last day of haitus. back on monday with new poems
i can see death
i can see death
sitting here
waiting,
wondering when
i’ll break down
and take that drink.
i can see death
on the faces
of everyone
i pass in this city.
a cup of coffee
a new coat
can’t hide it.
i can see death
as i read the want ads,
unemployed again,
over my shoulder
looking to see which
untimely end
i’ll choose.
i can see death
written in the congresses
of the world
and in war.
i can see it in happiness
and in anger.
in some rich cocksuckers
new car,
and lurking in some
some poor bums
shopping cart.
oh yes, baby
i can see death
dancing like a swan,
hanging on the corner
like a whore angel.
bidding its time
waiting.
01.04.07
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
poem of the day 05.28.09
still catching up on some much needed sleep, so here's another old one:
a couple of regulars
unemployed
in the picturesque town of my
wife’s birth,
i drive around the lakes
because i have nowhere else to go,
and because the new york city papers
have no jobs for me.
then i stop in a strip mall along route 17,
thirsty for wine, or whatever else
will put a quick end to this day,
when i see an obese man in a toyota
just outside the mcdonald’s parking lot.
he is stuffing his face with a big mac and fries,
and he has another of each resting on his lap.
the motor is running on his car, and his windows are up
as if there is no time or discretion
for this level of gluttony.
we make eye contact.
then i notice the beads of sweat falling
from his face as he chews.
i offer a small smile,
but the man frowns and turns away from me.
he stops chewing and stops eating, until i pass.
i look back, and he is watching me cross
the parking lot,
where i go into the only open liquor store in this town
that doesn’t already
know me by sight
before 10 a.m.
07.12.07
a couple of regulars
unemployed
in the picturesque town of my
wife’s birth,
i drive around the lakes
because i have nowhere else to go,
and because the new york city papers
have no jobs for me.
then i stop in a strip mall along route 17,
thirsty for wine, or whatever else
will put a quick end to this day,
when i see an obese man in a toyota
just outside the mcdonald’s parking lot.
he is stuffing his face with a big mac and fries,
and he has another of each resting on his lap.
the motor is running on his car, and his windows are up
as if there is no time or discretion
for this level of gluttony.
we make eye contact.
then i notice the beads of sweat falling
from his face as he chews.
i offer a small smile,
but the man frowns and turns away from me.
he stops chewing and stops eating, until i pass.
i look back, and he is watching me cross
the parking lot,
where i go into the only open liquor store in this town
that doesn’t already
know me by sight
before 10 a.m.
07.12.07
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
poem of the day 05.27.09
reading bukowski
then i was on the train
reading hank’s selected,
thinking about a shot of
scotch in the morning tea,
the beatles,
proust,
and what to do about
my neighbor’s loud television
when she said
“bukowski’s great, isn’t he?”
“yes,” i answered.
“i saw a play about him once,
and a movie.”
“that’s nice,” i answered.
“his poems are so real,
so true,” she said.
“yes.”
“bukowski’s poetry has
saved my life,” she said.
“that’s nice,” i answered.
then she got off the train,
feeling good about herself,
and i went back to reading
hank’s selected,
thinking about a shot of scotch
in the morning tea,
the beatles,
proust,
what to do about my neighbor’s
loud television,
how i should start taking a different train
to work in the morning,
and how if she really loved bukowski
she would’ve left me alone
in the first place.
12.11.07
then i was on the train
reading hank’s selected,
thinking about a shot of
scotch in the morning tea,
the beatles,
proust,
and what to do about
my neighbor’s loud television
when she said
“bukowski’s great, isn’t he?”
“yes,” i answered.
“i saw a play about him once,
and a movie.”
“that’s nice,” i answered.
“his poems are so real,
so true,” she said.
“yes.”
“bukowski’s poetry has
saved my life,” she said.
“that’s nice,” i answered.
then she got off the train,
feeling good about herself,
and i went back to reading
hank’s selected,
thinking about a shot of scotch
in the morning tea,
the beatles,
proust,
what to do about my neighbor’s
loud television,
how i should start taking a different train
to work in the morning,
and how if she really loved bukowski
she would’ve left me alone
in the first place.
12.11.07
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Poem of the Day 05.26.09
burnt out...completely. so until further notice (or next week arrives) i will be posting poems out of the good old archives.
people
will wear you down
like a dog
spit on you
ask you stupid questions
time and time again
fuck you over
mug you
rape you
burn your house down
and steal you car
cut you in line
call you peckerwood
at a liquor store
put shit in your food
murder you
take your seat
move in next door
ruin your day with
a hello
take your girlfriend
vomit outside your apartment
let their kids run around
like lunatics
on a plane
talk in movies on cellular phones
lie
cheat
make you work overtime
take interesting pills
and not give you any
be unable to hold their booze
fart in aisles
call you
drop in unannounced
send you goddamned letters
in the mail
or see you on the street
beaten down
and they’ll want to know why
you look
the way you do.
06.08.06
people
will wear you down
like a dog
spit on you
ask you stupid questions
time and time again
fuck you over
mug you
rape you
burn your house down
and steal you car
cut you in line
call you peckerwood
at a liquor store
put shit in your food
murder you
take your seat
move in next door
ruin your day with
a hello
take your girlfriend
vomit outside your apartment
let their kids run around
like lunatics
on a plane
talk in movies on cellular phones
lie
cheat
make you work overtime
take interesting pills
and not give you any
be unable to hold their booze
fart in aisles
call you
drop in unannounced
send you goddamned letters
in the mail
or see you on the street
beaten down
and they’ll want to know why
you look
the way you do.
