Category Archives: Poems

Contra Dancing

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Contra dancing as palliative per bashfulness

 

Life as a high school wallflower served me

without any budding female friendships

until lo…

a gent tulle mandate from my late mother uprooted me

from mine kempf familiar bedrock level road terrain

which venue offered a groundswell  

to blossom forth into golden sterling resplendent rod

of natural equipoise (this an unbiased opinion) and balance

with freestyle improvisational swinging motions

unchained from the moors of formality

and lit figurative saint elmo’s sesame street fiery dance

allowing, enabling and providing this shy awkward self

during his young adulthood

to cast away four ever

thy self embroidered handsome

straight as an arrow

naturally high as a kite young guy

buzzing like a yellow jacket

thus liberating spontaneity that je nais sais quoi joie vivre

clamoring headlong toward venus

from healthy pistil packing overflowing bin

laden well nigh testosterone erupting penis

toward opposite gender

whereby bravado donned as key

to hoe field of whet dreams

fostering initial albeit late blooming

roll in the hay hormonally rooted rutting squeal!

 

 

 

Oy Gevalt, by Matthew Harris

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Oy Gevalt – Moi Ongepatchket Married Life!

 

Once thy future spouse (Abby Zison) found herself in the family way

  (with what would turn out to be the first of our two daughters – i do say

  determined and sealed the decision per our rolling in the figurative hay

  to wed said mother of thine deux female progeny on an agreed upon day!

 

Both of us happened to be older grown offspring at ten times thrice

  Or three plus decades to be generally precise our fate sealed no clay dice!

 

Said age difference approximately a year and a half between us two,

  and miserably living with parents, which o’er the years rancor grew!

I agreed to pledge my troth on the premise this writer

  (christened Matthew Harris) aka king o one scott the lighter

  found himself in the throes of becoming a potential mister mom

  per one dominant seminal striver a darwinian fighter!

 

Since neither of us took any precautions and thru caution to the wind

  the inevitable (i.e. a so called bun in the oven) nonetheless

  tasting supposed verboten fruits branded us as having sinned

  took us by surprise and got us necessarily biologically pinned!

Even though a decision to tie the gordian knot (more like a noose)

  per donning the role of future father tightened and n’er got loose

  an inner conflict jostled thine inner being

  against forming a legal wedded union – the deus!

 

Prior to taking that legal vow to be husband and wife

  until death doth us part before the justice of the peace

  (which building matter of fact, happens to be

  a hopper, skipper and jumper

  from where this seat experiences posterior strife

  because this gluteus maximus constitutes on bony arse

  as if being cut by a knife

  matrimonial bliss seemed like a pipe dream

  in subsequent years only to spiral into a maelstrom of some chaotic life!

 

In truth, the prospect to marry

  in general mills and aforementioned gal in particular

  hardly filled yours truly with giddy excitement

  but a decision this troubadour wished to defer and tarry!

 

Passive agreement to acquiesce by saying that necessary “I do”

  per impregnating the woman named above transpired until her belly grew

  swollen with eden liat thy current star student

  now sound asleep – counting sheep lined up in a queue

  yet lately this personal state of affairs I chronically rue

  and immerse myself in reminiscing about yesteryear

  and wonder why passivity elected as a way to escape

  utter aversion living with dad and (thy late) mom

  both in a boiling can a bull stew!

 

Predilection to play Russian roulette by avoiding any safe sexual mode

  i.e. contraceptives to avoid unplanned pregnancy

  shrugged atlas off while spermatozoa adhered to reproductive code

  which absence to use birth control also arose

  as a natural propensity to procreate from natural urges that did goad!

 

Now, less joy de vivre doth prevail

  to remain monogamous and uphold strictures from this male

fidelity, integrity morality, et cetera buts ahead without fail

from rampant testosterone urge to become appeased, fulfilled, satiated

   no matter this dozen plus year bride and groom blindly entered

   the unalterable sacred covenant whence sexual need now does ail!

 

After the birth of daughter numero dos did arrive

  the preponderance of physical gratification

  took a kamikaze nose dive

seeks special care in lass for long lasting marriage and love to strive!

