It's ok to write poems and put them here

thank you dog latin! what is very strange is that when i finished that yesterday, i posted a video clip of me reading it, and almost the instant i hit send, i heard Dr. Howl going again and was assured that he's still around. I even saw him in the window looking back at me when i went outside later. it was really nice :)

the nice thing is that the poem stands up completely on its own, unaffected by those later facts

thank you aimless! you all should post some that you're working on, if you want. i've revised all the ones i posted above, quite a bit in cases, but i think it's sometimes a nice thing to have a place to post work in progress. i'm working on a decent one right now, i think. i really enjoy using my mornings to write poetry. it fits in really well with the rest of my day and it makes me feel very productive. i've never really organized my writing before, but i think maybe part of that was that i assumed i would be best at doing it at night, which is when my creative outlets are usually sparking. but with writing, i think i am a morning/coffee person. anyway, just rambling, back to the notes :)

and no joke, just as i post, the same two guys and the moving truck just showed up! i think they're moving someone else in? looool. well, i'm sitting here at the same window, on the same couch. unbelievable

The silence of a new apartment
Waving to the one you left behind and closing the door
crying and knees and hands touching the floor
Do I want to be reminded
No, but I wouldn’t want to forget

one more, sorry. this is the one i've been working on the last few days

Mary Lou Retton Skips

Look at him, skipping rope
He skipped up and down the full length of his block’s sidewalk
without a single slip or halt, not a moment of hesitation
If anything he seems to be craving a mistake
Not at all like Mary Lou Retton, you remember
a nation held its breath, it was the 1984 Olympics
the sprint to the vault pushes those watching to the edges of their seats
she launches, flips, soars, and of course sticks the landing
She demanded perfection of herself in a life full of limits
Now she’s waiting to see what the judge’ would think
Then we saw the score and she heard it and said Yes!
and we all said it together, Ten!, watching on our analog televisions
Moments like that certainly capture my attention.
One hundred percent of it, the career-defining performance
The tip of a spear dipping ever so slightly into transcendence
That’s the boy who effortlessly skips, in the moment, in this moment,
at the top of his game, when life seems so easy
His kid sister walks behind him and watches and smiles
now she’s spinning and he’s romping down the block again

(sorry, that's supposed to go into this:)

I don’t want to be disenchanted, as I sometimes am
As we all are bound to be, lost at sea in the knowledge economy
I try to push back against that drift
because I enjoy being enchanted
In fact, it means pretty much everything to me
When it feels like magic I don’t know what I saw
I know what it felt like, I don’t know it all
I know every spell gets broken, I know where I belong
Every day can’t be like this and this might not happen again
That’s why I hold onto this feeling tightly for as long as I can
when I can find it, when I can hear my voice and change it

(and then figuring out if i want to include this or work it into something else i've been working on. it contains many baseball references, which i'm sure will be wonderful for some and horrible for others, haha):

When the bus dropped me off, as a kid, I had a ritual
I would take off my bag and begin the great spin
Wielding my backpack like an Decathlon competitor holds a hammer
Feeling the slack of the Jansport bag’s thin straps tightening
Gaining momentum
A trapper keeper slammed up against polyester lining
Then I’d whip my book bag off into the air as far as I could possibly throw it
Often with a grand arc, as a performance
As the bus pulled off with some kids laughing from the windows
the school day was done, the home was still home

i changed the name to Skip to my Lou, and the last part is now part of something else. also revised a lot of things, after reading it out loud a few times and hearing where things needed to be

Skip to my Lou

Look at that kid, skipping rope
He skipped up and down the full length of this block’s sidewalk
without a single misstep, no miscues, no reservations
If anything he seemed to be craving a mistake
One to break the winning streak so he could move on to something else

Not at all like Mary Lou Retton, you remember
a nation held its breath, it’s the 1984 Olympics
Her sprint to the vault pushes those watching to the edges of their seats
she launches, flips, soars, and of course sticks the landing
She demanded perfection of herself in a world of limits
Now it all comes down to what the judges should think
She walks past the NBC cameras and we see
the pressure of theater on the brink of the rink
no one blinks, I think, no one breathes
Then we saw the score and she heard it and said Yes!
and we all shouted the number together, Ten!
the announcer, the audience
everyone at home watching on our analog televisions

Moments like that certainly capture my attention.
One hundred percent of it, the career-defining performance
The tip of a spear dipping ever so slightly into transcendence
That’s the boy who skips, seemingly, without effort
in the moment, in this moment
at the top of his game, when life seems so easy
His kid sister walks behind him and watches and smiles
now she’s spinning and he’s romping down the block again
His streak is still going
He can’t retire while he’s still on top because
he hasn’t worked a job
I hope he doesn’t have to for as long as he can

