Category: literary
It’s snowing & I’m rhyming (sonnet) (mine).
First Snow Sonnet
And the world is sugared, softened
down & battened in. The snow a saucy
mistress touching every twig & every
trim. Nothing prim or proper to divulge—
staying in means fireheat & yokey eggs,
legs piled on each other’s legs. Aloe
plants abound indoors, spread
their prickled fingers wide, keep
their soothing goo inside themselves.
A chicken’s feet can freeze on ground
like this, she’ll lose her beak-picked
way. Inside the house, two lives can stay
preserved like bees in comb, can buzz
around each other in a home.
Just a book (wish).
I just wanna be published, you know? Have a book with my name on it? Hardcover preferably, light purple in cover, somewhat slim, priced to move, about me on the back flap, a list of titles at the front, one poem per page? Just a book I wrote, that someone liked, and wanted to make, and printed copies of, and told their friends about. Even if no one bought it except people who know me, it’d be a book that exists, a quarter inch on the shelf at two small libraries, a book that I wrote by myself, that some people would read, some people would hold. I would just love a book.
(via siesta)
Poet for hire.
Call Sean. His resume boasts a solo exhibition at the Sideyard Poets and Writers Event and numerous book arts victories. He is also a founding member of the Poets Trampoline Club.
Especially if you’re famous, you should definitely call him. There is nothing our celebrities need more these days than a poet.
“Like torpedoing birds” (photo story) (mine).
Last week I met this man in the coffee shop. He was well-spoken and friendly and we chatted. Here he is:
(from Peter Money’s website)
I didn’t meet Allen Ginsberg; he’s dead and likely never visited White River Junction. The man I did meet recommended that I read Joanne Kyger. As it turns out, she’s great! She’s beautiful!
Then the other day I got in the truck and there were four pumpkins sitting shotgun. I put one out by the mailbox and two along the driveway and one is still riding shotgun.
(from this isn’t happiness)
It’s autumn and the mums are on display. I’ve been reading The Collected Writings of Joe Brainard and oh I love it so much I love it so much. Also, we’ve been drying sliced tomatoes, storing them in oil, stacking them in the cupboards where they’ll wait until they’re given as gifts. Here’s a painting by Joe Brainard, of a tomato.
(from The Met)
Outside, everything is in motion from the wind, the leaves flying to the ground like torpedoing birds.
(from Misha’s flickr)
The end.
Dreams of City Lights…
I’M SO EXCITED TO GO TO CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE IT’S LIKE CRAZY
(above: Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Joanne McClure, and Michael McClure at City Lights)
“Summer Song” (poem by William Carlos Williams).
Wanderer moon
smiling a
faintly ironical smile
at this
brilliant, dew-moistened
summer morning,—
a detached
sleepily indifferent
smile, a
wanderer’s smile,—
if I should
buy a shirt
your color and
put on a necktie
sky-blue
where would they carry me?
***
photograph: “Le velo du Printemps” by Robert Doisneau, 1948.
I’m a sucker for a sexy poem (Margaret Atwood’s).
One of my favorite small poems (A.R. Ammons).
Their Sex Life
One failure on
Top of another.
“I want to shake out a fat broom” (poem by Alice Walker) (hand-lettered).
It’s funny to me that I don’t even know Lisa Congdon and yet I post things she’s made, like the above Alice Walker. I guess that’s what blogs do, let us be in touch with people we wouldn’t otherwise. I like it when people tell me that they read my blog–it’s always a confession. If you’re reading this, thanks for reading this. When you tell me that you read this, I get pretty joyful.
panache, perhaps 