06.08.06
Monday, May 25, 2009
Poem of the day 05.25.09
memorial day
i told her we should
go to the park and have
a picnic.
she told me i hated picnics,
which is true.
picnics and parades
and kids and dogs
and disney and
the 4th of july and
football sundays
and people who talk to me
in bars when all i want is
a drink.
but it was worth a shot.
the summer was coming
already the cats were laying
on the linoleum in a heat-induced
coma.
it was getting harder to fuck,
burning and sweating until
we had to pour water on each
other’s assholes just to
settle down.
in a month the apartment
would be unbearable.
we had to get out and do something
now, i thought.
maybe we could just walk up
and down elmwood avenue,
going only into the air conditioned shops
but you hate people and shopping too, she said.
which was also correct.
so we opened up a couple of bottles
of cheap wine,
then the 12 pack of yuengling,
pulled down the shades,
and didn’t answer the phone.
we watched a couple of bad movies,
and fell asleep before the sun went down.
it was a good holiday
05.30.06
i told her we should
go to the park and have
a picnic.
she told me i hated picnics,
which is true.
picnics and parades
and kids and dogs
and disney and
the 4th of july and
football sundays
and people who talk to me
in bars when all i want is
a drink.
but it was worth a shot.
the summer was coming
already the cats were laying
on the linoleum in a heat-induced
coma.
it was getting harder to fuck,
burning and sweating until
we had to pour water on each
other’s assholes just to
settle down.
in a month the apartment
would be unbearable.
we had to get out and do something
now, i thought.
maybe we could just walk up
and down elmwood avenue,
going only into the air conditioned shops
but you hate people and shopping too, she said.
which was also correct.
so we opened up a couple of bottles
of cheap wine,
then the 12 pack of yuengling,
pulled down the shades,
and didn’t answer the phone.
we watched a couple of bad movies,
and fell asleep before the sun went down.
it was a good holiday
05.30.06
Saturday, May 23, 2009
poem of the day 05.23.09
thirty days
my mother emails me
my cousin, steve, got thirty days
in the county pen
for a number of things
and after that he gets two years
of house arrest
being allowed out only to go
to whatever job he’s able to get
in this shit hole economy
they’ve foreclosed on his house
the bank has taken away his car
he has three dogs and two cats
and no one to care for them
his pretty blonde girlfriend has nowhere to stay
with the house gone
and worst of all, steve,
has a seven year-old daughter, melanie
she was born when he was twenty
and her mother was fifteen
she has blonde hair too and likes to imagine
and read
and lights up a room
in ways that most people fail do to ever
melanie’s mother lives with a guy who beats
the shit out of her
while melanie watches television
and her father, my cousin, steve,
can never seem to find the time
to spend with her
in between his assault charges
and drug peddling arrests
and if you ask me right now
i’m no moralist but melanie
is the real victim in all of this mess
as the world will be a victim
when she gets older
and her beautiful blue eyes turn to ice
her heart withers
and the human misery suffocates
yet another generation
because people can never just
get their shit together
but must keep dragging it all down
into dust.
my mother emails me
my cousin, steve, got thirty days
in the county pen
for a number of things
and after that he gets two years
of house arrest
being allowed out only to go
to whatever job he’s able to get
in this shit hole economy
they’ve foreclosed on his house
the bank has taken away his car
he has three dogs and two cats
and no one to care for them
his pretty blonde girlfriend has nowhere to stay
with the house gone
and worst of all, steve,
has a seven year-old daughter, melanie
she was born when he was twenty
and her mother was fifteen
she has blonde hair too and likes to imagine
and read
and lights up a room
in ways that most people fail do to ever
melanie’s mother lives with a guy who beats
the shit out of her
while melanie watches television
and her father, my cousin, steve,
can never seem to find the time
to spend with her
in between his assault charges
and drug peddling arrests
and if you ask me right now
i’m no moralist but melanie
is the real victim in all of this mess
as the world will be a victim
when she gets older
and her beautiful blue eyes turn to ice
her heart withers
and the human misery suffocates
yet another generation
because people can never just
get their shit together
but must keep dragging it all down
into dust.
Friday, May 22, 2009
poem of the day 05.22.09
skateboard
i watch
this kid play
with a miniature skateboard
on the morning train
flipping it
and flipping it
the little black skateboard
screeching all
over the plastic seats
falling on the cold subway
floor
with a metallic thud
and i think
how wonderful
it would be
to do the same thing
to the kid
flipping him
and flipping him
dropping him over and over
on the cold
subway floor
with a metallic thud
then i think about
how it is only monday
after working six days straight
and i wonder how long
it’s been since
i’ve been out of new york city
for any length of time
too long
i’ve been too long
on the cold subway floor.
i watch
this kid play
with a miniature skateboard
on the morning train
flipping it
and flipping it
the little black skateboard
screeching all
over the plastic seats
falling on the cold subway
floor
with a metallic thud
and i think
how wonderful
it would be
to do the same thing
to the kid
flipping him
and flipping him
dropping him over and over
on the cold
subway floor
with a metallic thud
then i think about
how it is only monday
after working six days straight
and i wonder how long
it’s been since
i’ve been out of new york city
for any length of time
too long
i’ve been too long
on the cold subway floor.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
poem of the day 05.21.09
gerald stern
two of them are sitting in a bar
talking about poetry workshops
and writing
while i’m trying to sit there
in peace
and drink a beer after working
six days straight
and he says to the other one
hey, i’ve met gerald stern.
do you know gerald stern?
the other one puts down his drink
and gives this long pause
then he says
novelist, right?
no, the other one says.
stern is a poet.
he’s been around for years.
i met him at a workshop that i attended
last month.
the other one takes a pull
on his drink
and shakes his head
then he takes out a pad of paper
and starts writing.
what’re you doing?
the first one asks.
are you writing down his name?
yes. what was it again?
gerald stern.
then the two of them get quiet
and sit there finishing their drinks
while these two tourist heifers
come into the bar and try
to sit right down next to me
even though the rest of the joint is dead
for a late saturday afternoon
i tell the one that someone is sitting
in the seat next to me
then i think about how i never really
liked gerald stern’s poetry
all that much
as she apologizes
and they both move down to the other
end of the bar.
two of them are sitting in a bar
talking about poetry workshops
and writing
while i’m trying to sit there
in peace
and drink a beer after working
six days straight
and he says to the other one
hey, i’ve met gerald stern.
do you know gerald stern?
the other one puts down his drink
and gives this long pause
then he says
novelist, right?
no, the other one says.
stern is a poet.
he’s been around for years.
i met him at a workshop that i attended
last month.
the other one takes a pull
on his drink
and shakes his head
then he takes out a pad of paper
and starts writing.
what’re you doing?
the first one asks.
are you writing down his name?
yes. what was it again?
gerald stern.