I don’t want to be disenchanted, as I sometimes am
As we are all bound to be, lost at sea
in the knowledge economy or whatever it is that we call this
I try to push back against that kind of heavy drift
because I enjoy being enchanted
In fact, it means everything to me
When I feel magical I don’t know what I saw
I know what it felt like, I don’t know it all
I know every spell gets broken, I know where I don’t belong
I know most days aren’t like this
That’s why I hold onto this feeling so tightly for as long as I can
when I think about my voice and who is changing it

god, things can never be done.

last stanza now starts like this:

I don’t want to be disenchanted, as I sometimes am
As we’re all bound to be, emptied into the sea
in the knowledge economy or whatever it is that we call this
every droplet of water makes its own slow way to the ocean

That Dr Howl one is pure late Bukowski, not a bad thing, I love late Bukowski.

Is this thread really for "works in progress"? Cus your standard and workrate is intimidating, and personally my brain doesn't work between October and like March or summat, so when I had a Big Day opening mail/taking a walk/reading the bible I wrote this down in full awareness I will not be fixing the meter and such until the sun hits my corpse:

I love my auntie's handwriting
It is genuinely illegible, but
It swoops and it soars
Long curves, that (to me)
Illustrate: birds in flight
Messi shots at goal
and paths never took
On walks in the forest
IN THE HILLS

Turf Hill
Scare Hill
Boy's Hill
Burnieshag, Gaerlie
These are high points in my life
(geddit?
never mind...)

Bellhangie
Shoolbraid
Bogton (fucken BOGTON)
These are apparently individual "woods"
But really
(come bosie up and I'll tell you a secret):
It's actually all one big forest
(also my life is one big forest)

But my auntie's handwriting was NOT ALWAYS THIS WAY
I know
Because of my grandfather's bible
His wife put it in my hands when he died, and
Inside
I found a slip of paper
No more than like 3/4 inch square
With a verse from Luke
Bland, rote, capital letters
I would have never known who wrote it
If it wasn't signed
Hilary White

I just wanted to get for my own records before I forgot 1) my Auntie's baffling handwriting 2) The names I googled of where I was walking, I thought it was just "up the forestry", turns out I traversed multitudes 3) the tiny piece of paper I found in the Bible.

Oh also when I woke up today I found this written "chase yirsel son, finish up your compendium of left-handed bassists", I AM COMPILING NO SUCH COMPENDIUM so my only guess is that is meant for song lyrics or poetry

wearing a t-shirt says "emo-adjacent", that's also a scribbling I need to put in something

i really enjoyed reading that! "also my life is one big forest" is something i will remember, hahaha

as far as workrate goes, i'm in a weird temporary thing right now for the next year or two where i don't have a job and i spend my time doing whatever the fuck i want, all the time. it's incredibly self-indulgent and i've only getting to do it by obliterating every dollar i've ever put in any location

for example, i have a list of TO DOs that are getting more urgent - your payments are failing, your prescription is ending, your insurance hasn't started, etc. but instead i'm going to spend the rest of this morning drinking my coffee and working on my baseball poem, because fuck you only live once

also j h m i appreciate your use of capital letters and you sense of parenthetics (in this thread it is ok and good to make up words)

gonna do a quick test to see if this works, using the formatting...

Jonah was tossed overboard
    and Jesus walked upon a sea
            of expectations and Kurt Vonnegut’s reminding me
            so it goes, it’s overflowing, the need for emptiness
            to continue on as your body craves activity
            blood vessels carrying oxygen and nutrients

A Dead Armed Pitcher is Not Yet a Man

The path of a pitched baseball 
can be curv    or sl
           ing      urv
                       ing
          t
narrow or a  
          l
          l
cutt        n
    ing or k u                    arc's
              ckl              the      f
                 ing      bends         a
                 the wind               l
                                        l
slid
    ing or drop
               p
                ing 
    like a sick stomach
    having just reached the top
    of a rollercoaster ride that screams like a rocket until the bottom falls out of it and comes to the most sudden
                                                                                                                stop

Instead of throwing the ball like any of that
I throw it right down the middle
as hard as I can
My ass is handed to me in front of an audience

I grunt when I throw because they asked me to
because if I don’t they’ll ask why I didn’t
because they thought it would add a couple miles per hour
to my cartoonishly slow and extremely hittable deliveries
The other kid grunts back as he slaps a loud smack
The crowd roars because our team is away and they are safe at home
We’re 13 years old, I sucked
I got roughed up on the usual
but our team had no reliable bullpen
so they left me in to soak up the remaining innings
until the 10-run rule arrived, the rule of mercy

