Category Archives: My Poetry

from Poet Laundromat: An Invocation to the Thunder

… Shake butter from the cream Get hard and freeze to crack a wall though you happen very slow until you do like earthquakes come and then it’s Now Crack white light slivers from a cloud Spread mold upon the … Continue reading →

172

5 Oct ’14

… The one-headed doe drinking becomes two heads reflected in the pond. Now the third one jumps and dashes, splashes with its hooves this youngest one especially happy enjoying itself. More than anything I love when unexpected creatures come unaware … Continue reading →

Fucking

11 Oct ’13

… … for John and Ruth A bedroom. North Philadelphia. 1972 Ouvrez-moi cette porte où je frappe en pleurant. —Apollinaire Open this door where I knock weeping. … I I will come to you with a candle burning light a … Continue reading →

Sonnets 61 – 120

9 Oct ’13

… … 61 Things are often more beautiful at a distance, but not you. The closer the more inevitable you become. Before I thought beauty was what I saw, that the superficial awed, but I was wrong. Your skin is … Continue reading →

Sonnet for Rosa Parks

27 Aug ’13

… Out of the ordinary there will come from time to time the good and very brave extraordinary, someone who can save us from our own damned selves and make us one humanity. Children take Rosa Parks for an example, … Continue reading →

Sonnets 61 – 90

16 Mar ’13

61 Things are often more beautiful at a distance, but not you. The closer the more inevitable you become. Before I thought beauty was what I saw, that the superficial awed but I was wrong. Your skin is really you … Continue reading →

Fucking, poetry, Don Yorty, Janis Joplin, John Keats, Life Cafe

Fucking V: I’ve smoked a thousand cigarettes and watched you sleep

19 Jan ’13

… Fucking for Janis V I’ve smoked a thousand cigarettes and watched you sleep. Your Raphael angel curls Your bee stung lips Dare I touch you where the sun hasn’t? Dare I say wake? There is the smell of pepper … Continue reading →

158

6 Dec ’12

… Like the dried up dead wasp with its venom gone rolled up on the windowsill like a ball of dust my mother slumbers with her head bent near a bowl of fruit Pat Maples sent listening to Ella Fitzgerald … Continue reading →

Sonnet 111: Almost December, Thanksgiving over

5 Dec ’12

111 111 Almost December, Thanksgiving over outside is frozen once again. The warm TV is on and logs burn in the stove as I’m eating Aunt Fern’s dried tomatoes desiccated skins like mummies from the pyramids. Yum Yum Yum all … Continue reading →

Fucking IV: I go into the forest

2 Dec ’12

… I go into the forest alone and hidden in the ever-breathing to dig an indenture with my fingers and undressing kneeling down pierce the dead leaves to move among the earthworms balled in the mouths of corpses out of … Continue reading →

Fucking II, part I: My phallus in a shaft of morning sunlight

19 Nov ’12

… My phallus in a shaft of morning sunlight. Shall we examine it and its environment? Dust is also in this shaft of sunlight in, out of it, on things as equally as the light on the mattress and my … Continue reading →

Fucking I: I will come to you with a candle burning

22 Oct ’12

… Ouvrez-moi cette porte où je frappe en pleurant. …………—Apollinaire Open this door where I knock weeping. I I will come to you with a candle burning light a stick of incense comb and braid your hair with sparrows’ feathers … Continue reading →