Friday, December 14, 2007

goodbye you geniuses-of-the-heart of this class

here you are you beautiful people!

seated front row lt to rt,

andrea riley, rachel weiss, jamie brown, mylka valcin, gabriel gudding (wearing birkenstock boots)

seated second row lt to rt,

alexandrea davis, alissa veenstra, danielle zimmerman, stephen shoup

standing lt to rt,

emily meier, stu allard, stephen chamberlain, chas "buddy" pullman, christina frigo, andy hall (tall red hair), joe amadon

you are all missed dearly

Monday, December 3, 2007

Dear Friends...

Is anybody still here?
Loving-kindness to all of you.

Thursday, November 15, 2007


Toes at water’s waning
what is
the weight of a shoreline of sand?
i stand amid the seaweed encrusted melon rind
and search out a rock with a hole
a holed rock
in the bead shop of the downtown
pieces of coral pile in a small
glass bowl
copper fish displayed as at a market

plunge to where they are found
that which hides the ruin of man
and keeps his passion

and i will stand at a distance
holding hand above wave
and feel
and touch the song of a whale
beneath my rib cage
as explosion
that vibrates without colors displayed

weeds hang just below the surface
floating in wreaths, imperfect and organic
barnacles growths dangle at ends
of the fronds and sweep
the silty white covering
to build up the shoreline

the slow progression of pods
of whales
a choir, a chorus
i am dwarfed
something bigger than myself
lost am i

Collaboration Research 6

I enjoy researching poetry inspired by paintings. It is a great way to gain inspiration when you've run out of ideas. This week I discovered Anne Sexton. Anne was an American poet and writer. She struggled with bipolar disorder and an unhealthy need to please men. She once told her therapist that her only talent was prostitution. Through evaluation, Anne's therapist noted her creativity and encouraged her to take up poetry. Writing poetry became her livlihood and part of her therapy. She has won many awards, including the Pulitzer Prize in 1967.

I discovered Anne through Wikipedia, began googling her name, and found many of her poems. "The Starry Night" is a title shared between a painting by Vincent van Gogh and a poem written by Anne Sexton. Vincent van Gogh was known for his lonely feelings and endless creative energy. Anne's poem was an expression of what she saw in the painting. Below you will see both versions of "The Starry Night," as both a painting and a poem.

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of -- shall I say the word -- religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars.

--Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.

For more poems by Anne Sexton, click here.
oh see
sea of this earth
brush against me in your wisdom
seize my waves for
what humanely they are
smile in your saltness
lose sunglasses in your wonder
let the creatures of the liquid
slide into my face
teach me what I am made of
its dirtiest kin
sway with the trenches
deep with lovingness
crowding the sins of our future
let the sun breathe
warm on your bosom
for all the canters who
dominate your doors
make friends with the pelican
who bustles on that
round rock
believe into the tragedies
of your people
let their pain humble your
power whistling pure
the simplicity of all the species
they breathe their way
in and out
sustaining being
let those who protrude your beauty
the wonderment of the bluegreen
stay clean despite
their pursuing against
so oneday
we may drink for you


i waltz in Your rising
i scream in Your falling

i think i love you
You hug the sun
You run with wind
then bury my secrets
i cast them out with each rock skipped

but maybe i hate you
how are Your bones sea? fortified with calcium?
look inside
a body-slammed Titanic
swallowed without bite marks
does it taste good with salf?

Your skirt
a cool calling
waving threads of blues and greens
then fraying holes in fabric
yet i still come back for more


The sea’s burnt tragedy is cannibalistic death. Eternal wait, stick figure messiah grins in absence; draw lots. Wait, more wait, wait more, the sea is an endless lack of time. There is a hunger. There is hunger from the sea, from all things that gasp last breaths at taboos. More waiting, wait, wait until the sea is its own doppelganger, its own vague haunting simulacrum doubling upon itself. Its anticipation palpable. The bookie takes odds on thirst hunger or insanity, on the nutritional taste slake value of a half-pint of human blood. And the sea laughs, spits prayers, judges, finds wanting. Waiting more waiting, more thirst/hunger. The sun has left again; his dark toddler multiplies the base sea, the crying sea. And it will come. I have seen the leather liquor’s passing and the sound flee. Make good time and time good demon. The cerebellum bullet. The end of hunger waiting thirst.