Pool

Movies on black and white tvs in barrooms
Fred Astaire smiles and a man plays a flute
I was watching him dance in a musical on mute

When a coquette with a curly q
sticks three quarters into a table which removes
a stop inside of it and prompts sixteen balls to click
together as they roll down a slope to her waiting hands

If I’ve seen it twenty times here, I’ll see it again
but I’ve never anything resembling this
she takes the 6 ball and puts it in one coat pocket
the 4 ball is flipped up in the air as the 9 ball is
touching the floor and now it seems like everyone’s staring at her

Cue ball in her left hand, 8 ball in her right
the green felt under the hanging billiard light
tinted with oranges and yellows and grime

She wound up like a pitcher in the bottom of the 9th
like an old-timey pitcher with the long-winded wind-up
We all saw where she was aiming and where this was going

He started running toward the door
when she finally launched it
where his body had been only a second before
the mirror exploded and the shattered glass scattered quick
as his shadow was seen down the corridor
She grabbed the coat he left behind and walked outside
with a flick of a cigarette

Later that night as the owner cleaned up
and grumbled about the cost of pool ball replacements
there was something that caught my eye
a clear view to the sky, ripped through the ceiling
the size of a cue ball, when did she make that happen
what else does she make happen
i’ll take a manhattan
she paid less than a dollar to make things plain
that’s a good deal in most centuries

You lads <3

Oh you're "on the spectrum"?
We're all on the "spectrum" that's what makes it a spectrum
But some of us use it as a synonym
For "I Act The Dick On The Internet"

Some of us get pennies threwed at our head
In those horrific high school corridors
But (bosie up, I'll give you a callback)
You can feed your family off the subsequent coins

No, we don't use that term
It's ugly, pointed, dismal and tawdry
Don't listen to me, a Doctor will tell you
But that doesn't appear on your 5 year plan

It's like Peel said
on first play of New Puritan
IF YOU THINK IT'S ABOUT YOU... IT'S ABOUT YOU
Let's just go back to bed

6 years into my 5 year plan, and I'm not where I said I'd be
So I live my life in Comic Sans, a forced attempt at levity

3 years on this sofa and still haven't got no sleep
But I live my life in Papyrus, cus I'm ~mystical and deep~

Had my eyes closed when you wrote that note, but I took a sneaky peek
Try to live my life in Futura, up to date and somewhat sleek

So next time you need to move your shit just give me a shout
I'm whatever font but Sans Serif, nae fucking about

Sorry, that one is pretty bad, closer to a party game than a poem, but this is a safe space, right?

I wrote a poem about my REDACTED but then it seemed too TW-ish to post so I replaced every use of the word REDACTED with REDACTED and now it seems creepily sexual? But in a humorous way so here yis go:

There is no honour in this town
But there are a lot of REDACTED
mostly plastic, yellow and black
how can I respect you with that toy in your hand?

My REDACTED was my father's REDACTED
Maybe his father's REDACTED before?
I dunno, we don't speak
The REDACTED is my father now

Stanley 99E, for whatever that's worth
One side half decayed, but then increasingly shiny
At the top end, rubbed by my fingers
As I grasp it in my pocket

The other side, only the tip is burnished
Where my thumb resides
The knife hides secretly as I listen to your tiresome anecdote
Waiting for the bigoted punchline

My brother visited my mother
Whipped out his REDACTED, to prove he's a big man
I just stood back, smirked
Knowing I had the superior REDACTED

And when I sleep tonight
I shall hold the cat against my chest
But the REDACTED will be in reach
Just in case

It resides on the other side of the bed
Vacant, except for the REDACTED
But the REDACTED's presence reassures me
Because I live in REDACTEDTOWN

Fuck I missed one

Better:

There is no honour in this town
But there are a lot of REDACTED
mostly plastic, yellow and black
how can I respect you with that toy in your hand?

My REDACTED was my father's REDACTED
Maybe his father's REDACTED before?
I dunno, we don't speak
The REDACTED is my father now

Stanley 99E, for whatever that's worth
One side half decayed, but then increasingly shiny
At the top end, rubbed by my fingers
As I grasp it in my pocket

The other side, only the tip is burnished
Where my thumb resides
The REDACTED hides secretly as I listen to your tiresome anecdote
Waiting for the bigoted punchline

My brother visited my mother
Whipped out his REDACTED, to prove he's a big man
I just stood back, smirked
Knowing I had the superior REDACTED
And when I sleep tonight
I shall hold the cat against my chest
But the REDACTED will be in reach
Just in case

It resides on the other side of the bed
Vacant, except for the REDACTED
But the REDACTED's presence reassures me
Because I live in REDACTEDTOWN

