Fresh Words


I use this page to post a variety of pieces, both those just out of the sluice, and older pieces that feel fresh to me at the moment. I generally keep them up for a month, or a few at the most.

Look for new poems (and more) at the start of each month (though this Spring of 2017 I’m lagging a bit, since I’ve been working on the novel again and most short form scribblin’ has been devoted to flash prose – check those out on the ol’ Home Page).

Between   (new in October)
We Have to Become Human   (new in October)
A Feast of Flowers    (new in September)

 

Tiny ditty that I wrote recently in half-sleep.

 

BETWEEN

Quiescent we lie
in a room full of air
whatever we’re doing
we cannot abide
without reaching, and sifting,
and clattering by
while the town rings our memory
into the sky.

 

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Including this poem to go with the diatribe on October’s Home Page, “The Provocateur’s Dilemma”. It expounds a bit on one of my comments about our relationship to humanity.

 

WE HAVE TO BECOME HUMAN

We have to become human if we want to be pumas.
We have to become human if we want to be Schubert.
We have to become human if we want to be truthful.
We have to become human if we want a big choo-choo.
We have to become human if we want to eat rhubarb.
We have to become human if we want to ruminate.
We have to become human if we want to hear roosters.
We have to become human if we want a blue frou-frou.
We have to become human if we want to speak Zulu.
We have to become human if we want to wear bloomers.
We have to become human if we want a pluperfect.
We have to become human if we want to shoo-be-doo-be-doo.
We have to become human if we want to see Newton.
We have to become human if we want to push broomsticks.
We have to become human if we want to seek sutras.
We have to become human if we want to meet Rumi.
We have to become human if we want to free Mumia.
We have to become human if we want to be ruthful.
We have to become human if we want to drink root beer.
We have to become human if we don’t want a boo-boo.
We have to become human if we don’t want in lieu of.
We have to become human if we want a new room.

 

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Make of this what you will, before it makes of you what it will.

 

A FEAST OF FLOWERS

You wake to a wall of flowers.
I always thought flowers were open, gentle creatures, you think.
Yes, there is bougainvillea, but there is also a menagerie, and kingdom of others:
tiger lilies, marigolds, bluebonnets, irises, all types of roses, crocus, daffodils, carnations, aster, hyacinth, lavender, gladiolas, snapdragons, begonias, orchids, chrysanthemum, hydrangeas, azaleas, poppies, peonies, jasmine, honeysuckle, and, yes, daisies.
How did they get all twined together? you wonder. The bouquet is stunning.
And as you turn to gaze the more, you see that this is not a wall
but a tube, a cylinder of blossoms in which you have somehow been ensconced.
And it is closing in.
Now you are wrapped, enveloped in tendrils and blooms, tenderly at first
but no amount of pressure will budge them.
They are in your hair, ears, nose, mouth, and anus,
they twine your fingers, arms, shoulders, feet, legs, torso,
caress your genitals, your eyelids, your nipples, your neck,
and they are eating you, drinking you down so that they may go on blooming.
You are delicious.

 

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