then the two of them get quiet
and sit there finishing their drinks
while these two tourist heifers
come into the bar and try
to sit right down next to me
even though the rest of the joint is dead
for a late saturday afternoon
i tell the one that someone is sitting
in the seat next to me
then i think about how i never really
liked gerald stern’s poetry
all that much
as she apologizes
and they both move down to the other
end of the bar.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
poem of the day 05.20.09
optimist
of all of humanity that i have
to suffer the most
it is the optimist that i think
takes the proverbial cake for me
i used to think the optimist had a mental deficiency
but now i think that most are delusional
and how can they not be
walking around saying things like
it’ll turn around
we have to hope for the best
or it’s not as bad as you think
no, sometimes it is that bad
and i don’t know what kind of spiked kool-aid
the optimist is drinking
or where the world has become so full
of possibility in the face of certain death
but i simply don’t like it or them
and i think, for once, that someone needs to get
off the sauce
when i meet someone
and on the rare occasion find them tolerable
it often saddens me if they go off on one of these
positive diatribes like
there’s still a chance
when i hear that i often sigh and have to write
this person off to the dull masses
my mother gets her optimism from religion
every week she tells me she prays to jesus and mary
for me
and every week i tell her that’s as good as praying
to santa claus or oprah winfrey
she tells me a positive attitude is the key
i take a sip on my beer and tell her i’ll call her next week
now, i realize this disdain goes both ways
often it is the optimist who tells me that
i am a pessimist
even though i believe i am a realist
to me this is the same as those who call me a luddite
simply because i do not have a cell phone pressed
to my ear at all times
or the soundtrack of my life coming out through
those trendy ear buds
and i accept this as another folly of mankind
but oh the optimist
forgiveness is the economy of the heart
laughter is the best medicine
all work and no play makes jack a dull boy
you simple little fool
i think of all of you i hope my mother is the
one who is correct
because with religion comes the fire and brimstone
if you don’t believe me read the book of revelations
and if i’m lucky maybe i’ll live to see
armageddon come
millions of positive thinking motherfuckers
burning on the grass of god’s good earth
a cell phone and an ipod melded into their ears
as the sky is scorched a telling black
and in my last breath
as the flames consume me and you
and from dust we came unto dust we shall return
i’ll turn to you my brothers and sisters
and i’ll smile and i’ll say something like
see, it wasn’t as bad as all of that
and in my dying breath perhaps i’ll feel
exactly how an optimist feels each morning
when the sun rises over the sea
and the world keeps spinning
in a universe so vast and endless
it’ll freeze your ass off
in under three seconds flat.
of all of humanity that i have
to suffer the most
it is the optimist that i think
takes the proverbial cake for me
i used to think the optimist had a mental deficiency
but now i think that most are delusional
and how can they not be
walking around saying things like
it’ll turn around
we have to hope for the best
or it’s not as bad as you think
no, sometimes it is that bad
and i don’t know what kind of spiked kool-aid
the optimist is drinking
or where the world has become so full
of possibility in the face of certain death
but i simply don’t like it or them
and i think, for once, that someone needs to get
off the sauce
when i meet someone
and on the rare occasion find them tolerable
it often saddens me if they go off on one of these
positive diatribes like
there’s still a chance
when i hear that i often sigh and have to write
this person off to the dull masses
my mother gets her optimism from religion
every week she tells me she prays to jesus and mary
for me
and every week i tell her that’s as good as praying
to santa claus or oprah winfrey
she tells me a positive attitude is the key
i take a sip on my beer and tell her i’ll call her next week
now, i realize this disdain goes both ways
often it is the optimist who tells me that
i am a pessimist
even though i believe i am a realist
to me this is the same as those who call me a luddite
simply because i do not have a cell phone pressed
to my ear at all times
or the soundtrack of my life coming out through
those trendy ear buds
and i accept this as another folly of mankind
but oh the optimist
forgiveness is the economy of the heart
laughter is the best medicine
all work and no play makes jack a dull boy
you simple little fool
i think of all of you i hope my mother is the
one who is correct
because with religion comes the fire and brimstone
if you don’t believe me read the book of revelations
and if i’m lucky maybe i’ll live to see
armageddon come
millions of positive thinking motherfuckers
burning on the grass of god’s good earth
a cell phone and an ipod melded into their ears
as the sky is scorched a telling black
and in my last breath
as the flames consume me and you
and from dust we came unto dust we shall return
i’ll turn to you my brothers and sisters
and i’ll smile and i’ll say something like
see, it wasn’t as bad as all of that
and in my dying breath perhaps i’ll feel
exactly how an optimist feels each morning
when the sun rises over the sea
and the world keeps spinning
in a universe so vast and endless
it’ll freeze your ass off
in under three seconds flat.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
poem of the day 05.19.09
scourge
my wife and i had finished the wine
and were just starting to get into
the beer and whiskey
when there was a scream outside
female
high and shrill
right outside our window
and it came again and again
christ, i said, i’m going to fucking die
if i have to keep hearing that
who is it?
my wife raised the blinds and we looked out
there were four teenagers
two ugly little whores in pastel hoodies
and pants that showed their ass cracks
and their two pig ugly boyfriends
they were standing right outside our window
then the one little bitch screamed again
so i punched the window
it rattled but did not break
what was that?
i heard the little bitch shout
what the fuck?
if they do it again i’m putting my shoe
through their screen
this caused my wife to open the window
hey, hey you, my wife shouted
what? the one, loud ugly little bitch answered
don’t you know it’s not
polite to scream outside of people’s windows?
so then the little whore starts whining
something about her boyfriend throwing
her wallet on the fire escape of our building
and this whining
it gave me another reason to not have kids
it made me sympathize with genocide
or people who go mad and kill their whole families
i couldn’t work forty-hours a week
and come home to the whining of this child
clothe her, feed her, keep a shelter over her head
then the boyfriend starts in denying the whole thing
i didn’t care
i couldn’t stand his face and i just wanted
to drink in peace and quiet
so i got in the window and told them both to shut up
the two friends that were with them looked at me
but were wise to stay quiet
the little whore told us she could shout
wherever she wanted to
i said is that so?