To The Sea

To the Sea


Hey sea

where do u come from
who rained u
why are u dying i know why
how does that make u feel
don't answer that
seasick right

oh little sea
big sea
vast sea
motherfucking humongous sea
u is big
where are u now
why dont u kill us
we been bad
we didnt mean to

sometimes its a mystery
why we are so blah

we little flecks of foam
morphed out of you

and we have not grown
we have but now we decay
but occasionally we make nice
but now we get weird compexity
we think we all big and shit
bigger than the sea
and we got philosophy
Derrida and particle accelerators
we can destroy u, nuke you
we got your # mr c
we kill universe
take over
waterboard the sun
make sun talk
tell us where the codes are hidden

Icarus dedalus, poseidon
dead dead dead dead dead
triton jason jonah moby dick jaws
all fizzled up made into oil

goodbye sea
rain no more
we can see clearly now
we are fucked and there is no god
to come down and spank us
no god to save us, hug us, hegel us
we killed god, didnt we nietzsche

oh see vast and lonely dying sea
maybe jimmy buffet will sing for u
goodbye sea
tatata earth
we go fuck up some other world now
that's the way things are

u must be joking
u cynical old fuck
get a life!
Stop using u in your poem
when you know damn well it's YOU

well well well
we'll wait and see
we always do
maybe we'll make it
some do, some don't
how bout sending a little rain this way

one day we may drink for you unselfishly
one day we may cry tears made by you instead of pepsi
one day we may watch you perform beaches, sunsets, splashy cliffs
one day we may save ourselves, save you, save god, and stuff
one day we may drink together, collaborate on a poem together, maybe a rewrite of Dover Beach from your perspective...
one day we may get to know the real you... do lunch sometime
negotiate your dispute with the moon, maybe make love
catch a movie... have children: half fish, half poem
we could be cute little ellipsis floating through space
and when I drown in you, you will absorb my thoughts


Off the cruise ship we got on the bus
and are poured beer into cups by mi amigo
who is a professoro who guides us and takes
tips like scholars of old- little did I know then
that I would soon be adjuncting too... but now
I am the ugly american, here to exploit him,
you know, see how he lives, that's how I spend
my vacation, spending money and shit.

So after sweating my ass off, nearly fainting in Tulum
I imagine what bastards the Spaniards must have been
and I stare at the jungle as my 7th cup of beer evaporates into the sweaty air

In Jamaica we sing Jamaican Farewell on the bus to the plantations and we spit
sugar cane and make jokes about marijuana, my brother and I, not the guide...
and ian fleming references, bob marley, blue mtn coffee, jerk chicken and poverty
looks like it was made by disney and uncle Remus gonna come around singing
zippity doo dah, although we are a bit too far south for that.

In grand cayman, we retrace the setting of the firm and I get salt water in my eyes
and don't swim, so I drink cognac and eat rumcake, poor me
think of all the money laundering -this place is well off seemingly
but I imagine that an asteroid like the one that killed off the dinosaurs
might hit the carribean again just like the one on the History channel
and this island with no high ground will be devoured by hundreds of feet
of water.
Where will all the money go?


In ocho rios, we swam
where the cool river water cascaded down a
nd converged with the hot sea
and it is a wonder we ever climbed out
of the water

in playa del carmen
mom and dad swam in an underground river
while John and I sweated in Tulum's ruins

On the boat, I watch
midnight in the garden of good and evil
the apostle and the wedding singer

at the dining table
we are served by
a waiter from war torn
Yugoslavia and he works 18 hour days
for tips
our housekeeper from Africa does likewise
and the ship saild through 3 hurricanes
percolating in the carribean

then came keywest, Sloppy Joes
Jimmy Buffet and hemingway's 6 toed cats
then it was back to the normalcy
of Las Vegas nevada which is located
at the bottom of an ancient sea
long since dried up.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

collaborative poetry

This is an awesome poem, I just googled collaborative poetry & found this:

Waiting for scars.
The fist, an augured wind that blew
against a cheek that turned
away again, already burned
with shame
'Breathe' said the lungs
in a sweating cage of blank devotion
bidding joy and all emotion
to silence
'Stand' said the bone
a splintered act of moderation
lapis tattoo of adoration
a joke
'Steal' said the mind
to feed the poor and battered love
ragged-winged, bleeding dove
of misery
'Wait' said the soul
'be patient
time will heal, and
when there's nothing left at all to feel
try scars'
(John Ahearn/Kate Bousfield)
Sea’s Sick Lullaby
Emily Meier

Your echoing voice against the great stone walls
hits my ears like lonesome calls
Such fury can be felt when thrashing the rocks
mist flying into the air dampening what lies around
Your hand-like waves move the beach
forward and backward
motion like a dance
A romantic dance between you and your partner
Out of your foam came Aphrodite
the goddess of love born that day
It’s that same sea that took my love away
Your mighty arms wrapped him and rocked
using his boat as a baby’s cradle
to sleep to sleep
a sea’s lullaby
sea’s sick lullaby
I lay on this shore each night
looking at the sky and stars
Reflection dancing across your body
I listen to your howls
You moan as if for someone
yet you cannot hear my moans
My tears run and my cries echo
yet I know you don’t care
If you cared of such a love
you would not have rocked the boat too hard
Those walls of water went up
then down like stone upon that boat
I enter your domain willingly
The water comes upon me as a blanket
Wrap your arms around me
Be strong enough to fight my struggles
Carry me out
I want to see him

