Monthly Archives: March 2014

Wanderlust and Immense

Wanderlust and Immense


Wanderlust and Immense

We live in those nights,
travelers visited by our own unconscious gift:
the courage to face our fears, accepting vulnerability:

who is afraid of whom? The bright moon, mystical, serene–
is she also dreaming?

One could sleep with bare arms, bare legs,
and the fear of forgetting
anything can happen. Dreams

will devour you.

[Remix poem. Source: Tweets responding to Henri Rousseau’s The Sleeping Gypsy. 1897.]



March 22, 2014 · 12:37 am

Adrenaline & Testosterone Battle to the Death

Adrenaline & Testosterone Battle to the Death

Yesterday’s poetry prompt on The Found Poetry Review site ( ) involves an experiment conducted by ART/140 ( ) Basically, they asked web viewers to “share what you think about art” by selecting one of the listed works of art and tweeting their impressions/thoughts about that piece. This is where the FPR came in, with the idea of remixing those tweets into ekphrastic found language poems.


Adrenaline & Testosterone Battle to the Death

What could be perceived as chaos, rumpled and restless,
kinetic and alive, yet to unfold. The wonderfulness of a feverish pitch,

spinning wild. This is the feeling of a long day at work:
pistons, legs, elbows, arms, joints, and it is scary. Violent. Fast. Strong

movement. Demonic coiled energy, like a pulsating zodiac sign,
like a crumpled rainbow, crayons caught in a fan belt, an ecstatic pinwheel.

Danger is in bloom, and hope. The explosive liveliness of a jazz drummer
on a fast moving train, about to reach the 5/8 rhythm he has been looking for

all his life.

[Remix poem. Source: Tweets responding to Umberto Boccioni’s ‘Dynamism of a Soccer Player.’ 1913.(pictured above).]

Leave a comment

March 21, 2014 · 11:52 pm


The outlaw in question is the name of the person (or subject) to whom the poem is addressed. Each line of the poem includes all the letters of the alphabet except for the letter appearing in the dedicated name at the position corresponding to that of the line: when writing a poem to Eva, the first line will contain all letters except E, the second all letters except V, and the third all letters except A.

Choose someone mentioned …in your newspaper to whom to address your poem. Compose a beautiful outlaw poem following the procedure outlined above and using words sourced from your newspaper text.

The name I chose was Jayne. This kind of poem is a lot more time-consuming than it would seem at first glance!


Past a Certain Anniversary

Like cavefish underground, we run comparatively blind. Our sexual techniques freeze

into bronze hypertension; still, etiquette should not be forced or urged, just expected — some pesky juvenile wish,

struck as a deal with required convictions: jobs, the impact of tax, marriage, size

of shared assets, quickest exit strategy (with a blaze?). Such projects move

far past any obvious quick fix or adjoining waltz. Until harm do us part.

SOURCE The Evansville Courier & Press, 3/21/14: 3 dead, 8 injured in Jersey shore motel fire, Evansville man arrested in Henderson on human trafficking charges, Abigail Weismann gets her wish, Judge strikes down Michigan’s ban on gay marriage, Legislation seeks to identify new revenue sources for funding roads, Man charged with pointing gun at police had prior weapon conviction, Land buy aimed at protecting Indiana cave system, New owner taking over South Bend’s tallest tower, 10 employers signed up for NW Kentucky Job Fair, Henderson firefighters get training in driving emergency vehicles, Kentucky House OKs bill to help finance Rupp renovation, African American Museum to be closed March 25-28 for repairs, Nothing spotted in search for jet, Australia says

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Madison, New Jersey, 800 Miles from Home

Madison, New Jersey, 800 Miles from Home

Madison, New Jersey, 800 Miles from Home

Everyone else had east coast accents
that summer of apprenticeship. Sweltering
dorm rooms and sidelong glances for the Kentucky boy

who had mostly acted on bare, black box stages
and in the barn, telling his father “I’d love to learn to shoot.”
Anything to pass. Anything for applause, really,

just a couple of beer bottles on the top of a fence.
Set them up, see what happens.
Just a small transgression, down the road.

The bouncer sees him watching
men play pool, sees him watching him play
Spot the Outsider, lets him stay past closing.

“I’d love to learn to shoot,” he lies, again,
ring slipped into bluejeans pocket. “Set them up,
let’s see what happens.”

Leave a comment

March 21, 2014 · 6:40 am

Baptism for the Dead


Baptism for the Dead

“Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” 1 Corinthians 15:29


Even after we agreed it was over,

with that phone call three days before Christmas,

you kept tabs. Watched, occasionally.

Liked a Facebook post.


Today was warm enough to drive with the top down.

[You like this.]

So many trick-or-treaters tonight, all so creative!

[You like this.]

There is a God…met a cute gaymer guy.

You don’t like this. Instead,


you write privately to say:

I’m happy for you, but

I’m concerned.


Have you truly judged the moral character of this person?

His page (yes, I looked it up) has a picture of him

holding a Zima.

An impaired mind is an impaired heart,

and I know this is true.


I don’t write back.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Antarctica, Day Thirty-eight



Antarctica, Day Thirty Eight


Our expedition faltered today.

We miscalculated our supplies.

First, the pemmican ran out,

then the water. Please, God,

let me pass tonight.

As I write this,

my lover

has grown



I just learned about the Nonnet form ( ) tonight, and something about its shape on the page made me think of dwindling, which coincided with a recent book I read about the difficulties of early Antarctic expeditions.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Iambic Pentameter Horror



The Iambic Pentameter Horror


I never thought that this would happen, but

it seems my wife has inadvertently

discovered certain ancient arcane arts

revealed in lurid yellowed magazines.


She references illustrations, like:

“A woman lashed against a stake, alight,”

“A man impaled upon a fleshy thing.”

She tells me that the stars will soon be right.


I’d rather not provoke her to explain

the blasphemies she whispers in her sleep

or why the neighbors vanish without trace.

She has a hobby! Gruesome, it may be,


but if Cthulhu brings her happiness

then by the mythos, that is fine by me!

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry