Tag: Poetry

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

Desk

The desk is slanted
Toward the armpit
The back is slanted
towrad the kidneys
The seat is slanted
toward the rectum

Thbe DBS is AKR
as is Life
Then

Scholarly Bullshit must
End
Fish Swim as do men
Down stream

The Boy takes
his car
and his
weakness – lacking the
Judge and

Falls agin into America

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

gosh jimmi you sure are unique – thankx I drink to much also – and never sleep? you bet.

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

To Worry over Ego is to Have Ego

Ergo
I will write
Not for fun of
Profit
or joyous bliss of Gain

Rather for
fear
of being found
Dry
in a summer rain.

And as the Scheme
and plan seem
stated
I will change my aim

And charge Blind
And madly
into

That unknowable void of
Brokien routine
Shattered structure of
constructuralism
Fearful mixings of the
Bones of the dead
With the blood of the
New.
– 10-02-90

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

A Haiku for U.

Until I
Retire from
Url I Work

Into the
Mouths of Babes
Information must trickles.

I ago
Returns
Unlike Farmers.

R i i g h t.

We are all one,
The Zodiac Lies.
Myers-Briggs is full of shite.
Life cannot be catorgorized
it is everything
Speration is simplicifcartion
And therefore Useless.
Generalization is the Key.

Thrust everything into one
Express it all in a dot
Promise everything
And keep the promise.
– 10-01-90

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

Thoughts on Cups.

With fluid and ice
A bit of Angst

Vice lends credo to myth

Blood and wine should not
be spilled.

Lids and corks
or
Knives and forks

Are more fun left in place

“I set you clear”
My brother said that until I figured out his game, set before he got hoe from swim practice and started eating my candybars more slowly.

Where as cups always
tip at the same
rate

The lost of childhood love
is paid slowly
throught the teeth
much unlick how fluids
are rightly consumed.

Ventrally.

My hypocampus would fit in every cup I have ever seen; where as my pen would fit in very few.

Comfortably.

I will sip tea
until I must pee
then Asleep I shall be.

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

Notes towards and Atypical Affair.

Stephan and I wondered into
A store
Rhino by name, as I recall.
Past pictures of the poor
shoplifters;
“Do the wrong thing”
Written in the Dirty Hall.

Punctuation then ceased
As a young girl Appeared.
Groving to Jazz
Stephan’s Fate reared
its head;
As I realized I called
him Steve
And She would never call.
At all.

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

Using a Pen
Turns me on.

I Tune in on
The Ink.
Focusing
on the
Flow
The rapid creation
of lines – seperating
paper into
Planes,
With spaces.

Dropping the Illusion
of Seperation –
following the
cliches till
they are
Once Again
Behind
You.

A mind is a wonderful thing
To waste

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

The Horror of the 1990 Dope Draught
psychedelic music feels
psychedelic music fills the air
Neil Yong

I hate poems
usually about
poetry
That don’t talk about
their
titles

<<>>

I hope they
Read
This
And come to
Take
Away

Everything which I
Hold
Dear
Cause I have an
Anarchist
Weapon

A death pistol
of
Mind
Fearless of their
Black
Boots

They have already done
The
Worst
And pay back will
Be
Sweat
-9-26-90

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

Whosh it comes Whosh
Across prismed
fleeing

An orange Bat
circling Irvine
A brown rat
entering a mine
Wealth Destroyed the
world –

Information will not
Bring it Back

Apathy, the spiritual anarchy,
Give it meaning
lends it support

No one morn the bat,
Fangs stuck in
Ceramic toads.
The Rat will Always
Resurface

#This is some bad poetry from a journal that has a pink bandana cover. It starts with a
#newspapaer clipping dated June 2, 1989.

A Poem for Mary Oliver

Pulitzer Prize my
Eye
Frank O’Hara adn I
can sort poems
Better with our
Feet.
Hour by Hour
you waste
Never Tasting the
Human.
Open your Ears:
Feel the Grass
Tickilings of
The Hammer and
Stirrup.
Charge open Armed
into the Experience
of your forgotten
weakness
– 9-22-90
Los Angeles

<<>>
Some Questions You Might Ask
by Mary Oliver
Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?
Who has it, and who doesn’t?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is as sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens here white wings slowly
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question lead to another.
Does it have a shape?
Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have on lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater
who lover her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about the maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?