tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41433338461389398422024-03-13T19:55:22.190-05:00Numb BenignKeeping doggerel on a short leash so you don't have to.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger279125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-88613617760888855812012-05-06T22:21:00.000-05:002012-05-06T22:21:44.612-05:00its 315 am<br />
<br />
i have the need<br />
to write a poem<br />
<br />
i've had a drink or<br />
two<br />
<br />
maybe more<br />
i'm not<br />
<br />
sure<br />
<br />
i read some poetry<br />
just now<br />
<br />
whilst smoking<br />
a pipe<br />
<br />
& something was turned<br />
on--<br />
<br />
words<br />
<br />
<br />loofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-9987630930503723042012-05-06T22:20:00.000-05:002012-05-06T22:20:15.604-05:00a pipe<br />
clenched in<br />
<br />
my teeth<br />
a glass of<br />
<br />
wine<br />
<br />
mozart on the<br />
hifi<br />
<br />
a cat<br />
nestled<br />
<br />
byloofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-61908305739755086342012-02-14T00:26:00.000-06:002012-02-14T00:26:40.436-06:00snowinsoft silent<br />
sifting of flakes<br />
fell upon my shoulders<br />
as the crunch under my<br />
feet echoed off the house <br />
next door<br />
<br />
i am curled up<br />
right now <br />
with a bottle of<br />
jameson a shot <br />
glass & a catloofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-27749965833968982152011-12-03T00:20:00.000-06:002011-12-03T00:20:41.506-06:00untitledmy mom was cut <br />
low by<br />
<br />
mantel cell lymphoma<br />
blastoid variant<br />
<br />
on five november<br />
at 1015 am<br />
<br />
she was already<br />
gone by the <br />
<br />
time i got to <br />
the hospital<br />
<br />
i got to her room<br />
& she was alone<br />
<br />
peaceful<br />
<br />
still warm<br />
her mouth open<br />
<br />
eyes closed<br />
<br />
the sun was shining <br />
through the window<br />
<br />
i kissed her forehead<br />
slid my fingers through<br />
<br />
her hair<br />
held her hand<br />
<br />
sat in the chair<br />
next to her bed<br />
<br />
sat quietly <br />
prayed<br />
<br />
pulled the sheet over<br />
her chin<br />
<br />
raged a little against<br />
death<br />
<br />
but then remembered <br />
st paul:<br />
<br />
where is your sting <br />
oh death?<br />
<br />
my mind turned to the <br />
spiritual<br />
<br />
a feeling of peace &<br />
comfort filled me<br />
<br />
she was out of pain<br />
& no more fear<br />
<br />
death: a blessing<br />
the curse of sin<br />
<br />
defeatedloofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-60882347971639295582011-09-20T22:06:00.000-05:002011-09-20T22:06:00.115-05:00for momchurchill once said<br />
'if you're<br />
<br />
going<br />
<br />
through Hell<br />
keep moving"<br />
<br />
yes true<br />
what do they<br />
<br />
always say in<br />
war movies<br />
<br />
when the shooting <br />
starts<br />
<br />
'keep moving forward<br />
don't stop<br />
<br />
go<br />
go"<br />
<br />
lean in<br />
against the<br />
<br />
stream<br />
<br />
dukes uploofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-56614132043037443352011-07-22T23:33:00.000-05:002011-07-22T23:33:40.746-05:00what happened to the poet<br />
where did he go<br />
<br />
the full throttled<br />
barbaric yawped <br />
poemwriter<br />
<br />
he is lost<br />
gone<br />
<br />
kaput<br />
unresponsive<br />
<br />
in the ether<br />
& disappearedloofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-89886143781622556142011-04-19T22:58:00.003-05:002011-04-19T23:00:20.935-05:00nightat midnight<br />rain<br /><br />lightening &<br />loud crashes of<br /><br />atmosphere<br /><br />hail bounces<br />off the window<br /><br />& sirens wail<br /><br />the universe<br />crashes about<br /><br />like a small<br />child with a toy<br /><br />clutched in his fat<br />little boy hand<br /><br />screaming for attentionloofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-13349611992586995562011-04-01T18:16:00.004-05:002011-04-01T18:31:22.774-05:00playtimeeverything is right angles<br />geometric<br /><br />sharp corners <br />halvetica abounds<br /><br />today i sat <br />on a dark grey<br />chair<br /><br />watching an