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Example of Collaborative Poem

throbbing gristle, by Andrei Codrescu, Laura Rosenthal, Mark Spitzer and Robin Becker

I'm pro-clam
O Pro Tubular comet raise your sungod blone.
Poets move away
from genitals. Move toward
the seed that shudders a velocity that
will achieve NADA

(margin release should never be taught to anyone under 60
'cause then they cut you off
& capitalize on every return
suckling with your gray matter)

do it

move beyond that female hat-stink brat
smell sweet cosmos leaning into nothing
as gaseous and deep in camp
and like the smell of children kill
breathing through the swirl of mice
lopez was a wolf his wolverine was stoned

the avocado was an orphan of the Manatee of Glove
the hair of pearlflesh was the rape of Ophelia in bloom
succulent ripple roseflesh lunch

she who gorges gorgeously
will be first in line for organ donation
her name is Cindy Crawford
I think.

(I hope I'm not breaking any copyrights by posting this. -SMA)

Collaborative Project

This is by Richard Garcia from his latest collection
The Persistance of Objects Rochester N.Y.:BOA editions, 2006.

This particular poem is a collaboration with Moby Dick
like the suggestion in our course syllabus,
Garcia as he explained at one of his readings
wrote a paper some 45 years ago in a freshman college class
and it failed. He ended up dropping out of college...
but it ended up making a good poem.

from "Under a Black Flag"

In my Moby Dick Captain Ahab is Hitler.
That's why he stomps around, dragging his peg leg,
muttering about those Jews, Gypsies, mongrel intellectuals,
communists, homosexuals, and decadent artists--
they all coalesce into the image of that cursed whale, cursed
albino with the black heart, black blood, black milk of emptiness!
And the Pequod, the Pequod is Western Civilization
following the white whale through an existential darkness
of a world made lonely from the Death of God.
Hitler, poor Hitler can't find any Aryans to join his crew
so he settles for American Indians, Blacks, and Ishmael,
whom he suspects might be an Arab. Me? I'm in the book tooo-
Pepito the cabin boy. Being illegal, I have to sleep
down in the hold with the rats and the ballast
graveyard dirt-and I sleep well, rocked
by creaking timbers, and the herds of whales singing
ghostly utulations of Ahab's death song. But my Moby Dick
is in a kind of eternal present. That's why Nathaniel Hawthorne
leans toward Herman Melville as they bounce along
in a horse-drawn carriage and tells him about the article he read
in the Gazette-a white whale often seen off the island of Mocha,
that the sailors call Mocha Dick....

Thursday, November 8, 2007

The Hitler Tree

This tree is not hitler
Nor is it Alice Notley
Nor Michel Foucault
Nor Joe Pesci’s dentures

This tree is logical positivism
This tree is Esperanto
This tree is a ham sandwich
Vibrating in my cellphone crotch

This tree is a spermwhale
But not the red sea
Nor is it Mussolini
Or Tito Puente

This tree is on fire
(notify the next of kin)
It has boobs, dances
Boobies are dangling

From the branches
The tree dogs me, cats me
Shakes me, fondles me
I love my tree

My anus tree
No it’s not poetry
It’s not art, nor news
Song, blues, Nein!

The tree is treeful, treeness
Treelicious, tree-rific
The tree is a cunt
It is cunty-riffic

The tree is a salamander
Advocating the left wing agenda
The tree is bulletproof, praying
That you are not a tree

You think you are
But you’re not!
You are like the tree
Maybe you are the tree

Maybe you are
the fucking tree! Happy?
The tree is not/is Hitler.
We are all Hitler.

No, nein, not Hitler
tree is orgasm.
Yes… that is
what the tree is.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

Tomorrow tomorrow

to sit and focus on Survival alone
straight ahead
eyes on the Prize
an Acorn
no attention to what is around
so many colors
it’s about living Life
what is Ahead
no Time for Today
Tomorrow’s coming
no Time to sit and enjoy
the Yellows, Blues, Greens
so many Hues
have to be ready for what’s Ahead
Life without Routine is still
look around
the Yellows, Blues, Greens
the Now
worry about Tomorrow
if Tomorrow isn’t there tomorrow
at least you had


Nose running,
skin drying,
Lips chapping,
Fingers turning -

He dreads opening to door
entering the white.
With the frost set in,
ground hard and unbreakable.
The weather -

Straining toward to path.
Looking back at the prints
left as he moves forward.
With each step his feet grow colder.
The icy water seeps through the crevice
and the bitter chill winds it's way in
between and opening in his coat.
force force force
force yourself to write each day
forceful force
let the force be with you
fornicate with the force
let it be with you in bed
let it whisper those lies
you love so much
force the pen to page , scribble sins
you were forced to commit
mental hospital
feel the forceful river flow
it flows
at least it’s flowing
feel the fantasy of inking
especially knowing
feel your mind just be in a costume
what are you for halloween?
a poet
a slutty one?
sorry, no
it’s nice the slutty is for only one
ah, back to commit again

