POEM: practice apocalypse

hand movements
It was to be called “The Ends of the Earth.”
them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your
Carwardine
hand movements
hand movements
It was to be called “The Ends of the Earth.”
known
end of the universe
remembered being angry, angry about something that
said, “You can’t win, you know. You

guide to the guide
usually claimed
It was to be called “The Ends of the Earth.”
dressed
end of the universe

them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your
out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the

them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn’t exactly gone out of your
hand movements
end of the universe

guide to the guide
a trilogy in four parts
Life, the
a trilogy in four parts
Janx Spirit, for my head will fly, my
you?

25 April 2012
Brooklyn NY

/ / /

It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April. This poem was made using one of Charles Bernstein’s experiments: Acrostic chance: Pick a book at random and use title as acrostic key phrase. For each letter of key phrase go to page number in book that corresponds (a=1, z=26) and copy as first line of poem from the first word that begins with that letter to end of line or sentence. Continue through all key letters, leaving stanza breaks to mark each new key word.

POEM: Brooklyn cowboy (based on a true story)

Posted 23 April, 2012 in Brooklyn, My poems, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

Brooklyn cowboy (based on a true story)

he saunters in to the bagel shop
leather duster nearly reaching the floor
sunglasses on despite the overcast day
boot heels clocking along the tiles
satchel slung across his chest
sunken mouth looking short on teeth
no six-shooter, which is just as well
the cops in this bagel shop don’t know
how lines work and they don’t have
senses of humor, either
he moves like a mountain
counts out his change like he’s looking
for a coin to give the ferryman
one cup of black coffee later
he gathers his things to leave
there’s a yellowed sheet of paper
poking out the top of his satchel
as the door closes behind him
everyone in the cafe sighs in relief
glad to not be the name or the face
on the cowboy’s tattered poster

23 April 2012
Brooklyn NY

/ / /

It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.

POEM: waiting for it to rain

Posted 21 April, 2012 in My poems, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

waiting for it to rain

Saturday night / we’re listening to Romain Collin / waiting for it to rain / after a day in the sunshine / from which we returned different colors / one surprisingly tan / the other lobster red / but just on the front of the thighs and inside of the calves / as if by design

now it’s nighttime / knitting time / stitching it together into something we can slip into / a comfortable garment / one that will last / the air smells like an oncoming storm / we were promised thunder / we’re holding / Mother Nature / to her word /

laughter in the courtyard below / the warm spring-summer night brings out / neighbors I had imagined lost / stacks of unclaimed mail in the foyer / like a message in a bottle / spat out by the angry ocean / the one we can just glimpse from our roof

someone is grilling / someone is smoking a cigarette / lingering incense from morning meditation / Mr. Parke said / when you smell something / tiny particles of it enter your nose / enter you / you are what you smell / though / has never become a popular axiom / not like Carl’s star stuff

it smells like rain / but it’s not just the air out there that is pregnant / tense / the air in the house is also heavy with unspoken meaning / we’ve barricaded the door with pillows / and stuffed animals from our childhoods / to keep out the bogeyman / to keep us safe

21 April 2012
Brooklyn

/ / /

It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April.

POEM: 15th Street

Posted 20 April, 2012 in My poems, NaPoWriMo, New York City, Poetry

15th Street
for ________

every time I see you
I have to write a poem
about the sound
of your uncertain accent
or the look
in your classic
mascaraed eyes
like an It Girl
from a silent movie
you’re wobbling
slightly
on silly shoes
shoes you wore
just for this occasion
(but not for me)
we overtipped the server
whispered
snarky stories
you told me your
guilty truths
so I told you mine
you gave me dried
mango and chocolate
and as we walked
to the train
a crazy moon stared
down at us
from the end
of 15th Street

7 April 2012
Manhattan

/ / /

It’s National Poetry Writing Month! A poem a day, each day in April. I missed yesterday, so this is my second poem for today. I wrote it earlier this month but didn’t post it.

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