And that time somehow I deleted a verse break, but I'm not pasting it thirdwise

I’m out of milk, out of butter, and eggs
But I don’t think I’ll be headed to the supermarket today
I‘ve eaten and smoked, I’m partly dressed
I haven’t washed the dishes yet
I’ll be broke soon if I can’t sell something
and I just broke another french press
it fell with a cracking splash into the sink
as I closed a kitchen cabinet
My pointy elbows poked it off the ledge
I’ve been making a lot of clumsy accidents
and it all started after I started wearing glasses
now I have three plastic plungers and zero carafes

Not all messages are displayed: show all messages (371 of them)
Can someone tell Batman why not?!?
Reply to: pers-164487✧✧✧@craigsl✧✧✧.o✧✧
Date: 2006-05-25, 8:25AM EDT

can someone tell Batman why not?!?

Why he can't luv Batgurl? Why can't he luv Batgurl? What's wrong with luving Batgurl?

Thanks! kisst plus kisses for Batgurl

* this is in or around manhattan
* yes -- it's ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

164487171

There was a quiet family in a crooked land
and a series of bad hands which came to surround them
They lived within a kind of bewilderment
but thought they were outside of it
One day the heavy fog fell on their porch at dusk

They were watching the oranges and blues
and noting the range of lavender hues on view
but mostly they were listening
to cicada waves piling up on each other
picking up the patterns in their rhythms and
getting their whole story and then some
the decayed phrases phasing and fading in and out
papering over the seams of the loop
so there are no beginnings and
no endings

only an old dog’s tail which keeps wagging
every which way smelling like wet grass shavings
Come and get it while it’s still hot
A person that never really was
Their family lives on the corner of a block
You might find near the end of the book
as a form of epilogue
when the rising tension has been resolved
when the plot no longer thickens
They see their friends and warmly thank them
It’s as cold as the dickens out there, isn’t it
I guess some things never change, do they
These are the ones we come home to
the ones who have been missing us
That’s the story we like to tell ourselves
not how it really was

The quiet part has been said quite loudly
Can we roll the credits now?
Can we hear an old favorite in a new arrangement?
We know something’s wrong
but we don’t have the same explanation for it
but do we have to have the same explanation?
I remember when we did
Do we at least agree that the sun has gone down
Nobody says anything
We could all use a breather

When we step outside the shadows are detached
from the objects they used to represent
they fill the valleys with a sense of dread
and grow strongest where there is no light at all
I think they’re leading us to the bottom of a well
and I’m strangely compelled to go along with their plan
to put a lid on me
to be covered up and let it sink in
that I don’t have the faintest sense of what I’m dealing with
the window is closing
Purple and black and darker still until
the chill of my breath is the only thing that’s moving
Something small to take full account of

I’ll speak to you in the morning
the rustling wind under your door, whispering
that something inevitable is approaching

King’s Highway

I saw a dog at a bus stop
but she wasn’t waiting and neither was anyone else
she ran through the repair shop’s lot
and everyone was moving away or staring
She worked her way a bit down the block
And was soon back in the traffic
all the tires squeaked but no one honked
she weaved through the cars like
water through a sieve and
wound up west of the King’s Highway

I watched all of this in horror from the driver’s seat of my car
from the very center of the same King’s Highway
traffic rushing toward me from the left and away from the right
trapped from all sides in a left hand turn lane, waiting, having to wait,
how long could it stay green
she was running out in front of my wheels

some of the cars began to come to a stop
I looked for anyone who was running toward the dog
and found someone holding a leash
her hands were in the air, frozen like me it seemed

The dog was back out in the street
tire squeaks and still no honking
I put on my right-turn signal
and felt the seat belt sting against my neck
as my right hand gripped the passenger headrest

like thin rice noodles squeezing through a colander
I couldn’t believe I made it through
the moving automobile lines and off of it
to a taco bell parking spot
and immediately leapt out of my car like a fool
who still remembers to lock the door with a
remote key while scanning the periphery

I ran down the street to the person with the leash
Are you the owner
Yes, her name’s Nala
Which way did she go
I knew the answer before she answered
I saw it
Nala had turned off the King’s Highway down an alley

My black jacket made rapid plastic swishing noises
I was wearing gray mesh allbirds shoes
with gray pants and a gray shirt
my hair was lavender and yellow and orange and brown
I’m a complete mess, I know it
I took off, completely

She was looking at me, she kept looking back at me
while still barreling down the alley
I turned the corner and ran like the T-1000
that I used to be, for about a minute
probably closer to thirty seconds
it was a longer sprint then I can remember
since the pandemic
BC AD BCE CE
before and after
when meeting people was easy
Nala was on a leash and now we can’t find her
but I’m on her tracks, the only one with the sensor

