Poem I wrote about 3 years ago

I wish
you could see
how the sun looks now.
Sitting here,
through glass you would see
an orange orb
being squashed
by the earth's rotation.
Behind green trees
it's actually quite beautiful.
If you were here,
you would see it flatten as it does now
The last ray
-gone-
And still,
I had not enough time to say goodbye.

His Early Ministry 2

II.

All of the clouds were doves
And the palm trees bent

When he said he was the Son of Man
As if we were not

Were we?

Weekend Movie Haiku

Fast and Furious,

Vin Diesel motherfucker,

Quick cars and fireballs.

Where I Continue to Destroy The Korean Language...(and pretend to write poetry)

Bop mo-go-so? : A nosy question.

Ooyu: the word sounds like what a baby feels when he is weaning, but I don't think it should.

Sa Gwa: When you hit your knee against a table and you breathe in your pain and then hiss out an expletive.

Bonku: A dangerous word. A smiling demon that sounds like a pet name and distracts you by its cute pronunciation. Unrecoverable.

Mo-Dee: Necessary.

on writing?

I never want to write.

I do not wake in cold sweats pawing for my pen.

Words have not once poured from me against my will, nor have they pounded down the doors of my mind demanding to be given audience.

I have no coarse truth to force upon the sleeping world today, no packed globs of mouth-sounds to send forth in righteous anger like the spittle a man in a suit might wipe off his neck as he glares at some lunatic in a sandwich board who breached his private public space with wet, ineffable projectile proof of life.

There are no birds trapped in my chest.

No pressing wisdom in my Alpha-Bits.

I am not the scribe of unbridled heart-yelps nor the dome that makes sonorous the single prayer that accounts for the souls of all congregants.

I would not die without this.




But in the quiet hours,
Flexing my foot under the hot rush of the tap
Or picking eyelashes from a lover’s cheek,
There is a soft beauty that finds me
Like the hollow scritching of mice against plaster,
The dull pull of all that which will go, unnoticed,
About its business without care or record
That moves my hand across the page, eyes shut,
Shifting fogs of ink that are mine over the vast sea that is not.


Fell off the daily poem wagon very quickly; trying to pick up some momentum.

His Early Ministry

Keep it silent - silence let it through you in the waves
of a petalling rose
wave when the crashing it against the inner edge of your skin
deafens and you cannot keep in stillness it
silent.

To Dust

Two feet to the left the scene is different,

Close to my neck my ghost breathes

A word once spoken – now it slips out again

Into the coldness of a life

Into the room quiet with memory

Already he whispers is it gone.

Before we were stained glass

Around the weight of our sacrifice, ready

Like a dry, curled leaf

For the moments that colored us and

Ready to be

What we knew we would be, we were

Broken.

Madden's (Early) Day 2 Post

So, I think I am the only person that continued writing Free Associations (sporadically) after taking the Creative Non-fiction sequence with Professor Kinzie. In honor of her and all the other poets out there, I am going to post a few of my free associations. I also like the idea that something like this could (arguably) be poetry:

From November 25th 2008:

Eat the blanket that is a burger he said. And I did it. I did what he told me to do. I ate it and philosophy spurted out of my nostrils, ears, and eyes.

-------

Fall outside the doormat and into the cracks in the porch. Shut the door and close the lock and look inside the hole - another world is there and it is full of splendid gifts. If only we had those things said the magician. If only I was happy he said. I might have time to find God.

(right after that one, I put):
God is 6 feet tall and has dreadlocks like my cousin Brittany who is like God because she gives acupuncture.

WTF?!?

For Gertie

[Since Tim decided to override my suggestion for a clearly superior blog title, I thought I'd grace you with a Gertrude Stein imitation. Not trying to hate on my girl G -- she was a proud member of the family and hey, anybody out of favor with Hemingway is a friend of mine. Be on the lookout for LEAVES OF SASS on an internet near you, detracting flannel womb Twimathy Demizzle be darned.]

So, what's next?

Make it happen.
Happen once
And again
It happens
As it happens
Gritty gritty happenings
Hapless in the art of causations
As a woman has a cow
The course is a coarse cursory curse on cusps.
Of course the course crumbles
Crispy course
Crabby course
Course criss crosses
Cursive crags of courses
Hay for horses
Crip crap curdled crew
I like poetry so do you.

A Haiku

I hope you enjoy this deeply compelling haiku which I spent the entirety of one minute on:

A Rose is a rose...
But I like Leaves of Sass more
Oh well, I give up.

Fragments of Hosea

[For some reason the story of Hosea is something I've returned to over and over for a while now. I will likely write many more fragments through this month. Here are some initial ones.]

Fragments of Hosea
I.
I met you in the field
where you were sowing, your face
was covered and I saw only your
eyes

II.
My love you will wither in time–
this is our chorus though we do not
believe it

III.
How long
is the night! There is the moon
or it is a hole into behind the deep sky where

only white is

IV.
I knew you before we had wed
From the light that pierces all things
– His–

Others knew you also

V.
…the failure
of my time. Repentance?
Something like it, love

VI.
I pray dear Father …
[…] all eternity …

in the borders of […]

a thimble