Memo to Greenbaum

Contraption no way is which way
a convoluted series of tubes
something that Ted Stevens must’ve invented
each color takes you on a different path
triangle quadrilateral
up and down the steps
body like a trampoline
the enigma bounces on me
keeping your focus like Sisyphus Junior

Autoshape command doesn’t do justice
three dimensions for the price of two
a subway map for your creative fugue
understanding you more today
than I did yesterday
making sure it’s due
when the deadline is infinity
and time is relative to an orphan

Up in the corner
a window to the edge of nothing
Exit 47, you can’t miss it but you will
pay the toll with intangible quarters
before you’re nickeled and dimed to submission

Thursday, November 1, 2007

what do you think?

did anyone else have a difficulty with the elegy poem? I found it weird and uncomfortable and I didn't want it to be self-indulgent or whatever--

How did you all decide to write your elegy? I really like them all



When I die eat donuts b/c I love donuts
When I die take naps b/c I love naps
When I die be stubborn b/c I am stubborn
When I die make dinner b/c I love dinner
when I die check your email every five minutes
When I die sing Salt n Pepa b/c I love Salt N Pepa
When I die don’t wear panty hose don’t bite your lip don’t eat
habeneros don’t say the word slut or bitch or bastard
When I die quote the Gilmore Girls read Kenneth Burke passages dress
like zombies be sarcastic talk about how you hate children big
dogs old people who drive slow
When I die give away my books
When I die write me letters I will write back
When I die have lots of sex or if you can’t have sex masturbate
When I die take showers all day long or shower baths or baths with
When I die vacuum the main room dust the television light candles but
not in church don’t go to church when I die go to the mall or buy bread from local grocers or coo coo with the little pigeons
When I die carve pumpkins bake pumpkin seeds and put them in little
baggies and pass them out and say this if from Andrea!
When I die drink cold Sambuca tequila w/o groceries long island ice
teas capecods w/lime
When I die play hopscotch and get chalk on your fingers
When I die write Jacob stories about dandelions and kitties and aliens
When I die wear all of your jewelry at once or hats or ties or lipstick
and kiss people
When I die say hello to inanimate objects b/c they are alive hello
lamppost hello train hello post office hello McDonalds hello computer hello book hello poptart hello microwave
When I die don’t drive b/c I hate driving
When I die talk about yourself
When I die say hello to animals hello cows, why are you a cow?
Hello sheep, hello blackbirds hello kitties hello camels hello
llamas hello squirrels how is your acorn?
When I die speak the Ojibwe say the word for blueberry pie
b/c it’s the longest Ojibwe word
Miin-aan baash kimini-sij-i-gan bitooyin sij-i-gan-bukwayszhiigan
When I die don’t bury me next to my dead kitty or my dead birds or
my husband or my children or my parent’s graves or my sister’s graves or my brother’s grave


You left the stove light on
before you went out.
I don’t blame you
because you never knew
you weren’t coming back.

And it’s okay,
because I turned it off
while I was waiting for you
to come home.
I waited
I waited until the next morning
when the paper hit the door
and the news hit my core.

You used to be a little flighty
and you read too many books.
You had this way about your dancing
and your head-tilt-back laugh.
You had the passion of a dreamer
and the wisdom of a doer
the vibrancy of a Jackson Pollock
and the fragile heart of a child
but we’ll all remember you
beautiful you
as the best kind of half-crazy—
unyielding in your attempts
to save the world
and all of us.

Now that those eyes will never open,
the shine has gone from everything.


Photographs that hold moments in time
a way of looking at the world
looking at her
always there
and in the leaves that scatter the ground
the seeds that scatter
a footprint on the floor
from where a dancer has just leapt
walking in between rows
of tall growing prairie grass
field grass
sitting silent on a ledge
and loving
my dear
clothed in comfort
and prisms of light

Painting Poem

fabric stretching
Silver Cloud a puppeteer
of a shelter of colors
the sheet tents of a child’s childhood
the ship that carries and keeps
eyelash that the wish was made on
gusts, billows
breath makes flutter the flags
none can touch save her and hers
apple tree branches float beside
and messages sent on the bands of Canada geese
cardboard cut-outs of paper dolls
cut from the lining of the boat
patchwork quilt covers them both
patched with doilies and lace
and float them on a sea
owl eyes watch from cloth barns
a castle of leaves
and i am the gardener
sleep there in a room of exquisite oaks
and knock three times
when i shall come to take you back


never read
all the great books
always an excuse
for tomorrow

never traveled
poor and trapped
in a cycle of spending

never fell
in love cynical and jaded
everyone too good
or not good enough

never had
a God faith making no
more sense than love

never told
friends that time spent with
them was all that mattered in
the end

collaborative project

This is a poem my little brother Jacob (he's ten) and I are writing--we started this b/c he's always bored and I told him to write me something about dandelions, aliens, and kitties (I said it had to be 4 paragraphs)--this is what he wrote and then I wrote back--I will continue to post our replies each week--as you can see he is a much better writer than me.