I couldn’t catch my breath, I was panting
I went over the fence and through the back gate
there are no woods
the alley was grass, then dirt, then concrete
Nala stands at a pass and looks both ways
She instinctively manuevers t-bones at top speed

Somehow I’m at the main street,
the person holding the leash
says to me, Her name’s Nala
I’m Emma
She won’t come to me
She knows we’re putting her away
A postal worker overhears us
and is filled with disgust
We are one of the obstacles in her day
and I see the leashholder’s face is filled with bruised spots
Emma, she’s laughing and her eyes are empty
Nala’s running toward the trainyard
I keep chasing

the same landscape, again and again
the gas station, the restaurant, the intersection
the tire change chain, the telephone lines hanging over
the cars, everywhere cars, starting the cars
starting the story in a car, gradually exiting a car
everyone else is in a car, or otherwise waiting for something
This is a Thursday afternoon, this is a thousand places
this is a hero with a thousand faces
sitting in a car

I almost caught her
I was out of breath
she was down the block
about 200 feet off and I called
Nala! Nala, please!
The same words from before but with a different texture
now I was down and Nala was the young pup
more than ready to run for another hour
Nala, please, Nala
and she came to me with her leash dragging
on the ground behind her
I could see the whites of her eyes
in the prime of her prime of her prime
and no discipline
she came within 5 feet and I jumped the gun
with no discipline, I missed

I reached for the leash but it was beyond my capabilities
and I saw it disappear down another alley
there was a girl watching and she asked
is that your dog?
and i said it’s not my pooch but I’m helping
and felt so silly and I sprinted again, off

I never did find her
I was eight blocks away from my car
I walked back. to my car.
the car, the car.

I ordered 2 cheesy bean burritos
I was out of breath and
forgot to wear my mask
and the man at the window hated me
I think
I never found her, I ran out of breath

The street is cold the dawn is gray my heart says no but my head says stay

What a mess.
What a horrible mess.

The rest of it, shortly to follow.

Where to begin?

The ending started as a walk
with talk of the “immediate future”.

It started in the garden of Eden.
Adam dreamed of an Eve
and was relieved of some of his burdens.
He needed help and they felt no shame.

Dead end street.

The people in the steeple are dying to meet
the one-winged angel with mangy hair and sores on his feet
to be blinded, to be brought to their knees
once and then twice again.

Dead end street.
Dead end street.

People are dying here on Dead End Street.

Here is the rest:

It’s a mess and we’re out of time.
An archeologist digging through our wreck
might be disappointed with what they find.

They won’t find these words
long since windswept
the way we were
the way you are
cannot be captured
I wonder what I have left
and when to leave

I am starting to believe in some things
that didn’t make much sense before

I love your poems Ztbd

that's nice of you to say, thank you! still working on that one a bit, but mainly hoping the kinks don't sue me :-o

also the occurrence of my life being "a mess" is starting to spike, this is alarming! shit

King's Highway and Skip to my Lou are the highlights for me

king's highway is a true story! it happened just the other day. it was simultaneously the most intense exercise i've had in several years and a very, very sad experience. i couldn't really capture any of it. the saddest part was the end, when the dog darted down a sidepath and through someone's backyard yet again, and i knew i was giving up. she had done this maybe 5-7 times already, in the past 20 minutes of chasing, and each time i would run down the street, up the alleys and behind the backyards, and somehow i'd catch a glimpse of her running off somewhere else, always 100 feet away, and i'd kept going. but this time i was just out of breath, and also i had run into the owner one more time and she was a walking drug casualty, just laughing off her dog sprinting through heavy traffic and near accidents and some weirdass stranger running all through the neighborhood after her, asking "did any of you see an off leash dog?" and getting absolutely ZERO answers from anyone, from a dozen different people, just nothing

My uncles are overly mouthy
They have no idea just what is coming
My and my brother just sit and smirk
We both know fine well

My uncles aren't really my uncles
they're like my cousins, once removed? twice removed?
Don't get me wrong, they're really fine fellows
Just no brains in their heads

My brother takes me outside
Wants to smoke a CIGAR with me
Oh ok, but this makes me dizzy
I prefer heroin

Back inside, plaster on a smile
(I'd made a visit to my room, there was heroin)
Those same uncles still in my face
They don't know about the coming flood

And then two years pass
The flood came, I live on the hill
My uncles live in the valley
Don't know what came of them

Actually I need to replace that line "they don't know about the coming flood", I'd rather leave the flood unmentioned until it actually arrives, ken? Otherwise I'm happy with what I just wrote right now

