something else underneath the bottle
something else underneath the plate
somethine else underneath the glass
he did not self-identify with the movement
Tag Archives: poems
Bird Watching at Playa Santana (The Secret To My Perspicuity)
Wikipedia Poem, No. 779
observe
optic spectus
clear evident hands
buried in soil or
prospettiva providing
ars poetica cresting
the break for introspecer
though human
look through the looking
consider skeptics
of providence
optic spek observe
spasati sees small fish
in the crown whitewater auspecere
look closely at skopein
behold high german spehhon
appearance for introspettiva
perspices auspex-auspex
horoscopal espective
any brains’ll tell ya elation monstrous
unknowing inspecere inspective any brains
elation
‘Afro’ by Morgan Parker
from There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyoncé by Morgan Parker
Intuition-Based Innovations in Neural Learning
Wikipedia Poem, No. 767
any result
indexing away data
admittance to do
and
indexing provides data admittance services profit
addition provide malfunction formation
straight get
you other software or anything
in addition to concerning accurate
reformation entry businesses
local bills
payrolls payrolls
payrolls
payrolls
payrolls
payrolls
payrolls pasting business unit can achieve information
entry organization entry digesting
businesses
some computer software other organizations would
solve the data admittancement
equipment location problems
kept in structural y'all
be descript now
Source: Young, Dmitry. “Data Entry Providers.” Neural Learning AI, 26 Apr. 2018.
Bernadette
I sit in bed beside you, shearing,
Heating pad set to medium;
You say I couldn’t handle more.
You’re looking for work.
I’m reading about poets in
Monochrome.
Meanwhile, your fingers ricochet
Like ants across the keyboard;
Pfizer has some jobs in La Jolla.
I don’t want to reach over and fuck you
Nor use my teeth to puncture your pliant neck,
How glorious to be at peace
Despite all the canned blue passion
Radiating my brain, our out-there gray
Lives, like the promise of snow.
Pain always produces logic, which is
very bad for you. That’s not my line
But it’s a good one and applies here;
Women are bred for pain, they’ve got it
In them. The trick is to realize not everyone
You think is a woman is, my friend. It is dark
Now. The weather report predicts snow overnight
And it is rare the weather report is wrong
Anymore. Four to six inches. This poem
Is about fucking. Or not fucking. Or refusing
To write in bedclothes
with blood.
“A Poem Some People Will Have to Understand” by Amiri Baraka, 1969
Source: Baraka, Amiri, and William J. Harris. The Leroi Jones/Amiri Baraka Reader. New York, NY: Thunder’s Mouth Press, 1991. Print.
“Feminist Modes of Production” by Arielle Greenberg
This poem appears in Arielle Greenberg’s 2015 book “Slice” from Coconut Press. Her work is brilliant, please support her writing.
Family Happiness (Nondidactic)
Wikipedia Poem, No. 572
“Overture of my voice like the flash of bats. / The hyena babble and apish libretto. // Piscine skin, unblinking eyes. / Sideshow invites foreigner with animal hide.” from Cathy Park Hong’s ‘Zoo’
they move today as was written hold that sound against one of they move today dog hyper-aware and read by complex formations me she or has gone they move today perspicuous improvisational solo explain more clearly they move today it is being written hold it against one's patience they move today for difference radiates one of us curious dog
Poets Reading the News publishes ‘Agraphia’
“Car 5”
A great poetry website, Poets Reading The News, has published another one of my poems, Agraphia, along with one my recent photos, Car 5 (above).
I’m extraordinarily fond, and proud, of this poem. It’s about the way that war and violence affect one’s humanity.
It begins with a quote from Gabriele de’ Mussi, a historian of sorts, who gave one account of the beginning of the black plague in Europe in the mid-14th Century.
He tells of the siege on Kaffa (now known as Feodosia in Crimea) in which the Mongols launched the rotten flesh of their own sick and infected soldiers over the city walls in order to weaken the defending forces — an early version of biological warfare.
Please read and share it. You mean the world to me.
Thanks for being a part of this crazy project.
— Joe
Belted Kingfisher
By substituting X for their name
We begin to blue-grey a flicker rate
Between eyes, nose, ears and mouth.
The subject doing the describing,
For instance, receives big panicked gulps
And must not be allowed to employ simile
Without supervision—
How liberating!
Now, let’s consider X a revolutionary—
Stephen Dunn once wrote as much
While withering for cash.
If X died today, the sun and the moon
Would finally receive their answer:
A torn sheet of paper
for both celestial bodies:
Grim, graceful and surreal;
A canyon of sugar skulls,
Oh! the lightcycle enfolding forever
Like endless dough.
X insists
They need not be
Consistent.
X’s interdisciplinary epigram, anyway,
Inspired (which?) Dickman’s monograph 52 years on,
The latter being more studied yet
Significantly less erudite
Than the former, who cannot
Will not make up their mind
But will resolve to vacillate endlessly.
Do be you
Consumer
Of Coke.
X is one of the park’s rarest
And least conspicuous trees.
Found only on dry ledges of the summit,
X is little more than a shrub.
X is not a belted kingfisher
Despite their harsh and rattling call.
X is silly and not as
Handsome as you remember.
When Christ arrives,
X is surprised.