and then she told my wife to get fucked
by the time i made it outside
the boyfriend was already coming at me
i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry
he was saying
he had the fear of god in him
and it made me smile because i hadn’t put
that kind of fear inside of someone in a long time
i looked at his little girlfriend
that little privileged whore, smirking,
still shouting and yelling and pointing up where
he’d thrown her wallet
there it was pink and plastic
hello kitty
see, that’s all we need and we’ll get out of here
the boyfriend said
why would you do something as dumb as that
i asked
even though i knew the answer
humanity in america
but the boyfriend shrugged
and in the end my wife let him in the building to
get our superintendent
so that he could get the wallet down with a broom
and my wife and i watched this through our closed blind
and the kids held true to their promise
and left as soon as they got the wallet
and my wife and i had more beer and whiskey
and eventually we passed out on the couch
while watching the empire strikes back
and we woke up just as sunday was turning into monday
and another week came barreling through
to run us one day closer to the grave.
my wife and i had finished the wine
and were just starting to get into
the beer and whiskey
when there was a scream outside
female
high and shrill
right outside our window
and it came again and again
christ, i said, i’m going to fucking die
if i have to keep hearing that
who is it?
my wife raised the blinds and we looked out
there were four teenagers
two ugly little whores in pastel hoodies
and pants that showed their ass cracks
and their two pig ugly boyfriends
they were standing right outside our window
then the one little bitch screamed again
so i punched the window
it rattled but did not break
what was that?
i heard the little bitch shout
what the fuck?
if they do it again i’m putting my shoe
through their screen
this caused my wife to open the window
hey, hey you, my wife shouted
what? the one, loud ugly little bitch answered
don’t you know it’s not
polite to scream outside of people’s windows?
so then the little whore starts whining
something about her boyfriend throwing
her wallet on the fire escape of our building
and this whining
it gave me another reason to not have kids
it made me sympathize with genocide
or people who go mad and kill their whole families
i couldn’t work forty-hours a week
and come home to the whining of this child
clothe her, feed her, keep a shelter over her head
then the boyfriend starts in denying the whole thing
i didn’t care
i couldn’t stand his face and i just wanted
to drink in peace and quiet
so i got in the window and told them both to shut up
the two friends that were with them looked at me
but were wise to stay quiet
the little whore told us she could shout
wherever she wanted to
i said is that so?
and then she told my wife to get fucked
by the time i made it outside
the boyfriend was already coming at me
i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry
he was saying
he had the fear of god in him
and it made me smile because i hadn’t put
that kind of fear inside of someone in a long time
i looked at his little girlfriend
that little privileged whore, smirking,
still shouting and yelling and pointing up where
he’d thrown her wallet
there it was pink and plastic
hello kitty
see, that’s all we need and we’ll get out of here
the boyfriend said
why would you do something as dumb as that
i asked
even though i knew the answer
humanity in america
but the boyfriend shrugged
and in the end my wife let him in the building to
get our superintendent
so that he could get the wallet down with a broom
and my wife and i watched this through our closed blind
and the kids held true to their promise
and left as soon as they got the wallet
and my wife and i had more beer and whiskey
and eventually we passed out on the couch
while watching the empire strikes back
and we woke up just as sunday was turning into monday
and another week came barreling through
to run us one day closer to the grave.
Monday, May 18, 2009
poem of the day 05.18.09
bullshit
from the top
to the bottom
of the human
trash heap
the people talk bullshit
but it’s all right
because people love
bullshit
they eat it up
like a fine meal
they drink it down
like an elegant wine
they get stuffed on it
they get drunk on it
they elect it to years
in high office
or pay it millions of dollars
to entertain
people fill up on so much
bullshit
that they must vomit it out
of their souls
like a wretched yellow
purge
and into our ears
where it sits in our brains
like a soft milky turd
waiting on the first fly
of spring
to come by
and rest its translucent
wings
from the top
to the bottom
of the human
trash heap
the people talk bullshit
but it’s all right
because people love
bullshit
they eat it up
like a fine meal
they drink it down
like an elegant wine
they get stuffed on it
they get drunk on it
they elect it to years
in high office
or pay it millions of dollars
to entertain
people fill up on so much
bullshit
that they must vomit it out
of their souls
like a wretched yellow
purge
and into our ears
where it sits in our brains
like a soft milky turd
waiting on the first fly
of spring
to come by
and rest its translucent
wings
Saturday, May 16, 2009
poem of the day 05.16.09
except what matters
i will take this hardship
and make it a poem
and wipe the pain off the
counter,
shoving it in my pocket
like a piece of grizzled meat
down the garbage disposal.
and we will laugh
and get drunk
instead of cry on the bed.
all of this will turn to piss
before our eyes
except what matters:
two hearts
two minds,
like bloody soldiers still standing
after a never-ending war.
i will take this hardship
and make it a poem
and wipe the pain off the
counter,
shoving it in my pocket
like a piece of grizzled meat
down the garbage disposal.
and we will laugh
and get drunk
instead of cry on the bed.
all of this will turn to piss
before our eyes
except what matters:
two hearts
two minds,
like bloody soldiers still standing
after a never-ending war.
Friday, May 15, 2009
poem of the day 05.15.09
man’s best friend
my wife and i see this german shepherd
outside a lot
he’s usually chained to parking meters
or bus stop poles
he has a blue chain
this german shepherd
it is made out of thick vinyl rope
we see him outside
if we are going to the grocery store
or the bar
or to get pizza
and often times the german shepherd
is still chained up
when we come back from those places
sometimes and hour has passed or more
especially if we’ve gone to the bar
my wife thinks this borders
on animal cruelty
the way some asshole keeps his dog
chained up like that
just waiting
as he does whatever along 3rd avenue
my wife wants to call the aspca
on this person
i’m usually not much for turning people in
but on the topic of the german shepherd i agree
something must be done
and i keep an eye out whenever
i see the dog chained
hoping to get just one good look
at his prick owner
so i can make a positive i.d.