the dandelion has turned white and the seeds are flying away bye seeds hay that seed burned formed the sun that one drown in the ocean uh oh no more seeds so sad uh oh uho uh oh uh oh uh oh uh h uho not 4 paragraphs but good right but that seed turned into a dandelion i missed counted uh oh read again for more cycles

Sweet Alien! Here is a dandelion for you b/c you are green b/c you have big eyes like jacob eyes like a kitty eyes like my kitty Sweet Alien! Why do the cows moo moo? Why do the birdies twitter twitter? Let's go south and see the ocean let's go to Disneyland and ask Mickey to pay Goofy and Minnie more money. Sweet Alien! I miss my little brother b/c he has dimples b/c he likes chocolate and harry potter and movies and i like those things too.

Dandelion--your seeds are in my hair and in the Sweet Alien's teeth. Dandelion I will see you in the spring if you see Jacob tell him I say hello

reflection of she/me

she sat underneath the overshadowing tree

bashfully hidden from the world, what she did best

she was prolific with words that overflowed

her book

each meaning more than what it read

she was inspired by her past

she was inspired by her future

her future of defection--

molding her unique being

craving for satisfaction

she learned would not be discovered within

the limits of the world

family built her fragile bones

friends were the muscles surrounding them

influencing her agile nature

stability breathed into her

many came, few remained

yet only one thing real in her life

one thing that had true definition

no matter what HE was there to stay

whether or not she left him, she’d always make her way

back into his asylum

continuously mistaking worldly comforts

for what can only be temporary thrills

she was blessed and quickly learned

false love could not last

an understanding grew like branches

she inherited an abundant life

feeling like she struggled as no other

resulted in her gaining the strength of ten men

she represented beauty, faith,

independence, intellect

A child of her mother

from tears to laughter

pain to bliss

insecurities to confidence

silence to a voice

girl to WOMAN

she found her in him

she found life collected till her end

Where The Tracks Used to Be

Ten thousand shades
of tender green
beside the Langley road

__remember when there was dancing
__and Bellinis and tealights

they would only lay
the flat clay roof
at the full of the moon

__then darkness
__with echoes remaining

of coal dust
on the stripped door

__straight out of the sauna
__we roll through new snow

the timeless
and hungry arms
of emptiness

__in her dreams she always slept
__in a different bed

he knew
all his wishes
would never come true

__white lilac is pompom
__and poodle and first communion

hand-made soap
wrapped in paisley
on the wicker platter

__if my love were jam
__it would be fig and ginger

moonseeds —
pine cones tumbling
out of the sky

__everyone has the same cold
__that goes then comes back

at death
she might
let go

__I imagine your favourite jumper —
__green cashmere, tudor-sleeved

nose to tail
the lurcher pup
wriggles free

__a mother skips with her child
__where the tracks used to be

wild daffodils —
smaller, softer
more golden

__at sunset
__all we caught was rain.

Linda France
Tim Foxall

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

a poem for the sad apples

sometimes, like now
I pick an apple
to eat out of a bowl
on my green counter top
but I question if I
picked the right apple
or whether apples are more delicious with more apples present
whether the other apples
are jealous
not to mention
the other fruits

my grave will only say

Well, maybe next time.


oh the cold clay that I will become bright
being pouring from me tissues
made of memories made
of semen and sunlight trapped
inside me bubbling up to the tips of my

toes that certainly have walked through
this before my secret stench gathering in tight
pockets of flesh unsecrets the diamond and the
tadpole afloat in the weight of me
released to the quiet smoking moment

mother and lover dogged skeleton quaking
teeth and treetops in their wild
dark dancing alone beneath the clouds and metals.

gritty fibers of unbeing palms pushed
to seeing
trapped beneath thrusts that release from

where I am going
I came so hard
that I remembered and
yet here we laugh again
here we are I am again

such a time I had
fucking, dying, flying
laa la laa inside your pinball machine
greasy fingers poking my
eyes to a gaze
come on cut the astral cord
here comes the reeling sound
here comes the trumpets bound
crystals and cotton the absence
forgotten making room for me
making room for me

thank you for the way you only now realized
you forgot
here’s me not hearing I am

starstruck skullfuck grapes and
bright wallpaper
maybe next time kid
it will only say
maybe next time
the mama won’t recycle the wheel
but you know she’s a circle
and you love to keep spinning
maybe next time kid
kept your seat warm

starpuke spread out on the unmade bed
she’s sleepy
for the night night song
yr a night night bird
with a skeleton for

her meat to spin in
meat likes to know itself
I’m sure we are
not sure we are

Colaboración con Borges y Casares

Long time friends and collaborators Jorge Luis Borges and Adolfo Bioy Casares (both de Argentina) have collaborated on various works together. What interested me about their relationship was their longtime commitment to one another's work, and commitment in collaboration with one another, producing the following over a span of several decades:

Seis problemas para don Isidro Parodi (1942)
Dos fantasías memorables (1946)
Un modelo para la muerte (1946)
Libro del Cielo y del Infierno (1960)
Crónicas de Bustos Domecq (1967)
Nuevos cuentos de Bustos Domecq (1977)

(Casares worked under the pseudonym H. Bustos Domecq)

Break Out the Elegy

Stuart Matthew Allard
August 18th, 1984 – present
writer, comedian, radio personality
beloved son and brother
founder of the Dr. and Mrs. Stuart M. Allard Memorial Scholarship Fund
even though he wasn’t married and only had a bachelor’s degree;
a Kansas City Royals fan
in a sea of Pale Hose and Cubbie blue
the zigger in an army of zaggers
either the funniest person you ever met, or the most demented
a 5’9”, 165 pound force
trivia buff extraordinaire
capable of correctly guessing a person’s gender on no more than two tries

Cause of death unknown
but there’s plenty of assumptions
my best guess was all that coughing eventually did him in
others will argue that his short-attention span proved fatal
though it’s really hard to explain

Stu led a good life
accomplished a lot in a small window of time
never cared much for saccharine, lovey-dovey stuff
he wanted meat, not marshmallows
a very straightforward way of living


Somewhere between Existence and Nonexistence

The constant chill
running through my veins
awakens me to the truth
I cannot grasp
I remember the accident
the hospital bed
the scent of the sheets
the voices around me
crying, shaking me, begging me
Come back, Danielle.

I see myself
but no one else does
I am invisible
try to get your attention
try to move things
push things
but they slide right through me
as though I don’t even exist.

but I stand here
I feel the cold
the pain
its inside of me
I am real.

I am stuck somewhere
between life
not quite dead
holding on for something

Why can’t I have closure
things always end
no one tries to take the time to explain
they just say their graces
and leaves
but no one explains WHY ME.

No one ever tries to hold my hand through this
or say it’ll be easy
you’ll be okay
they just weep for their loss
for their lack of closure
for their own pain-reeked feelings

One day I will get my closure
and my body
my mind
will be put to rest
up in the clouds
feeling warmth again
feeling alive again
resting in peace.

collaborative Poetry

I found a website that has a bunch of LONG collaborative poems that is up for constant additions (people keep adding on work to it) its from a while ago so I think its done with, but I thought it was interesting because they were all so long & from so many different people. The website is and one of my favorite poems from this selection is called Sound Theory for an Absurd Practice.

Check it out.

Fear of Death

do not fear Death.
others should.
it is those hiding their Truth
they should fear It.
not only Death,
but what comes after.
they will get what they deserve
as will you.
ask for Forgiveness.
that’s it,
be better than those who doubt the Lord
going against His will.
He will see and give you your reward.
nothing tangible
you will be rewarded with a life if eternity.
This reward cannot be taken from you.
the Lord
receive your reward
Stray from
the Lord
That is the time
Fear Death

Comic Elegy, Song Elegy

Bad Elegy

Dear Andy, sorry you had to die
but no more rent to pay
no more innathatgreat gittin up morning
no more heartbreaks or viceversa
or snuggling cept with the earth
you are the earth
he welcome to death land
please take a brochure

would you like a serenade
a table with a view

would you shut your eyes
and look inside

did you lose a leg along the way
here have it back

oh you red, come here
your collar's up, whew
B.O. Man BTW nice poetry
what else did you do

ah, your vitae, let's see
not enough experience, son, sorry, you have to go back

Have you had your death today?
Eternal no one
Every myn, booboisee
what have you lost
what have you gained
are you having a nice elegy young man?

Deathy death.
don your blindfold man, smoke your last
say something profound a-hole,
smile, say cheese

Dear Andy,
sorry you died
now the world can't go on
it ceases to exist,
love, death.


Good Elegy:

You are the earth
You are the sun
The world is spinning
and we become clouds

we rain we snow
we sing we blow
we make we kill
we till the soil,
till ever, till when
till maybe the end

oh you young one
with pizza in hand
devour it good
and taste every smide

be happy, be sad
and dream of the rockets
and go and get big
and wander your way

and kiss and hold
and touch and warm
and make and send
them off again

and grow up and old
and sit and decease
and meet the old earth
and put bone back in rock

you are earth
you are sun
and you're spinning
a cloud


pelting rain drip drop to a standstill
callous skies unfasten your prisoner

sound the flame of being
where death no longer burns
tonight make it right
hands in the air make sweet beats
and only just for Her

kindness her cloak woven through strands of daily attire
stars etched into flesh of palms
while the un-reached still smile because She drifts among them
with one request God “bench press my burden”
(yeah, i think that’s what she’d say)
“lift up empty tummies”
“lift up naked bodies”
“God lift up their low self-esteem”
“lift up the hopeless to land on hope”
(yeah, i know it i know that’s what she’d say)

passion in her wind
strength in her storm
you were on her mind

no hint of silence as curtains close
you dance circles i applaud encore
this was Her life.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

