Sunday, December 28, 2014

The Two Worlds

From Robert Bly's The Light Around the Body

"For according to the outward man, we are in this world,
and according to the inward man, we are in the inward
world. . . . Since then we are generated out of both worlds,
we speak in two languages, and we must be understood also
by two languages."
                                            -Jacob Boehme

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

i can't haiku

by Peter Mitchell
Originally published on fragments of a scroll from the future

i can't haiku
i can't say anything
in seventeen syllables

Thursday, December 18, 2014

XIX

by Mark Strand
From his collection entitled Dark Harbor

I go out and sit on my roof, hoping
That a creature from another planet will see me
And say, "There's life on earth, definitely life;

"See that earthling on top of his home,
His manifold possessions under him,
Let's name him after our planet." Whoa!

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Sunday, December 14, 2014

How Do You Suck the Life Out of a Day?

The global orange ...

Sink teeth into its tender flesh
swollen with juicy sinew.
Rend the filmy sheath,
     licking the clinging tubules from
     gleaming enamel and slick gum
as the juice streams down your 
     face in rivulets,
     leaving a sticky residue on the chin,
the pungent citrus tickling the nose,
     burning,
the acrid aftertaste tingling the tongue,
     burning,
and though satiated with the sensuous experience,
     the juice-ridden throat is left
     burning.
You grope for water to wash it all down, down,
     down - 
     until the thirst for that sweet fulfillment moves
     you to pick another.

Or

Smash jagged cones into its tender flesh,
     catching the juice that streams
     down the plastic in rivulets
     in a cold, glass jar,
leaving white, tattered skins plastered
     against the adobe textured rind
     intermixed with deflated tubules.

Or 

Sink serrated metal teeth into its coarse,
     pocked rind
methodically dissecting the swollen skin
     into carefully quartered pieces.

Or

Leave it to rot in the stinking heat.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Doodling Around

Doodling Around, from the high school notebooks of Ashleigh Hartsock

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Gasoline

By Margaret Atwood
From her collection entitled The Door

Shivering in the almost-drizzle
inside the wooden outboard,
nose over gunwale,
I watched it drip and spread
on the sheenless water:

the brightest thing in wartime,
a slick of rainbow,
ephemeral as insect wings,
green, blue, red, and pink,
my shimmering private sideshow.

Was this my best toy, then?
This toxic smudge, this overspill
from a sloppy gascan filled
with essence of danger?

I knew that it was poison,
its beauty an illusion:
I could spell flammable.

But still, I loved the smell:
so alien, a whiff
of starstuff.

I would have liked to drink it,
inhale its iridescence.
As if I could.
That's how gods lived: as if.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Collage With Squares Arranged According to the Laws of Chance

Jean (Hans) Arp, Untitled (Collage with Squares Arranged According to the Laws of Chance)
1916-17, courtesy of the MoMA online collection

Thursday, December 4, 2014

i'm giving away my cows

by Peter Mitchell
Originally published on fragments of a scroll from the future

i'm giving away my cows
one at a time
Abandoning
having nothing
and there is yet more to give Away