because doing something you love shouldn’t be hard.
What I do isn’t exactly defined, thankfully;
in a scene you have to either be or not
or just keep going until someone notices you
and either says “shit” or “genius” or “you are that poet”
and that really depends on the time of year
and who you are close friends with,
and what kind of poem you read at the open mic, and how.
So, I have noticed, when you sit down and write a poem
it usually happens, and you can do it,
though I would say most are worried about perfection,
how other people feel about their ideas,
and would hide their art because
it might lack meaning, identity, or a soapbox purpose,
absolutely defined by others in a social vaccuum.
But we will never know. And that is why I wrote this poem
precisely for you. I find it a huge success.
Writing mostly happens, or I guess it doesn’t.
Easy as mom’s Facebook post or Trump’s tweets.
Easy as pressing keys and not marketing.

July 26, 2016

on hearing Bernie Sanders sell out at the dnc

“Any objective observer will conclude that — based on her ideas and her leadership — Hillary Clinton must become the next president of the United States. (…) I am proud to stand with her tonight.” -Bernie Sanders

american politics
is warmly affectionate,

it lovingly showcases
the american double standard

that you can
publicly be a hypocrite

and that’s all right,
as long

as you are a rich hypocrite
and you are a winning hypocrite
and you are ok with being a hypocrite.

also, that your party
is, what others feel, right,

and that your money
can pay for others to speak for you,

and that you make it
to the very top regardless.

who is all in on who?

June 3, 2016

pressure change

rain does wash me
in grey sky shelter;
soon breaking clouds
sun warm me thru.

May 2, 2016

everyday

it starts
today.

January 29, 2016

ASU

my penis
creates
a stream
between
me and the
toilet
seat.

i day
dream
about
sleeping
while
awake.

american
animal
wants to
destroy
anything
and
everything.

speaking
to
starving
artists
is the
sacrificial
lamb.

and the
poor
have to
pay their
bills,
always.

and
various
shades
don’t
matter
at tax
time.

and it
came
and went
like
bad trends,
good
intentions,
useless
politics,
and
Friday
beer.

and the
title
spelled
backwards
is where
i live.

and the
title
spelled
backwards
is
here.

December 11, 2015

one second of drying

outside of the shower
you take account
the rows,
things neatly lined.
here is the liquid soap
with the teal loofa,
here are dull metal hooks;
here is this dangling
accessory kit just there,
at a windowsill
with its garden,
near smudged-up glass.
these items, now, they hang,
casting shadows
and drops. no mission
of their own, just there.
outside of the shower
you take account
the rows. like them aligned
your day is in
fits and motions,
letting that come off
while certain others reflect.

November 23, 2015

why i say “i love you”

saying “i love you”
is not a transaction.
there is nothing
to be given nor
taken away. it just is
that, something said;
all important, all
meaning, poignant,
but only if it is meant.
like taking a breath.
you do or you don’t.
if you do, you are.
if you don’t, you are not.
love is not currency
love just is simply.
and these things we
say make us smile.
and that is mostly why
i say “i love you.”