A Poem for Chelsey Minnis

I kinda wish I coulda.........................
met and married Chelsey Minnis................................................................ .. ......

And like each other like..................
honey pots like bottle brushes.........................

Live a hard life with poems....... ... ... . .. . .... ......
with lots of dots in 'ems......................

Catch crabs we'll never eat...... . ...... . ..
put ice all over our mustaches.................................................................   .............................................................................................. . . . .


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I'm rereading Poemland by Chelsey Minnis, and I love it too much.

Rilke, W.H. Auden, and Pynchon

I've loved the three aforementioned writers for all of my adult life.

• Pynchon wrote V., which I think is one of the great novels of the twentieth century, and it was his FIRST!
• W.H. Auden and his wrecked face is the poster boy for poetry and poets. . . maybe he shares the poster with Jack Spicer?
• Rilke, who doesn't love Rilke? The angels and all of that in the Duino Elegies? C'mon. I read a good bit of it all in German years ago, and I just love Rilke.

But I never made the connection between them. I didn't know Auden and Pynchon were both totally into Rilke.

Today I was writing, working on my next book of poems, The Chris Hemsworth Sonnets, which I hope to have finished before they kill off Thor in the movies. And I was stuck on Rilke. I had Rilke on the brain. Jeder Engel ist Schrecklich! Was the newest poetical Ohrwurm. I decided to Google around and ended up at the bottom of a Wikipedia page and boom.

And things, loose strands of wire, broken synapses, copper sparking in the ether, all sprang to life in my tiny little head.

Also today, I was watching the latest episode of Dr. Who and an ad came on about a movie the BBC has done about Dylan Thomas. I'll be watching that. 

Rilke, Thomas, Roethke? Yeah, for some reason, this all reminded me of this short poem »

Paradise Falls

Every town you pass
was once a cute place
when the leaves were green,
and the mills and factories,
the hood ornaments of industry,
where men and women paired off
to pass up opportunities
in profit palaces,
where monied people
leave full purses
on your doorstep for smiling
like rainbows on Sundays,
to settle in a cute town,
raise families,
status symbols,
run lines of razorwire
round the perimeters,
kill possums with passion,
catch fish with sons,
hang balls on boughs come Christmas,
eat well at dinner parties,
wake up worrying about nothing,
to work.

How to Join a Motorcycle Gang

This was originally featured here. If you want, you can comment and join the fun. There's much to be had. MURDERCYCLE.

Utah’s Mole Man Resurfaces

There’s another part of the mine.
An entirely new direction.

When I called that mountain evil,
when I said it was still alive,
I meant the part in which I murdered
the men--not the part
where coal still sits.

Making fun of the way I look, poets
will not help matters one bit
calling me Mole Man is hurtful.

Utah Mole Man

Utah Mole Man

The man from the federal derpartment
of mine safety spoke to cameras for nine 9 days
regarding the nine 9 men hidden beneath
crumbling mounds of coal.

The nine men were dead.
The nine men were dead.
The nine men were dead.

Mr. Mole did it.
Mr. Mole murdered all nine men.

He came out of the mountain
and told the cameras
the mountain is still alive.

Seizmic activity shows how
the mountain is still alive.
Tectonic movement is not an issue
here, Mr. Mole.
The mountain moves because it is uncomfortable.

If you’re deep enough. It’s uncomfortable.
When it starts to hurt, tremble.
Mr. Mole wears a tie.
Mr. Mole sent more men to stab at her.

All three died.
All three died.
All three died.

Translation Projekt.

I have an ongoing poetic translation project I thought you might be interested in here. It's a Bertolt Brecht poem called Jacob Applebock, or the Lilies of the Field.

QR-OK

I've been writing poetry again. Sort of. I think you could call me an experimental poet again if you wanted to. You need a QR scanner to read this one.

Mike Young is in Glitter Pony

Mike Young is in Glitter Pony.

Sarah Louise Green at BRL

I like the first two poems in this collection of three. It's easier to say bad things about the third than it is to say good things about the first two. I really love the first poem, though, "Perch."

I like the sonic echos that thread the stanzas together. And the animals kind of mirroring each other.

Back Room Live used to be a live reading, and even though the navigation on the site is clumsy, I adore the BRL, and I'm proud to say that I was there from the beginning.

Some poetry for you

You will like this guy's poetry. He is good. Steve Roggenbuck.

Cassandra Smith at Glitter Pony

Check out Cassandra Smith at Glitter Pony. Quite good.

Marigold Keeps the Flies from Your Lashes

Women like horses at midnight
waterless breezes
carry their flowers much longer.

There was a Great Dane
named Pony last night;
she was the sweetest cur.

Heels on stones and light
clip back old pains
soft shoulders slight fur.

Jack Morgan: Piscean Age

Trainwreckunion.tv

William Moor and Luis VI

Trainwreckunion.tv

Apex Predator

This is for Brooklyn Copeland in Minnesota and all the Thylacines we lost in the fires of 1906. It wasn't fit for man or beast. The smell of burning rubber on Australia's loneliest highways filled my nostrils, and it hit me: I Am the Last Marsupial Wolf. So I wrote this poem. It's been many years since I was in Australia, but I'll never forget what I never saw.

A Love Poem about Jack Morgan and His Motorcycle Mayhem

I am so famous that people write poems about me.
We already know about that Lovemakers song, but this is just as cool. Thank you so much, Flora Grande. Or should I say "¡Muchos Gracias, Flora Grande!"?

Sheep Phone Home

robot sheep phone home;
marble cools their plastic hooves
listen coiled yesterday wool

I Like Chickens, but don't be one!

I am reading tonight at Studio One Art Center on 45th and Broadway in Oakland at 7:30. Should be awesome.

I also got three poems published in Mary Magazine. I am very happy to be published next to poets I admire.

I'm Reading Tonight

Yesterday I received a postcard. Every time I get a postcard I think it's a rejection letter. I don't know how I equate the two since I don't think I have ever received a postcard that was a rejection letter. I love postcards from friends in faraway places. This postcard was from a new friend in a place not so faraway. This postcard was from a charming woman.

I am reading tonight at Adobe Books in SF near 16th and Mission with Sophie Sills. It's free! You should come.

I went to see John Ford's "Tis Pity She's a Whore" last night at A.C.T. It was great to get out of the smoky night for a few hours, and the play was very good. Bonfire Madigan Shive does the music and is on stage all night. She does a great job. The play will go on for at least a couple more weeks, so you should go see it. You can get pretty good tickets for fifteen bucks!

Mike Young wrote this, and I like it.

I saw Pericles a little while back at Orinda Cal Shakes, totally worth seeing as well but no longer playing; hopefully their Uncle Vanya will be worth seeing. It's a good summer for plays. A really good season so far.