escalator<br />people rode<br /><br />up the escalator<br />down the escalatorloofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-20586761627170396682011-03-21T20:14:00.007-05:002011-03-21T20:32:02.020-05:00when you are youngwhen you are young<br />and full of poetry<br /><br />when time is but<br />a fancy and death<br />an ironic inspiration<br /><br /><br />when idle moments<br />pass into idle years<br /><br />and you are tested with<br />a sea of yesterdays<br /><br /><br />you will sit<br />and you will wonder<br /><br />at how everything<br />that<br /><span>is</span><br /><br />now wasUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-91057784145750284492011-03-18T14:47:00.002-05:002011-03-18T14:56:53.751-05:00last nighti awoke last<br />night, 3am <br /><br />stomach hurt<br />burned a little<br />too<br /><br />went to the fridge<br />drank a few mouth <br />fulls of milk right<br />from the carton<br /><br />shuffled back<br />to bed<br /><br />wide awake now<br /><br />my white cat curled <br />up tight on my bedspread<br />glowed subtly in the <br />faint streaming light<br />from the window<br /><br />crawled in bed<br />trying not to<br />distupt the cat's slumber<br /><br />i lay there<br />mind going<br />too fast for<br />my own good<br /><br />the creeping fear <br />of uncertainty clawed<br />at my subconsciousness<br /><br />the rednumbered digital <br />clock stared at me<br />reproving<br /><br />rolled over on my right side<br />facing the wall<br /><br />prayed<br /><br />i think<br />hoping to fall a sleep<br /><br />my stomach <br />burned a little<br /><br />bunched the<br />pillows around my <br /><br />head<br /><br />squeezed my eyes & willed<br />sleep to come--<br /><br />it played coy<br /><br />a muffled throat mew told me<br />to settle down<br /><br />i tried<br /><br />sleep played <br />hard to getloofrinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09536726261625483977noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-33819125753096873362011-03-13T19:54:00.007-05:002011-03-13T20:58:46.861-05:00in an instant<span style="font-weight: bold;">part i</span><br />in an instant a sleepy town<br />is swept into a muddy sea<br /><br />tens of thousands of quiet<br />disasters unfolding into a scream<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">part ii</span><br />6000 miles away<br />across a hundred restless seas<br />unexplored mountains<br />and terrains of the unforgotten<br />and unfulfilled<br /><br />a man smiles as his grand<br />daughter takes the first of many steps<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">part iii</span><br />he wept when they arrived<br /><br />a story of hope, the newspaper said,<br />notwithstanding the empty shirt<br />in his trembling hands<br />(where once his wife had been)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">part iv</span><br />later, when the last of the<br />candles shuddered under<br />his grandson's breath<br /><br />the man struggles<br />to stand<br /><br />and walk awayUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-11274240524376846022011-02-14T07:42:00.002-06:002011-11-09T14:04:44.004-06:00dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-30400768904235813122011-02-09T22:09:00.003-06:002011-11-09T14:07:15.632-06:00dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-24134386174455453972011-02-09T22:09:00.002-06:002011-02-09T22:15:17.452-06:0012 hours from MidnightSmiling and yes! I arrived <br />In dawn <br />Along the edge of a<br />Speckled road.<br />It was gravel. <br />My tire iron, spark plugs, and<br />Ignition timer were<br />Also gravel.<br /><br />I walked here from Winamac.<br />An arm-sling hoisted my arrogant. <br />I walked here from Winamac!<br />12 miles after I set out from <br />Midnight. Now this morning?<br />This thing breaks the scuffle <br />Of feet on the speckled road?<br /><br />Now<br />A where else?<br /><br />So I'm here,<br />Giddy in the tight jawed morning. <br />I can't wake up <br />From being. <br />The arm-sling <br />Shifts its load <br />Of unfired bricks. <br /><br />I am 12 miles from midnight.<br />No other thing <br />Rears <br />Its challenging shape.<br />The stars grow into far.<br /><br />I cannot curl <br />Into a bed of<br />The speckled road<br />Where I seek sleep.