Leroy
Solitude of living
the myth of a jungle paradise
jamborees with all our lemur pals
playing exotic disney songs and
swinging from the branches.
100% polyester. No fingers, just a
flat palm
stitched lines no movement.
Yet he has more than that already.
The power to transport—to a fantastic
dimension, away from the horrors
of this world.
But ignoring, too, the horrors
of the polyester jungle—
No malaria, dengue, or Ebola.
[personal object: stuffed lemur.
word: solitude]
nanda
She waited
Parked patiently on the road across from school
for the bell to ring, and the stream of eager children spilled
out of the large green front doors
I spotted her car without trying,
it was hard not to. I wasn’t sure
how to explain, or whether to do anything
but shrug as she ____ to carve enough room in her back seat
for my friend.
I sat in the front
Duct Taped windows offering a glimpse
of the true chaos—the sea of feathers—
a symphony of smells.
When she spoke she pursed her mouth
showing her deep thought. Wrinkled her brow
pushed up her glasses.
notes:
[Describe car – List poem?]
[feathers]
[pictures of hindu gods]
RAGE
Hippopotamus swimming in a still lagoon
sweetly large and curved,
hiding its rage
Solitude
An empty rowboat floating
listlessly—embedded in the glassine
surface of the lake.
History
Epstein with his hunch, hump
still full of fire
though not even 60
These were written a while ago in-class (I think in workshop) but never posted…
[narrative poem about the Melodion (Sam’s object that he brought in)]
[Oh, and as if you couldn’t tell, there were some words we had to use…]
i.
Their relationship was all platonic
at first
but when she began to play her
melodion, his chest felt sudsy
and she took him
from his own clenched fists.
ii.
It is a relic of a bygone era
sturdily built, the keys offer a click
rather than the sudsy platonic softness
of today;
the case is a case in point
leather with a metal zipper
plush felt inside
And all for such a curious device
a melodion?
Fist of kleptomaniac’s songs are played
[that last line is just weird…]
iii.
It must have belonged
to the childhood
of a parent perhaps. The 50’s, 60’s, 70’s
manufacturing—consumption, prosperity.
A memory of music,
family history.
The kleptomaniac uncle
who bangs his fist
the platonic cousin whom he
played for.
dreamed of sudsy romance
[another throwaway line(s)]
[[in my everlasting internal debate on whether to edit these as I post themor to just post as they’re written, I chose the latter, though I couldn’t resist adding commentary…
Tuesday, May 2, 2006
The New York Times
Drop take rejects boycott challenge prices clash in nationalizes brings gatekeepers killed the personal new.
[Ok, maybe add punctuation? Line breaks.]
Drop,
Take rejects.
Boycott,
Challenge prices,
Clash in nationalizes,
Brings gatekeepers killed
The personal new.
[I guess i have to somehow make it mine. Not sure what to do with it now…
It was the second word from every headline on the front page of the Times, taken in strict order beginning at the top left, and moving down and to the right.]
Foreboding night sky.
Machined precision.
A vivid vision,
ascending light’s cry
as winged beasts fly.
[to be continued…]
This gave me inordinate amounts of trouble… I restarted a number of times, but just couldn’t get it to work!
There is a mystery where
dark brooding lies,
amidst the coarse, violent cascade
of fiery hail.
A dark sky where nothing
will take flight.
A scene of deathness
despair— yet faith
hope in humanity
in the light of the sky {WHAT THE F*$@%?!}
Paramaters: Belly, and a yellow piece of paper->Banana (later changed to squash)
A flat belly,
an empty stomach
Dreams full of flatness
tight, sexy clothing. But,
A life without ice cream?
Not worth living!
Who wants to live
on tofu and squash
for the sake of a
flat belly.
Drops of dancing light
Waves of dark, deep beneath
Break into a buzzsaw
Pounding, repeating
Primal rhythmic sense appeal
Aggressive cutting, harmonies
searing,
Even the piano
lurks.
A beaming wavering light emerges,
dodges and dips, then fades
Wading through
the murky waters of your memory.
dredging through the mind,
searching for a ray of hope;
knowing it isn’t there.
the silt slips through
your fingers.