and feel good about myself when the aspca come
and take the dog away
but it never seems to work out like that
i always get the dog but no owner
until today
when i passed the two of them along 75th street
there was my german shepherd chained up
and there was his owner
the stereotypical type in khaki shorts
and sandals and a t-shirt from some tropical resort
with a bad salt and pepper speckled goatee
and a baseball cap
screaming a someone on a pay phone
so i stopped and got a good look
i stood there and memorized that abusive douche bag
while he continued yelling some nonsense
and the dog stood there panting
but then the son of a bitch lunged at me
the dog not the man
stretching that blue vinyl chain as far as it would go
baring its yellow teeth at me, fangs really
like the dog wanted me dead or for dinner
so i started moving again
quickly
as the dog continued to growl and bark at me
i made it four blocks
and the animal was still going like he’d turned mad
bark bark bark bark
and i thought well that settles that
the aspca won’t be hearing from me any time soon
at least not in this lifetime
motherfucker.
my wife and i see this german shepherd
outside a lot
he’s usually chained to parking meters
or bus stop poles
he has a blue chain
this german shepherd
it is made out of thick vinyl rope
we see him outside
if we are going to the grocery store
or the bar
or to get pizza
and often times the german shepherd
is still chained up
when we come back from those places
sometimes and hour has passed or more
especially if we’ve gone to the bar
my wife thinks this borders
on animal cruelty
the way some asshole keeps his dog
chained up like that
just waiting
as he does whatever along 3rd avenue
my wife wants to call the aspca
on this person
i’m usually not much for turning people in
but on the topic of the german shepherd i agree
something must be done
and i keep an eye out whenever
i see the dog chained
hoping to get just one good look
at his prick owner
so i can make a positive i.d.
and feel good about myself when the aspca come
and take the dog away
but it never seems to work out like that
i always get the dog but no owner
until today
when i passed the two of them along 75th street
there was my german shepherd chained up
and there was his owner
the stereotypical type in khaki shorts
and sandals and a t-shirt from some tropical resort
with a bad salt and pepper speckled goatee
and a baseball cap
screaming a someone on a pay phone
so i stopped and got a good look
i stood there and memorized that abusive douche bag
while he continued yelling some nonsense
and the dog stood there panting
but then the son of a bitch lunged at me
the dog not the man
stretching that blue vinyl chain as far as it would go
baring its yellow teeth at me, fangs really
like the dog wanted me dead or for dinner
so i started moving again
quickly
as the dog continued to growl and bark at me
i made it four blocks
and the animal was still going like he’d turned mad
bark bark bark bark
and i thought well that settles that
the aspca won’t be hearing from me any time soon
at least not in this lifetime
motherfucker.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
poem of the day 05.14.09
long poem about the past
distilled down to five lines
but we sure
made the bitter end
smell like roses and daffodils
didn’t we,
darling?
distilled down to five lines
but we sure
made the bitter end
smell like roses and daffodils
didn’t we,
darling?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
New Yinzer
I am the current guest editor over at the new yinzer and have the pleasure of bringing you the writing of Chris O'Shea, Ally Malinenko, Don Wentworth, Kris Collins, and Oscar Varona. you can check them all out right here
poem of the day 05.13.09
atta boy
well
i just finished another
of a semi-famous poet’s books
and it was all right
he’s better than most these days
but the book had a lot of poems in it
concerning the semi-famous poet
receiving manuscripts in the mail
and in his email
and how all of those soliciting writers
were bad, hard-up,
and wasting his time with their words
and i couldn’t help
while reading those poems
and reading the book in its entirety
thinking back two years
when the semi-famous poet and i
were emailing each other
after i looked him up like a silly fan
and how it didn’t take this
semi-famous poet
more than two emails to ask
for my editor’s contact information
and how
on the next email after that
the semi-famous poet
sent me his manuscript to read
as if i wielded some authority
out there in the writing game
but what’s more than all of that
is the book that i just finished
is that manuscript two years later
bound and obviously with another press
that isn’t mine
and there’s the semi-famous poet
on the back of his book
looking like an old bruiser
with a good family name
just waiting to reject you
because that’s what poets do
when they get one leg up on each other
as we, the rest of the crabs in the pot
try to pull them back down
with bad reviews and poems like this.
well
i just finished another
of a semi-famous poet’s books
and it was all right
he’s better than most these days
but the book had a lot of poems in it
concerning the semi-famous poet
receiving manuscripts in the mail
and in his email
and how all of those soliciting writers
were bad, hard-up,
and wasting his time with their words
and i couldn’t help
while reading those poems
and reading the book in its entirety
thinking back two years
when the semi-famous poet and i
were emailing each other
after i looked him up like a silly fan
and how it didn’t take this
semi-famous poet
more than two emails to ask
for my editor’s contact information
and how
on the next email after that
the semi-famous poet
sent me his manuscript to read
as if i wielded some authority
out there in the writing game
but what’s more than all of that
is the book that i just finished
is that manuscript two years later
bound and obviously with another press
that isn’t mine
and there’s the semi-famous poet
on the back of his book
looking like an old bruiser
with a good family name
just waiting to reject you
because that’s what poets do
when they get one leg up on each other
as we, the rest of the crabs in the pot
try to pull them back down
with bad reviews and poems like this.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
poemS of the day 05.12.09
these two go together...kinda.
avert
another subway drunk
serenading
another stalled subway car
in the city of dreams
and no one is getting home
on time anyway
so i think of passing her
crossing eastern parkway moment ago
and how frail she looked
her head bald and shining off the sun
dressed in the same stained pink sweater
and green pants
she always wears in the library
while she’s jockeying
for extra minutes on her computer
and my god how long has
she been sick?
why haven’t i noticed or been nice?
i guess i thought her floppy hats
and various hairstyles
were nothing by bad fashion statements
and ghetto lunacy
for christsake she has a kid too
a girl
maybe ten or eleven
always needing to make change in order
to copy documents for her mother
and when the light turned green
can i tell you
i thought about looking up and smiling
saying something
but i averted my eyes, mama
i looked down
and watched the tar and glass and piss and shit
and whatever else was there on the concrete
pass me by instead
knowing those things, those words, and me
that we could never make
this right
no matter how wide my lips
would’ve gotten
out there on the brutal street
so why even try, right?