An Elegy

other than breathing
we haven’t moved in
how many minutes
a real bell, sounds
even with all the
not knowing involved
the sounds of the train
blaring through our windows
they aren’t the same
cross those tracks
although steel and cold
tell his mother
there are stars aligned
we often chase clouds wondering
if we ever knew well enough to matter
as a family of sand grains
lay on a Puerto Rican beach
if our message in a battle
ever reached the love that it slid thru
for if the script ever blessed with eyes
flew over to a touch,
which would chill your gut to commiserate
it was okay to give
it was okay to grieve
the pinch and wake up syndrome
please tell his mother
there is a day, his love extended far up to the fireplace
reached through cloudy air
for the heavens
true beating , you will breathe in
but it will never be okay
bow down to the calm that may never come
for you, who felt him
for all of those who didn’t
for the silence that hasn’t moved in
how many minutes

Hey guys!!!

I changed my poem around. The one y'all critiqued last week. Please let me know what you think because I want this to be good for the reading next week!!! Thanks


Mistakes of the past
the lies whispered

all over her body
the regrets of forgiving, taking him back.

Crimson stained into his shirt color
with late night pages and the scent of juicy couture

the love they shared was
as fake as that tramp he was assimilating with

shoving her belongings into a large suitcase
carelessly, effortlessly

the inscribed necklace for their one year anniversary
(tossed into the bag)
his favorite night gown
when she wore his hands were glued to her body

(crumpled up inside next to)
a picture frame of the family they were starting
two heads, two hearts, two bodies

only one was ready.

she left.

snow tossed from sky to ground

found her feet dragging to the place she least wanted to be
standing, staring

her life in bags weighing her down
eyes red and swollen from the drippings of her heart.

The empty foundation of their soon to be

incomplete empty bleak.

like her heart, it too was missing something

Stepping, gliding, over pieces of their unfinished life
she sits on the snow covered foundation
of the existence she’ll never go back to
and cries
for everything it meant

Collaborative Project

Mr. Koch's volume is useful pedagogically, but also for personal exercises as well.

Included are two chapters on collaboration specifically, one on just two people, and another one on a whole class collaborating...

Here is a poem from Mrs. Weick's class of fifth graders who by now are probably in their late forties.

Goodbye, Mr Koch

Be sure to go to the German Alps and say hello to my Dad
Eat a lot of apple strudel in Germany
Maybe you can dig a tunnel and find another tunnel where
Prisoners are escaping from East Berlin
Eat all the Italian type spaghetti
Try making some pizza
Eat matzoh balls
Knock down the Leaning Tower of Pisa
And you'l have a lot of help: It'll be leaning already
Go to Naples and drink wine
and visit Sibernus for me
You can roam around Rome
Feed somebody to the lions at the Coliseum
Or go chariot racing
Eat the bottom ring of the ice cream in Naples
Be the third Columbus
Take some Spanish dancing lessons
See the bullfights in Madrid
But don't faint
When they pick you to be the matador too
Run a million miles away
Don't eat any enchiladas
They're too hot
Don't forget your bathing suit
Make sure you don't drown
We want you back
Don't go crazy with your language
Don't forget to button up your overcat
Send us a couple of cheeses from Switzerland
Don't Break your leg skiing
Send me a sample of snow
In a hot stove
Don't go on any Israeli Airlines
Don't meet the Wolfman
Don't work in the Radium Dial Company
You'll get Leukemia
Mrs B. works there-they call her that- she had leukemia
Make your hair grow long and join the Beatles or buy a wig
Hold your ears at 12 o'clock when you're near Big Ben
Don't watch the girls in miniskirts (this is a recording)
Bring an umbrella and bring an overcoat
Go see Queen Elizabeth and bring back some of her jewels
Bring Charlie Chaplin with you
Install windshield wipers on your eyeglasses
Visit Camelot and steal King Arthur's crown
And meet the stupid Knight in Red
And marry Guinevere
Don't run into a bobby
Go on top of the Tower and don't fall off
England swings like a pendulum do
With the crown and jewels buy an airplane
Get some feathers and make them into wings and fly back
Walk back so you won't get highjacked
Swim the English Channel and fly back
Go by boat and take some seasick pills
(Don't forget to take Guinevere)
Don't forget to write

Koch, Kenneth. Wishes, Lies, and Dreams: Teaching Children To Write Poetry New York: Perrenial, 1970, 62-63.