Raised by a Stork, by Matthew Harris

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Raised by a Stork

Beak cause of being taken under wing by the kindness of this U crane relative, I pay
written homage to my ability to fend for myself and fly in the face of adversity!

Left abandoned under the shade of a sequoia tree when just born, my birth parents
never known to me!

Pink flamingoes and pelicans essentially constitute social structure, thus helping to
explain erratic flapping motions and diving head first into billions of waterways in search
of prey!

Heights of Ash and berries (such as those found in Acapulco and/or Baja, California)
give me a rush, especially when catching the atmospheric headwinds and soaring like
Icarus!

Although just a clumsy, fledgling gangly mass of skinny legs and feathers, a push from
me famous mother worm monger (the superb flier Harriet) found immediate fear when
warmly booted from out the nest!

Rather than be a bird din, this automatic instinct in the aviary species witnesses little
tufts of soft downy pirouetting in a downward spiral when just before making contact
with land, the natural reflexive welcome visits!

Fortunate for yours truly that an exceptional ability to escape an untimely close call
with terrestrial firmament witnessed an amazing power (e quill to pluribus Unum) to jet
far into the stratosphere where eagles soar!

Although bequeathed with such exemplary powers to wrench away from the tug of
gravity, I downplayed this skill and feigned being brought into this world (in the hands
of some unknown person) an ordinary set of claws with an atypical noteworthy tail
comprising prismatic colors when fanned out!

Always one to maintain modesty, the extraordinary ability to display awesome aerial
stunts fueled rumors within all four corners of the globe!

All the major squawk show hosts such as osprey winfrey, morey egret, springer falcon,
et cetera scrambled to enlist such feats of lighter than air ballet escapades!

Like the taste of fresh fish on salmon enchanted evening, I savored the adulation, yet
also felt obliged to provide for the surviving parents no matter that she hen pecked his
only male heir to the architectural splendor of his domain!

This equates to this wordy tweet!

This raggedy man

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by Matthew Harris

This raggedy man

whilst deep in sleep
this past night
what felt like galactic body fell upon this slumbering heap
affecting immediate fear lest worst nightmare would crush with might
but lo…just thee spouse plunked herself with unconsciousness deep
unable to recapture pleasant dreams well nigh past day light.

rather than emit shrieks like some angry birds
the idea arose to attempt poem to express discombobulated state
whereby grey matter feels similar to thick whey curds
palliative sans restorative power per rest will clear muddled pate
thick with grogginess and marauding herds
of mailer daemons worse than unsuitable mate
or a world wide web filled with nerds
thus lethargy purged via catharsis with forming words
that follow rhyming pattern to convey mood = to a synonym for turds.

respite from a cat nap as tonic no lion here
can spell relief and serve as balm
with pillow as temptress ever so near
beckons softly inviting calm
before this human goes a berserk manic tear
being revisited from haunts inside head of this mister mom
caught by men in white coats strait jacketing maniac in tattered under wear
whose tushy by the way oh about the size of an average palm
yet taut for witnessing deux score plus twelve mortal year.

The Great Indigo Squid

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The Great Indigo Squid

By Kris Levin

The great indigo squid residing

A goodish amount of leagues

Under the sea, latches onto me,

Pulls me down into its murky depths.

Unsettled dirt clog a formerly beautiful

Tranquil aquatic atmosphere as

Immense appendages pin my struggling form

Like a dragonfly caught in a spider’s web.

Stunted electric blue tentacles emerge

From out the mammoth beast’s beak.

Hanging sublimely suspended

Like a dancing lightning storm

Caught in time before my very eyes.

Entranced as I watched these electrical,

Fairy-like projections,

The creature let me go,

But leave I did not.

The bolts extended serenely towards

My person as I looked past its spectacle

Into this demon’s glowing bloodshot orbs.

Transfixed, I tried to scream, but alas,

I surrendered that privilege once I left the air above.

Unable to move as they jutted towards me,

Heart thumping madly to the point of combustion,

Filling with fears, pressures and anxieties,

Terror grabbing a-hold of me like a live wire,

Latching onto my chest like a parasitic infection,

Lungs constricted under its all-powerful grip;

Absorbing the very life-force and energy from my body.