"they don't know about the heroin" I suppose is the relevant substitute

I went back to my room
Stumbled once, hit my knee on the sink
Not a big deal, let's get back to it
Some conversation about football

^^insert that in there

haha, i like these uncles! these dumb butts talking about football, taking over your space

Reconciliation

We’re sitting in your garage, this evening
with the wide door open and it’s 46 degrees
two lawn chairs and two hot teas
peppermint of the Bigelow with no caffeine

It’s been 9 months since I talked to you
It’s been 10 and a half since he died and
It’s been 12 months since he went to the hospital

My neighbor is of the same belief
She feels sorry for me
she says the vaccine causes mass infertility

Last week I scraped the ice off her car, my neighbor’s car
It took about half an hour
and I felt like a good son
or a good someone who managed to do a good something
I thought I used to do a good something everyday
Now I write a poem to commemorate

We poured dog-friendly salt on the stairs to the street
She has a job caretaking for the elderly
and has your same first name and is of the same age
but in other ways she is nothing like you
She’s an artist with her own studio
She prays the rosary

Am I allowed near Avalon
if I don’t want to be
If I don’t know how to laugh
at a joke like that
When I’m still talking and no one’s listening
except myself, and barely at that

Yet I think I’m the only voice of reason
in this situation
The one who knew to stay inside
The one who knew it would get so bad
two weeks earlier than most people did
here comes the jeremiad

…
No, this time I don’t think I’ll share that
not this time, I still want you to laugh
and I don’t want you to get caught up
in the long tail unreasonable stuff
that the bulk of us seem to be stuck i

n

I heard a speedboat caught a wave and hopped
right over a dock
It started in the ocean
It landed in the bay
Someone was underneath the boat when it happened
I’ve never seen anything quite like that, they said
It flew right over my head
They were dry and he was soaking wet

I heard this same boat sped straight through the inlet
luckily the beachgoers took notice and fled
as the lifeguard took a video from the lookout perch
the back of an 18-wheeler opened up
and extended a ramp out into the water
the ship accepted the lift
twin mechanical amphibians
the boat slid up into the big rig
which took off with a pop and a shower of smoke

I heard a firetruck showed up in the aftermath
and as the crowd was dispersing some drunk man said
What are they gonna do, put out the ocean?!
and no one laughed or made eye contact
so this guy yelled it again, and his voice cracked -
Are they gonna put out the wa-ter?
the captive audience cringed and dispersed at greater distances
and a little kid kept asking Wait, what happened?

i am trying to be less longwinded

changed middle to

I heard this same boat sped straight through the inlet
luckily the beachgoers took notice and fled
as the lifeguard took a video from their lookout perch
the back of an 18-wheeler opened up
and extended a long metal ramp
the ship met the lift and skipped from water to land
mechanical amphibians
the boat slid up into the big rig
which then took off with a shower of gross smoke

one more once:

I heard this same boat sped straight through the inlet
luckily the beachgoers took notice and fled
as the lifeguard took a video from their lookout perch
the back of an 18-wheeler opened up
and extended a long metal ramp
the ship hit the lift and slid into the big rig
skipping from water onto land
mechanical amphibian
the truck took off and left a shower of gross smoke

Here's a short something I wrote back in 2008, working as a dishwasher in a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. I don't know if it's good or if it's embarrassing:

Over dishwater steam I witness
my gorgeous intentions crumbling.
Feta cheese over mixed greens.

Immersed in scalding water
my lobster-red hands reach for the stopper
and pull.

my limo arrives with blown out back windows
covered by plastic and spattered by rain
driven by a man in a santa hat
whose beard is black and patchy with gray

when the wheels stop spinning I step right in
to a coniferous interior with Christmas tree scent
where thick vines grow in place of seat belts
and soft pine needles thread lines of indigo

his grin is crooked, his sunglasses tinted
the dusty dashboard is scorched and bent in
a disco ball jumps when the light turns green
and the bumper sticker on the crumpled trunk reads

may we meet again

we were flies in a beehive
carried by transparent wings flickering
and unheard in the swarm’s buzz storm
looking for an exit to the building

we were drawn into the mystery
by its qualities of ambiguity

these leaves aren’t dead
they found the ground and leapt
around toward new homes
on fallen trees along the riverbed

those were the days
when we cared less
about lost sleep because
our dreams were frequent and vivid
and the wakeful life loved and lived in

i see. the ac exhaust pushing the leaves
my broken toe walk tilting heavily
working down the shallow slope
like a slow drifting toward the deep
end of the pool past the last black stripes
undulating on the surface of the water
but still at the bottom, the lower the pressure