smiling
like that
is for
limp-minded
cocksuckers
and spineless
scrapes of shit
too scared
to speak up
and ever say
what they
really
mean
avert
another subway drunk
serenading
another stalled subway car
in the city of dreams
and no one is getting home
on time anyway
so i think of passing her
crossing eastern parkway moment ago
and how frail she looked
her head bald and shining off the sun
dressed in the same stained pink sweater
and green pants
she always wears in the library
while she’s jockeying
for extra minutes on her computer
and my god how long has
she been sick?
why haven’t i noticed or been nice?
i guess i thought her floppy hats
and various hairstyles
were nothing by bad fashion statements
and ghetto lunacy
for christsake she has a kid too
a girl
maybe ten or eleven
always needing to make change in order
to copy documents for her mother
and when the light turned green
can i tell you
i thought about looking up and smiling
saying something
but i averted my eyes, mama
i looked down
and watched the tar and glass and piss and shit
and whatever else was there on the concrete
pass me by instead
knowing those things, those words, and me
that we could never make
this right
no matter how wide my lips
would’ve gotten
out there on the brutal street
so why even try, right?
smiling
like that
is for
limp-minded
cocksuckers
and spineless
scrapes of shit
too scared
to speak up
and ever say
what they
really
mean
Monday, May 11, 2009
poem of the day 05.11.09
the loner
denny and i worked
the basement of the library
hauling donated books
amidst a ton of dust
and denny was an odd guy
he liked to run everywhere
run to lunch
run back from lunch
run to his car
run down hallways
and denny liked to tell me
that he was a loner
he didn’t need to make friends at work
he didn’t go to the office parties
he didn’t go to the birthday lunches
that the boss bought
denny didn’t like to make conversation
which was fine with me
except for the fact that denny was a total liar
and on those afternoons in the basement
he’d talk my ear off
about leaving the library to become an electrician
or how much his wife spent
how she had a better job than him
a professional job
how the bitch thought she was better than him
they had separate bank accounts
which was denny’s doing back when he
had a better job
now denny regretted this decision
he told me so every day
usually after he talked about
his boyhood in massachusetts
working in his old man’s chemical plant
how he could’ve inherited the place
denny said it was those chemicals
that messed him up
made it hard for him to focus
but you didn’t really need focus
being an electrician
oh, really? i said.
yeah, denny said
and he told me about how electricians
worked alone
how they didn’t have to go
to office parties
or lunches given by the boss
denny said that electricians did their business
and went home
they were loners just like him
i nodded.
i knew more about denny than i did
my friends
yes, i thought, denny was such a loner
that i’d need at least three beers
after the job to get his voice
out of my head
which is exactly what i did most days
walking through the parking lot
and heading straight for the bar
as denny ran by me
on his way to wherever loners went
and i guess the last time i saw denny
was at this chain mexican restaurant
in the north hills of pittsburgh
my wife and i were leaving
and denny was coming in
he was dressed in navy blue coveralls
and was obviously an electrician
we shook hands and denny asked me how
i was
i told him fine
he said he was well then he ran inside
the restaurant
saddling up next to a stranger at the bar
his gums flapping the way the gums
on loners tend to do
probably telling the poor bastard something
about his wife
massachusetts
and all of those chemicals that corrupted his brain
at his old man’s chemical plant
the one he could’ve inherited.
denny and i worked
the basement of the library
hauling donated books
amidst a ton of dust
and denny was an odd guy
he liked to run everywhere
run to lunch
run back from lunch
run to his car
run down hallways
and denny liked to tell me
that he was a loner
he didn’t need to make friends at work
he didn’t go to the office parties
he didn’t go to the birthday lunches
that the boss bought
denny didn’t like to make conversation
which was fine with me
except for the fact that denny was a total liar
and on those afternoons in the basement
he’d talk my ear off
about leaving the library to become an electrician
or how much his wife spent
how she had a better job than him
a professional job
how the bitch thought she was better than him
they had separate bank accounts
which was denny’s doing back when he
had a better job
now denny regretted this decision
he told me so every day
usually after he talked about
his boyhood in massachusetts
working in his old man’s chemical plant
how he could’ve inherited the place
denny said it was those chemicals
that messed him up
made it hard for him to focus
but you didn’t really need focus
being an electrician
oh, really? i said.
yeah, denny said
and he told me about how electricians
worked alone
how they didn’t have to go
to office parties
or lunches given by the boss
denny said that electricians did their business
and went home
they were loners just like him
i nodded.
i knew more about denny than i did
my friends
yes, i thought, denny was such a loner
that i’d need at least three beers
after the job to get his voice
out of my head
which is exactly what i did most days
walking through the parking lot
and heading straight for the bar
as denny ran by me
on his way to wherever loners went
and i guess the last time i saw denny
was at this chain mexican restaurant
in the north hills of pittsburgh
my wife and i were leaving
and denny was coming in
he was dressed in navy blue coveralls
and was obviously an electrician
we shook hands and denny asked me how
i was
i told him fine
he said he was well then he ran inside
the restaurant
saddling up next to a stranger at the bar
his gums flapping the way the gums
on loners tend to do
probably telling the poor bastard something
about his wife
massachusetts
and all of those chemicals that corrupted his brain
at his old man’s chemical plant
the one he could’ve inherited.
Friday, May 8, 2009
poem of the day 05.08.09
this happens
i see her looking down at me
while she’s waiting
for the train doors to open
then she leans down
and asks me what’s that book
i’m reading
at first i say nothing
i look up at her
she looks alien to me
ugly and grotesque
i cannot recognize her as human
she says i only ask
because i really like the book’s
cover, it’s so vibrant
then i look down at the book
in my hands
i turn it over
and it looks alien too
only not as ugly and grotesque
as the woman
at least it’s tangible
then i say
it’s poetry
a book of poetry
and her face drops
oh, she says
well how is it?
bad, i say
then the train doors open
and as she steps out onto the platform
i close the book
put it back in my bag
lean my head against the window
and wait for however long
it’ll take
until the next one comes by
and has something to say
i see her looking down at me
while she’s waiting
for the train doors to open
then she leans down
and asks me what’s that book
i’m reading
at first i say nothing
i look up at her
she looks alien to me
ugly and grotesque
i cannot recognize her as human
she says i only ask
because i really like the book’s
cover, it’s so vibrant
then i look down at the book
in my hands
i turn it over
and it looks alien too
only not as ugly and grotesque
as the woman
at least it’s tangible
then i say
it’s poetry
a book of poetry
and her face drops
oh, she says
well how is it?