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-23938045722585827722011-02-09T21:55:00.001-06:002011-11-09T14:08:00.830-06:00dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-36655328593848713572011-01-29T17:58:00.000-06:002011-01-29T17:59:02.685-06:00Dan,The incorruptible are unattractive and<br />Clearly invisible. I never see them.<br /><br />The corruptible fill the hedges<br />Of this neighborhood. They<br />Take the place of curtains, and<br />Hang from my walls.<br /><br />They start life as gentle landscape<br />Reproductions in heavy frames.<br />In two years they are beautiful<br />Women in swimsuits.<br />In four years they are beautiful<br />Women not in even swimsuits.<br />These things take time.<br /><br />Or they are born as acid loving<br />Hydrangeas which make white<br />Snowballs in summer.<br />On my suggestion of<br />Aluminum Sulfate, next season<br />They shout blue snowballs.<br />A third year later, and<br />They are bald cypress.<br />These things take not as long.<br /><br />Do not worry.<br />You can free yourself of all<br />Corruptions by speaking only<br />Italian for a year, drinking<br />Moon black tea on the back<br />Of an elephant, and<br />Marrying the first underage Polynesian<br />You meet in a burning warehouse.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-70487649996126674812011-01-27T22:20:00.002-06:002011-11-09T14:10:18.921-06:00dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-54653288314570765932011-01-27T20:19:00.004-06:002011-11-09T14:11:19.375-06:00dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-36342513280588657422011-01-24T08:06:00.000-06:002011-01-24T08:07:48.560-06:00The action in the lines of justEverything is a math of <br />Rough sex <br />And Hawaiian guitar, <br />Delco radios and midnight <br />After driving<br />In the leather Mercedes <br />Open to through curves.<br />Good things when they are at their best. <br /><br />And Nurses: tonight no more needles – just – <br /><br />The television crawls between the patterns <br />Of films. A steady flickerings <br />Of Oscar winning roles <br />For difficult women (on screen and<br />Off goes the joke). <br />We spend all of hey laughing. <br /><br />Your fingertips on my wrist – just – <br /><br />There is not a cave with enough <br />Deep. Even hiding in the cave <br />You are found <br />As the voices make echoes. <br />The lights shine in after you. <br /><br />Put your lips over my chilly mouth – just – <br /><br />I have a confession. <br />The summers did not happen <br />As I remember them. <br />Instead... I did not fly. <br />I did not wear laurels. <br />I did not advise <br />A future that would actually come. <br /><br />Run the fingers of your fingers <br />Over my chestbone – just – <br /><br />That I think if anyone, you. <br />There is a math to be created. <br />Visualize the entrance of numbers, <br />And convert them to dancers, <br />On point, <br />In a train hallway. <br /><br />Press me in an urgent way – just – <br /><br />More than slumbering occurs <br />While I am neither<br />Wrapped in Irish arms, <br />Or in a cradle of Irish earth. <br /><br />The Hawaiian guitars <br />Assemble their pitches, and <br />Mourn on stoney peaks.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-72081845150054568712011-01-18T18:03:00.000-06:002011-01-18T18:04:11.754-06:00The Rules in a PerfectThe gables of houses align<br />From one block to the next,<br />And from porches beneath them hang<br />Two person swings painted white.<br /><br />A breeze would cool them.<br />Marigolds also would shake<br />Their yellows.<br /><br />The cars are quiet when they pass.<br />There is no thump of music,<br />Or unkept muffler sounds.<br />The sky is undivided by the<br />Vapors of airplanes.<br /><br /><br />I promised these mouthwords<br />At the refuge camp in Nigeria.<br />The mothers stared at the gospel<br />Of my words. We filled out<br />The immigration forms, and applied<br />For vaccines,<br />Until the camp was strafed<br />One midnight.<br /><br />The agency flew me back<br />To Nairobi. In the neon<br />Dance clubs, I peddled<br />My winning lies<br />To the braless girls<br />In skirts and sandals.