from here you can see the sun rise
now I’m on a pleasant streak
i may never go to sleep again

pay what you can for a diy
electro show in a basement

the upside-down singer bit
down on the mic and offered
noise stabs from their abdomen
ear plugs absorbed some of it
what did pass through was too true
to be heard in quiet rooms
but struck a chord in mosh pits

the smoke machine shook and pushed
waves of silver tipped clouds at us
the bruise-kneed crowd wanted more
heavy chains to whip at feet
standing still along the wall
boozy lips and rose-kissed cheeks
want for water, thirst for sweat

a horseshoe hangs over the front door
a traffic light over the restroom
a barrel with a checker board
sits in front of the fireplace

on mother’s day at cracker barrel
the parking lot is completely full
browsers crowd the old country store
and behold the forty dollar snow globe

our eyes scan the decor
the new menu features boozy drinks
third verse same as the first
chicken fried chicken
early online check-in
chicken fried chicken

it’s 11 am, the server has three stars
she asks about cream and sugar
as we play tabletop solitaire
I leave three pegs behind and i’m just plain dumb
hashbrown casserole for the breakfast side

home is where

the propane gas grill
still has the price tags on
string dangles from stainless steel
handles by a freshly cut lawn

roasted bell peppers flaking
on the cooking island station

chromium plating control knobs
porcelain enamel wire cooking grates
made to complement any outdoor space
the backyard, garden, or terrace
the balcony or the courtyard

the lights in my home
are bluetoothed to a phone
sometimes i move to turn them on
but minutes pass in darkness
and notifications keep me alone
as i do chores in bluish tones
from my sofa

the checklists fall into my bottomless pit
that’s not at all like the world we touch
more like the interior invisible thick

i switch my lights to red
and the effect to candle flicker
dimmed to thirty percent
the insides of my lids are fed
a prehistoric ambience

i never write poetry but had a thought today at work....

If I was a record,
you might notice some fraying at the corners,
minor ring wear, and
light surface scratches.

There might be a small split
at the center of my spine,
some spindle marks on the labels,
or foxing to the back panel.

I still play fine,
with mile surface noise,
but groove wear is becoming audible
at the end of each side.

"mild". but okay

must be that country magic when
a twist makes blinds open and the trees sway
like great masts tilting against sea waves
limbs and trunks alike bend with the wind
with flapping leaves of flickering sequins

https://i.imgur.com/JSWLpdF.jpg

we want to play
we’d rather not be apart
i don’t want to leave, i say
but it’s not my yard

it’s yours, wet nose pressed against the window
soft dog gray ears folded
in under their own weight
perfectly old, your favorite shows

i seem to have turned into a pumpkin
forgetting how to walk
beginning to crawl in the tall lawn

-

widening path lined with
dreams steamed in cool baths
don't leave don’t come back

see the chests holding breaths
waiting for the real forgiveness
from voices inside of their heads

it’s a long walk
the way they talk
and don't talk

-

i drove so badly the guy in
the car behind me said
what is wrong with America

-

butter soaked texas toast
lands on the pan
and starts to sizzle

garlic in oil, old water boils
a cup of hot tea
with honey drizzles

your hands are candles
aloft and soft
tapered and chiseled

your warmth melts me

real slow out the window
part-time barflies
do fine on bells and whistles

https://i.imgur.com/oRWoRcI.jpg

shovels in the
sky marine blue
bleed viridian green
on the treetop canopy

at a glance it’s broccoli

feed the thirsty vampire kid
popping wheelies in the backyard
hoping somebody is watching

the puddle waves are parting
as they swerve through to get the wheels wet
and leave tire tracks in the garden

riding pegs in the sunset
in a straight-leg kneelocked stance
matched by their fading silhouettes

tucked in shoelaces and rolled up pants
why hold onto anything
don’t forget to give it back

if I knew how to act
I’d sell a million books and a half

I read what you write instead

if i knew what was wrong
i’d make it right if i could

i wonder if i’m in over my head

hallelujah for the stars
thank you for being here
for being exactly who you are

thank you for making my cheeks go red

when he sang the dictionary
— bless his heart
it landed spot on
in parts of brain waves
that are hard to make much sense of
but still, lodged in there all the same

long after, the echoes of his words
bounced around in our thoughts
the high F to the low G
impressing us asynchronously
to the day of his performance
lulling and surging independently
of the original occurrence

my memory of it kept changing
until it no longer resembled his song
and i no longer believed what i thought

he might have sung the telephone book
the addresses, phone numbers, and zip codes
he would convert each line to a melody
and belt out the surname especially loudly

i believe he may have been the first
to sing the world book encyclopedia, 1997
just the last paragraphs of each entry
he told me but i no longer remember clearly

critical update:

~bless his heart

when he sang the dictionary
it burrowed into parts of neurons
that are hard to make much sense of
but still, lodged in there, spot on

i'm told he sang the telephone book
the addresses, phone numbers, and zip codes
converting each line to a melody
and belting out the surnames especially loudly

i believe he may have been the first
to sing the world book encyclopedia, 1997
only the last paragraph of each entry
he told me much more than i could ever
trust myself to accurately remember

long afterward, the echoes of his music
bounced around in our thoughts
the high F to the low G
impressing us asynchronously
to the day of his performance
tunefully lulling and surging independently
of the origins of their occurrence

the sounds in my memories kept changing
until they no longer resembled his song
and i no longer believed in what i thought
i'd heard so clearly

Reading in the morning
Reading at night
Reading old books
Reading new books
Reading on the bus
Reading on the train
Reading on the stairs
Reading

People
Wherever you go
People

still writing a bunch! here are some that i wrote a while back and still like:

i can play most songs
if you give me a minute
lumped in the tub
filled to the brim
watching the shows
stretching my toes
swirling the suds

here’s the life cord
wrapped to your wrist
it gives us the minute

here on the soft downy
lawn of the back of your head
we don’t check the weather
so much as stepping so lightly
shaking like an overwhelmed witness
speaking of growth of goodness
please come home now
and make your nest

when it’s warmest
we paint each other’s dreams

-

what is wrong
the words i chose
when is the show
don’t stay long

squinting in the parking lot
waiting on a shoe to drop

who are you
frozen august
ill and dogged
tried and true

torn up tickets at the gate
laminated student rates

don’t be mine
no good money
unbecoming
until the time

to arrive in the smoky glow
of unknowing unraveling

-

you had hardly knocked when I said come on in
wrap yourself up in my heavy blanket
it was a gift
we can share it

i lifted the fabric
up and over our heads
from the darkness we peered out
through crocheted stitches
in air which was warm and thick

we were furniture
for a long time it was like this

the leaves try to fly
for the first and last time

i like you as you are
sunset landing from afar
i like what you’ve run into
and how it changes

--

things i do now that i know you

i make sound effects when i walk
i keep my right foot planted and pivot around
i stretch my arms long to reach the ground
up coffee and when i pour it say “pew pew!”

https://i.imgur.com/lApSyFV.jpg

I think you’ve got about 10 poems there bro

i didn't even post the others! there were like 30 poems there

limbo is a container for time
where one waits for godot
and knows how low one can go
how long one can hold onto
a breath before it hurts in the chest
with pinprick moments of silence
hanging in the upper halves of windows
like potted plants watching gardens
glow in the twilight, wanting to know

https://i.imgur.com/1J4OtLS.gif

my elbow flicks the light switch
because my fingers and forearms
are covered with paint, i said
what a mess of a mixup
to overlay the mediums
the message is in the tedium
replay what you heard
and see how it’s different

from what came before
send me a postcard
you’re halfway to the end
then halfway to the end

I’m noticing more people smoking recently saw

footage of Joni Mitchell singing coyote backstage on the rolling thunder

tour and is there a correlation between the populace quitting and obesity

yeah, I'm a poem
(not a syllable wasted)
I convey meaning

Part-Time Rapper by Scott Seward

I rock rhymes.

Sometimes.

i woke up in the middle of the night the other night and thought that. and then i went back to sleep. thank you. thank you very much.

with the right beat, i think you just wrote your first #1 single!

under the fence
you crawl on all fours
the lock to open the gate
from the inside

i heard your stomach scrape
along blades of grass
split in half along the stems
lift the hinges
to let our friends in

we light soft candles reminiscent
of the end of a sunset
projected wide onto wrinkled fabric
pulled taut from clips in the corners

the double u is spoken
the double v is chiseled
w reflects the
soft m in the center of the back
yes, I’d like my heart back
x marks the spot I can wait
what time does the sun set
don’t let the dust get wet

new game plus
starts with all the items but none of the progress
or all of the progress but none of the items
or with everything you can remember
or with nothing at all

but a new body and internal clock
settling into a walking pace
might mean time might
sturdy the fall
fresh sets of rules will unfold
as peculiar rhythms that become your own

shaded blades next to
lit blades lit green
warm my toes
blue and yellow
hope I won’t bring my
giant foot in the sky
swinging down hard
to divide my yard into two
discrete zones
of careless trampling
of careful misunderstanding

he hit me hard
he felt bad
-hit me back
come on, get me back-
no, not now
not when you’re expecting it
wait until you’ve forgotten
when i finally hit back
we will both laugh

“
The old arm
Of a new love
“