bad, i say
then the train doors open
and as she steps out onto the platform
i close the book
put it back in my bag
lean my head against the window
and wait for however long
it’ll take
until the next one comes by
and has something to say
Thursday, May 7, 2009
poem of the day 05.07.09
prophesy
honey
you look so good
out here on the street
you’ll look so good
too in our
bed
bouncing off the end
of my cock
so what if that
old woman
on the street
told you
soon you’ll be
meeting someone new
that doesn’t mean
anything
because if you remember
correctly
she told me
i was going to be
a hollywood star
and i don’t
see anyone
beating down my
door
asking my to be in
one of their
fucking
films.
honey
you look so good
out here on the street
you’ll look so good
too in our
bed
bouncing off the end
of my cock
so what if that
old woman
on the street
told you
soon you’ll be
meeting someone new
that doesn’t mean
anything
because if you remember
correctly
she told me
i was going to be
a hollywood star
and i don’t
see anyone
beating down my
door
asking my to be in
one of their
fucking
films.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Poem of the Day 05.06.09
in case you were lookin' for me, i quit that whole Facebook thing.
sympathy and empathy
back sore
left arm numb
right shoulder dead feeling
headache
knee pains
wet socks
and shoes with holes in them
i sit in this subway station
after killing another day
with work
listening as two women
a mother and daughter
argue over the meanings
of sympathy and empathy
the daughter says
that sympathy means
feeling sorry for someone’s
situation
and empathy means having
an understanding of how one got into
the situation in the first place
i’m too tired to care if the daughter
is right
the mother, however, does not agree
although she offers nothing in return
and the two begin to argue, loudly,
their shrill voices
echoing off the tunnel
scaring the rats
and cracking the mosaics
as i put down my book and think
back sore
left arm numb
right shoulder dead feeling
headache
knee pains
wet socks
shoes with holes in them
sympathy and empathy
and neither one of them here for me
in this
moment
sympathy and empathy
back sore
left arm numb
right shoulder dead feeling
headache
knee pains
wet socks
and shoes with holes in them
i sit in this subway station
after killing another day
with work
listening as two women
a mother and daughter
argue over the meanings
of sympathy and empathy
the daughter says
that sympathy means
feeling sorry for someone’s
situation
and empathy means having
an understanding of how one got into
the situation in the first place
i’m too tired to care if the daughter
is right
the mother, however, does not agree
although she offers nothing in return
and the two begin to argue, loudly,
their shrill voices
echoing off the tunnel
scaring the rats
and cracking the mosaics
as i put down my book and think
back sore
left arm numb
right shoulder dead feeling
headache
knee pains
wet socks
shoes with holes in them
sympathy and empathy
and neither one of them here for me
in this
moment
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
poem of the day 05.05.09
old pictures for the digital urn
she’s on
this social networking site
and has some of the same
friends as i do
friends i don’t keep
in touch with other than
on this social networking site
i think i like friends like these
but she keeps putting
up these pictures
these relics of the past
i’m in some of them
standing young and ill-formed
with a confused look on my face
she and i used to date
fifteen years ago
i’ve lived lifetimes
since then
i’ve had better ass than her
i’ve loved better too
but there i am on her page
like some statue
some dusted off old mummy
the past staring me right
in the face
the wasted smiles
on the wasted lives
of those wasted people
that i cannot even conjure up
anymore
yes, there i am
the dumb old boyfriend
of her hapless childhood
come back to haunt us all
on this rainy may afternoon
in america
and there isn’t a goddamned thing
that i can do about it
except stare into the digital urn
for a bit longer
try and remember my own face
then log off my computer
and go to lunch.
she’s on
this social networking site
and has some of the same
friends as i do
friends i don’t keep
in touch with other than
on this social networking site
i think i like friends like these
but she keeps putting
up these pictures
these relics of the past
i’m in some of them
standing young and ill-formed
with a confused look on my face
she and i used to date
fifteen years ago
i’ve lived lifetimes
since then
i’ve had better ass than her
i’ve loved better too
but there i am on her page
like some statue
some dusted off old mummy
the past staring me right
in the face
the wasted smiles
on the wasted lives
of those wasted people
that i cannot even conjure up
anymore
yes, there i am
the dumb old boyfriend
of her hapless childhood
come back to haunt us all
on this rainy may afternoon
in america
and there isn’t a goddamned thing
that i can do about it
except stare into the digital urn
for a bit longer
try and remember my own face
then log off my computer
and go to lunch.
Monday, May 4, 2009
poem of the day 05.04.09
i drink
the ladies at work
and i have a running joke
when i leave
they tell me to have one
for them when i get home
and i tell them i’ll have many
they all know i drink
but i don’t think they believe
i drink as much as i say i do
and i don’t know why
i’ve chosen to tell them
typically i hate the kind
that brags about booze
it must be because i grew up fat
and i’m always looking
for some kind of attention from women
that i opened my mouth in the first place
i can’t help myself
but still i don’t think those women
believe me
they probably think i go home
and my wife and i drink one beer
then soda and that we talk about all
of the babies we’re going to have
they tell me i’m too nice
to go home and drink so much
and i know they think i’m nice
because i don’t talk a lot at work
and when i do it’s
usually some kind of joke
the ladies tell me that when
i do have a drink
they bet i’m probably a funny drunk
i like those ladies
i’m mean they’re wrong about me
i’m a massive drunk
i probably drink more in a night
then they do in a month
beer, scotch, and red wine
i take on all comers
but they are right about one thing
i am funny when i drink
i’m such a goddamned riot
that i make myself sick.