Mind faint, world spinning, the monster set me free.

Floating to the surface, coughing and sputtering,

I feebly begin to swim back to the shore.

Always will I remember the tremendous journey.

Always will I bear its weight and scars.

Always in the watchful eye

Of the great indigo squid.

Matches

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The scent of sulfur is consuming me

As I open my mouth and try to breathe

Matches lie all over the floor

As I’m watching blue flames engulf the door.

 

A trail of red gasoline lines all of our things

We are finally victorious in this smoke

Silhouettes dancing along the walls

Soon to become ash

Bursts of orange highlight our past.

 

I wrap myself in blankets to remember the heat

As beams fall and everyone stares from the street

I close my eyes and can feel your heartbeat.

 

Shadows walk the ceilings

Take it slow, what are we afraid of feeling?

Yellow outlines the paint that’s peeling

Skin from bone

Take my hand darling, let’s go home.

 

-Rachel Allen

Raymond Carver Interviews: Prose as Architecture

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I’ve always believed writing is intensely personal – even if you’re writing fiction. Everything is rooted in your own mind and your own vision. That being said, I love reading author interviews to see where they write from, and compare it to the place from which I write. Not to change anything necessarily (maybe sometimes, though!) but just out of interest and curiosity.

I came across these two interviews with Raymond Carver, and to finish out our time with him I wanted to share them today. I think reading them is important and inspiring o us in thinking about our own relationships with our writing, and even our relationship with his (and other writer’s) writing.

 

Link here: http://www.iwu.edu/~jplath/carver.html

 

I’ll look forward to hearing your thoughts and interpretations!

Alone, by Alead Liebenau

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Alone
Miming around and seeing white
dream bubbles blow in circles
couches parallel to one another
Aleah and Jon
relaxing in backformation
legs fanning up and down
each toenail chipped with red paint
fingernails breaking
lips chapped
one glass table with
a book of Japanese culture
kitchen light
bright yellow sparkles
green flickering glow
small cough to the right
heavy breathing to the left
winking and blowing
awkward silence
one drop of sadness
disappointed eyes
there is no transition
Aleah leaves love alone
Jon walked into a white room

Buzz, by Rachel Allen

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There was a bee
That nestled in my hair
I had no idea that this little bee
Was there.

And I heard the buzzing
Which became home to me
We built our lives together
This little bee and me.

The comfort of the sound
Blocked everything else around
The buzz, buzz, buzz,
Everything lost, now found.

I’d sit and tell stories
Talking to this voice that sang in my ear
Little bee told me there was nothing
In this world to fear but me.

Then one morning as I awoke
I asked little bee a question
And he never spoke
The buzzing in my ear
Was no longer there.

I felt a pain in my neck
And as I moved my hair to see
Swollen marks, 1, 2, 3,
Little bee had bitten me.

Wondering what I had done wrong
I looked for where little bee
Could have gone.

There, little bee lied
On the windowsill
Next to my bedside
Little bee was gasping for air
With some white liquid
Pooling around him there.

I scooped up little bee
Hoping he’d now speak to me
“Please, I need your buzzing to keep me sane,”
I plea.

Little bee looked up at me
His little eyes crying “I’m sorry”
Pulling back my hair once more
At these marks that should hurt
I see the same white liquid leaking from my pores.

As the buzz, buzz, buzz slowly ceased
I wiped the liquid from my face
Sending it to a lab
To see why it caused little bee to now be dead.

The results came back within a week
From my pores, it was poison that leaked.

-Rachel Allen

untitled poem by Eric H LeGrow

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Lest charity cry from the fearful angel,
quell not the urges of want and remorse.
The avid quill and tearful song
are but instruments to our quiet musician.
He sits in darkness to compose our dreams and fantasies,
seeking naught but contentment with us as his muse.
So then it is also true to consider him a fool,
for his joy is sought also from the foul of our brood,
who seek not the melody
but burning of his toil.
Shall our dreams and woes be logs for the blaze?
If so,
such will be the demise of our race
amidst the inferno of wretched agony.