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-51833391537553699502011-01-17T18:25:00.000-06:002011-01-17T18:26:26.121-06:00The Afternoon of SavannahsA lion in crave with nothing.<br />The springbok are fleet, and<br />The hartebeests already gone this season.<br />The sheepish things that don't live here,<br />Don't live here.<br /><br />A lion in a crave without<br />Spending the afternoon in a pant<br />Under a heat of brush.<br />No scents in the wind, and<br />No springbok, no hartebeest, no creek.<br />The land is wide and unlush.<br /><br />A lion in crave with<br />A brown blood dried flank<br />Poached poorly by a caliber,<br />Then hiding away<br />Under hot brush.<br /><br />With thirst he went,<br />And went away.<br /><br /><br />A lion without crave<br />Was tracked in his skin<br />By a boy who watched<br />The sky swagging birds<br />As they dropped<br />To the heap<br />Of his nodding slump.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-12503871499884732302011-01-16T20:44:00.001-06:002011-01-16T20:44:29.763-06:00With words like 'terror,' and<br />'History' can you reduce<br />Other words like 'Leopold,' and<br />'Milosevic' to thoughts that will<br />Slip between your fingers?<br />That they would fade away?<br /><br />You've read it in a book, and promised<br />To bring it up to people<br />Who will appreciate the atrocities<br />In a heartfelt manner.<br />Even if they are drinking white wine.<br />Then drive home.<br /><br />Something about Rwanda?<br /><br />Sleep with beautiful women all the time.<br />Millions of them.<br />Until it refuses to end.<br />The heartfelt atrocities here<br />That don't kill many people.<br />My beautiful vehicle.<br /><br />Refusing to breakdown bones although<br />They are breaking.<br />Muscles cramp like steel.<br />There are other traumas and atrocities<br />To consider<br />That can be reduced from<br />A score of charts<br />To laconic chords,<br />Or 'terror,'<br />Or 'history.'<br /><br />Somewhere the garden,<br />Somewhere the trumpet,<br />And neither being played.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-60654565340205059322011-01-16T00:32:00.000-06:002011-01-16T00:33:28.499-06:00If Morning HadI was as good as then,<br />And weary of these a.m.'s.<br /><br />The first break of bright across<br />The street trotting east.<br />A morning. Another.<br />A way to wake and feel<br />The candles in your feet<br />Are burned out burned.<br />That means the light, too,<br />In your hips is dim.<br /><br />And though she's only a whisper<br />On your arm,<br />She is tired.<br /><br />The dogs are in their nightclothes.<br />Apparitions are back in the wall.<br /><br />This, with sleep in its<br />Bruisy eyes,<br />Is the sockdolager<br />Of your life?<br />This doppelganger,<br />Shaped like a sack of change,<br />Is your life?<br /><br />May as well go back to bed<br />Before the guilty voices wake<br />And rattle the trees outside<br />This drowsy boarding house.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-32205665988373625942011-01-16T00:30:00.001-06:002011-01-16T00:30:57.678-06:00It was not a decent thing, not<br />A decent way to do it.<br />There against the wind<br />On the side of the cabin.<br />I pulled her hand into my hand.<br />The sound was her shoulder<br />Scraping the dry panel<br />Of shutter<br />As she came to me.<br /><br />It was not a decent way,<br />Knowing she loved me,<br />That I pulled her in<br />To smell my chest.<br />Felt the ripple of her body<br />On me.<br />Felt my bottom lip<br />Against her ear.<br /><br />It was not decent<br />With my hands around her shoulders,<br />Or her tip toed feet<br />Reaching to me,<br />Or so quiet her breath<br />Reaching my jaw,<br />That I could not love her at all.<br /><br />But with the pine<br />Smell in the woods<br />We lashed our bodies together.<br />The perfervid swag of time<br />Held us until morning.<br /><br />It was not decent<br />When she was gone<br />And I wished she would stay gone<br />The rest of the spring.dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4143333846138939842.post-58663197875980132042011-01-15T19:17:00.002-06:002011-11-09T14:14:12.539-06:00dshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01323532931538618723noreply@blogger.com0