Poem of things I’m not doing (mine).

Rhyming Things I Am Never Doing With My Friends

 

Drinking cherry schnapps

in bikini tops

 

Picking out the best pajamas

beside a pair of just-married llamas

 

Waving atop a zamboni

as I eat a sandwich of cheese & baloney

 

Partaking in a teen movie montage

while gluing an aspirational collage

 

Eating a spoonful of mustard

as I slather my thighs with custard

 

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Filed under ain't that the truth, just sayin', poetics, poetry alive

Tiny revelation poem (mine).

Something I’ve Learned From Author Photos

 

I don’t have the right glasses

to be successful.

glasses ilya     glasses matthew dickman

  glasses ted berrigan        glasses allen ginsberg

 glasses ali warren      glasses kay ryan

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Filed under ain't that the truth, artiste, photography, poet-love, poetics, sigh

“Summer Simmer” (summertime flowertime poem) (mine).

Summer Simmer

 

Soil air sky breeze

available now

no lease no

contract all

yours & always

open free &

more where

that came from

Jeez you’d think

we’d be cherishing

all this so hard

by now (picture

it: generations

of women

& men in love

with earth)

but no

we are shitting

on it more

than ever &

convinced of

the truth

of machines

You know

what I think

technology is

mostly harmful

also ugly &

expensive unlike

these patches of

black-eyed Susans

dancing from the base

of their stalks up

to the petals

in the fields

all around me

 

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Filed under a beautiful fusion, country life, east coast, flowers, homelife, poetics, poetry alive, vermont

“You Make Love Like the Last Snow Leopard” (poem) (Paige Taggart).

You Make Love Like the Last Snow Leopard

You make love like the last
snow leopard. Time hunts your shadows.
Your grooves dip a real x of an arc.
I love your shadow. It’s performance on the wall.

Your white hair flocked. It’s old age that makes
you kill for food. You bring a long blank to
bed in, the weight draws out.

You need someone with skill for the excursion.
Ride through the reservoir of sour peaches.
Your name meanders through the grass. Tall
people are in the way. I crowd surf to get to you.

You spill me into the flood. Water rushes out your sides.

You make a mystery of playing political love.
I could kill for you. I’d bring you an eagle stuffed
with finches. It’s pouch growing large and groaning
in your palm. A cliff of umbrellas and memory
shaping your every move.

 

-Paige Taggart

 

***

PS: If you buy her book, let me know, so we can talk about it, because I want to buy it, too. And I will definitely want to talk about it.

PPS: August is my marathon month. For most of the month, my poems will likely sound like

 

I’m tired

and so are my legs

and I’m thirsty

and maybe my legs are thirsty too

Either way

I want to go to sleep

 

 

…and so I will probably be posting other people’s poems this month. But then again, who knows–maybe the tired poems will cross over into the psychedelic side of things, and become really awesome. I am very open to that possibility.

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Poem of this weekend (poem of many things) (mine).

This Weekend

 

One red felt hat three pairs of boots three

pairs of fancy low-but-clicking pairs

of shoes two bikinis one Boy Scout

backpack one pair of light light blue

Levi’s mom jeans one white lacey

t-shirt three slips one long salmon

-colored nightgown one silk periwinkle

top seven pairs of stockings one pair

of socks with flowers on them one pair

of sparkly pink socks one tiny purple

apothecary jar three bandanas one jean

skirt that Jessie from Saved by the Bell

would have worn one black dress given

to a pregnant friend two quarts of pickled

radishes one red dahl maybe two dozen

elderflower heads one busting bag full

of dried wild mint three sunflowers now

blooming four iris stems in a lilac-colored

jar one thousand pieces of Israeli

cous cous one iced coffee in a big red

cup one hay fork two axes one double

-size cast iron griddle three checks

made out to Free Verse Farm twenty

pounds of strawberries two containers

of curried chickpeas one batch of basil

hummus one can of IPA six tins of tea

two tinctures six jars of no-cook

strawberry jam one goal scored

by Germany one three egg omelette

with scapes & onions one black fly bite

one phone call with sis one phone call

with Katie one phone call with dad

one shower two dirty feet four clean

pillowcases and one lightswitch switched—

 

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Filed under country life, farming, homelife, homesteading, pickling, poetics, poetry alive, sigh, treasure, vermont

A marriage poem for abundance (mine).

Abundance

for Scott & Josh

 

There will be days of singing & days of silent throats

There will be days of bouquets & days of empty vases

There will be days of thirst & nights of drinking

There will be raspberry days & days of stale crusts of bread

There will be days of nails in the wall & artless days

There will be harvest days & long nights of winter

There will days to gather & days to await the gathering

May the thin days make the days of fullness all the sweeter

May your fruits be many and your backs be strong

as you launch together

into your days

of abundance

 

July 5, 2014

 

scott and josh first step

(photo of the couple’s first steps toward marriage by Misha M. Johnson)

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Filed under boyz, east coast, farmily, favorite, friendship, love & marriage, new york, photography, poetics, poetry alive, sigh, so sheepless right now, swoon

I wrote this poem instead of taking a photograph.

What’s mine is mine forevermore

 

I cannot prove to you the beauty

of my days. I did not photograph

the whiteness of the goatsmilk

or the child of my friends

standing in the doorway

of the barn clutching at the neck

of a giant teddy bear.

I can only tell you all the flowers

that I gathered up this Sunday:

daisies and the buttercups;

asters and the rest. They stand

in crooked dignity

in a jar I’ve used for applesauce

and salad dressing. They haven’t told

me that they’re interested in being

known, and so I keep them

to myself, a self so very

skilled at keeping.

 

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Filed under country life, farming, flowers, homelife, poetics, poetry alive, vermont