the ladies at work
and i have a running joke
when i leave
they tell me to have one
for them when i get home
and i tell them i’ll have many
they all know i drink
but i don’t think they believe
i drink as much as i say i do
and i don’t know why
i’ve chosen to tell them
typically i hate the kind
that brags about booze
it must be because i grew up fat
and i’m always looking
for some kind of attention from women
that i opened my mouth in the first place
i can’t help myself
but still i don’t think those women
believe me
they probably think i go home
and my wife and i drink one beer
then soda and that we talk about all
of the babies we’re going to have
they tell me i’m too nice
to go home and drink so much
and i know they think i’m nice
because i don’t talk a lot at work
and when i do it’s
usually some kind of joke
the ladies tell me that when
i do have a drink
they bet i’m probably a funny drunk
i like those ladies
i’m mean they’re wrong about me
i’m a massive drunk
i probably drink more in a night
then they do in a month
beer, scotch, and red wine
i take on all comers
but they are right about one thing
i am funny when i drink
i’m such a goddamned riot
that i make myself sick.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
poem of the day 05.02.09
conversation about sylvester stallone
and then i said
yeah i know he’s made
a lot of shit
but so has everyone else
and i’ll tell you one thing
you can keep all of those
bad actors
and bad actresses
and all of the movies
they vomit up
on the screen
sucking out their bad dialog
and begging
for that golden statue
for the rocky and rambo movies
alone
stallone has kept me
thoroughly entertained
and that’s ever since i was a kid
and to be honest with you
i can’t say the same thing
for anyone else that i know of
real or imagined
seen in the flesh
or stretched across
those bending weaves
of celluloid
and then i said
yeah i know he’s made
a lot of shit
but so has everyone else
and i’ll tell you one thing
you can keep all of those
bad actors
and bad actresses
and all of the movies
they vomit up
on the screen
sucking out their bad dialog
and begging
for that golden statue
for the rocky and rambo movies
alone
stallone has kept me
thoroughly entertained
and that’s ever since i was a kid
and to be honest with you
i can’t say the same thing
for anyone else that i know of
real or imagined
seen in the flesh
or stretched across
those bending weaves
of celluloid
Friday, May 1, 2009
poemS of the day 05.01.09 Ally's Birthday
Today is my sweet Ally's birthday, and instead of trading her in for a younger model (as she didn't do to me), i'm going to post a few ally-related poems here.
anniversary
you call
from the shit swell
of an art festival
two days before our anniversary
and tell me you are lost
between saleable junk
and some hippie selling
his dog,
and that you will be going
to a bar because you can’t
find your friends.
that’s all right
i think
as long as you are safe
because when you left me
an hour ago
the feeling hit me that we
would one day no longer
hear each other’s voices
that everything we know
about each other
would one day cease.
so i’d rather picture you
alone in a bar
than gone from me
for all eternity.
06.10.06
poem for ally
(who fell over last friday night)
people will always
be mad at you
or will judge you
because most people
have nothing better
to do
than sit and contemplate
another
while ignoring the mess
of their own lives.
the key is to not let
it get to you
or to temper your
madness.
once you become
what they want
you to be
you might as well
take that whole bottle
of pills
or grab the knife
or put your head
in the oven
because you’re done,
cooked,
and ultimately they’ll
be on toward trying
to change someone else
before you’re even
cold and pale
or missed.
9.11.06
making love
your soft nakedness
when i am tired
still hits me like bliss.
this life
with all its quick and mundane
bullshit and demands
let’s us only come
at each other
when we can.
but each time that we do
i’m always so surprised
at how sweet
your flesh
remains
to the taste of my
boozy mouth.
01.29.07
alright, for now
we are sitting in the dark
living room of the new apartment,
watching rain fall on bay ridge parkway.
and our shit is everywhere,
like it seems to be every two years.
and the cats have gone mad with wonder,
in a way that i can’t anymore
because i’ve just seen too many different walls.
i ache and am black and blue
from the hauling of couches and book boxes,
and everything else we could put
in that sixteen-foot truck.
you ache and won’t stop sneezing from
the dust.
and somewhere in this we are getting older
and weaker and more tired, and less resilient all around.
i want to apologize to you for the months
of heartbreak and sorrow that preceded this,
and the endless conversations about money
and time and place,
or if new york will eat us alive again.
i want to apologize.
but every time i do i always give myself something
else to be sorry for later.
so i say nothing.
and we sit in the darkness
with a sunday afternoon opera on the radio.
i refill your glass with more jug wine.
it is the best we can do today.
it seems alright, for now.
08.20.07
anniversary
you call
from the shit swell
of an art festival
two days before our anniversary
and tell me you are lost
between saleable junk
and some hippie selling
his dog,
and that you will be going
to a bar because you can’t
find your friends.
that’s all right
i think
as long as you are safe
because when you left me
an hour ago
the feeling hit me that we
would one day no longer
hear each other’s voices
that everything we know
about each other
would one day cease.
so i’d rather picture you
alone in a bar
than gone from me
for all eternity.
06.10.06
poem for ally
(who fell over last friday night)
people will always
be mad at you
or will judge you
because most people
have nothing better
to do
than sit and contemplate
another
while ignoring the mess
of their own lives.
the key is to not let
it get to you
or to temper your
madness.
once you become
what they want
you to be
you might as well
take that whole bottle
of pills
or grab the knife
or put your head
in the oven
because you’re done,
cooked,
and ultimately they’ll
be on toward trying
to change someone else
before you’re even
cold and pale
or missed.
9.11.06
making love
your soft nakedness
when i am tired
still hits me like bliss.
this life
with all its quick and mundane
bullshit and demands
let’s us only come
at each other
when we can.
but each time that we do
i’m always so surprised
at how sweet
your flesh
remains
to the taste of my
boozy mouth.
01.29.07
alright, for now
we are sitting in the dark
living room of the new apartment,
watching rain fall on bay ridge parkway.
and our shit is everywhere,
like it seems to be every two years.
and the cats have gone mad with wonder,
in a way that i can’t anymore
because i’ve just seen too many different walls.
i ache and am black and blue
from the hauling of couches and book boxes,
and everything else we could put
in that sixteen-foot truck.
you ache and won’t stop sneezing from
the dust.
and somewhere in this we are getting older
and weaker and more tired, and less resilient all around.
i want to apologize to you for the months
of heartbreak and sorrow that preceded this,
and the endless conversations about money
and time and place,
or if new york will eat us alive again.
i want to apologize.
but every time i do i always give myself something
else to be sorry for later.
so i say nothing.
and we sit in the darkness
with a sunday afternoon opera on the radio.
i refill your glass with more jug wine.
it is the best we can do today.
it seems alright, for now.
08.20.07
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