Collaboration Research 5

I googled "Collaboration Poetry" and stumbled upon a collaborative poetry page on Here, I found The Albany Poetry Worshsop. The Albany Poetry Project is a collection of poems written online via messageboard style. Each poem starts with a line from a well-known poem by a familiar author. Readers/writers then create a brand new poem by posting lines of their own. Each contributor is only allowed to post one line per visit to the website.

The poem I found most interesting is entitled, "An August Afternoon." It was completed October 27, 1997. The first line is from a poem by Bronislaw Maj.

Please visit following link. It will lead you to a page of poems by The Albany Poetry Project. Click on "An August Afternoon" to view the poem in original format. Also, feel free to check out the other poems.

Friday, October 26, 2007


Slit my wrists and hang me out on a line to dry.
There is nothing left.
I am your savior –
your sacrifice –
but no savior to myself.
Tears rush in to bloodied arms, cries for those I’ve loved and lost,
cries for those who have not yet gone within me.

In the name of the Father,
Soiled linens lay on the floor –
lost hopes of reconciliation.
Jumbled thoughts asking –
who am I today?
It will differ from tomorrow.
Once the lightning strikes again,
or the full moon rises –
and who I was then transforms.

Don’t pity those.
Who feel sorry for themselves.
stupidity and pride have set in,
nothing can save them now.
For I can do nothing without He who strengthens me.

As it was in the beginning,
Is now,
And ever shall be.

I am lost.
World without end,
a lost soul,
a troubled soul,
still on my bloodied knees with my rosary,
praying to the unseen,
for answers to silent questions.
Seeking help and forgiveness from the spirit,
crying out to Him –

for what I have done
and for what I have failed to do.

Sandra Scolnik

You disappearing act you.
Blending in with the drapes and the carpet -
suffering in your world
of deep floral designs and pink taffeta -
everything you ever really wanted
pink satin panties,
a taste for the good life,
a desire for something you are not.

I don’t feel sorry for you
your superior personality diminishing
in the darkness of your daily life.

I hope it was everything
you every really wanted,
what ever fills up the holes in your pocket -
with dreams of peppermint and rainbows -
or whatever helps you sleep at night -
beyond the
Valium and Prozac.

You have good reason,
to doubt,
to lie,
to cheat,
to die.

And that’s what you did -
you disappearing act you.

Thursday, October 25, 2007



Hi, Andy. Andy called Pumpkin reaches above and removes his lid, disc with stemmed handle. Concentrating, his face tightens until his fingers find their target. Get distracted as they further corrugate the already corrugated cortex with massages. Each movement of the hand corresponding indirectly with thrashes before me in the chair. As if he enjoyed locating the response, prolonging the removal of it from his person, more than proffering it. His face blurred and chewing itself but, Andy, this searching through your brain is enough. I say hi to everyone. If you must respond, wave or raise your eyes. He shakes and withdraws his hand; clutches a tape recorder.

Even with much orange matter falling from his hand, he knows better than I that the words on the tape recorder are Hi, Andy which he will use in lieu of his response, but not in my voice because his thoughts have obscured the phrase swaddled it sieved it. The finger’s wet streak pushes the play button and euphoric eyes that say, to lie to myself that by not speaking by giving you back your words I eschew rhetoric, semantics, etc.—this lie and its effect are akin to coitus.

And me: this is not hearing one’s voice and thinking, that’s doesn’t sound like me; that, in fact, is not me; even if that were me, that is me in thought not speech; but rather that is not me and I wish it were. What are the logistics of exclusively responding via submerged tape recorder? How much do I care that my wife will leave me that I will be ostracized when I entreat Andy to accompany me indefinitely? And will he shatter the tape recorder within the endocarp when he realizes my obsession, and succor himself instead with the physics of fragmented plastic and tape; coruscations smiling from the walls each time a shard pierces a particular mound of endosperm, as if the seeds therein had grown sweetly sharper. But to not speak or respond or laugh until I have done so to Andy alone and had him again extract the recorder so that I may play it for whomever. If not, how to inject my voice with seeds and pulp, muffle it with Andy’s hearing it. To speak only as someone’s brain absorbs your voice, reconfigures around it, falls through it.

Even for strangers, your first voice would have to be in their brains, quiet somewhere in a room and awaiting its next iteration; yet when it arrives the original is cloaked, sporting a false nose and mustache, and oddly cantankerous…

Leviticus Revisited

If its mind is burnt from the herd, it will offer a male without blemish
bring it to the entrance of the tent, it may be blasphemed

It shall lay its hands on the burnt mind, and atonement be made

kill the bull before, and Discourse's sons shall bring the blood and throw it against
the sides of the altar, the entrance to meeting

Then it shall flay the burnt mind and cut it into pieces,
and the sons of Discourse shall put fire on the altar

And Discourse's sons, the priests, shall arrange the pieces, the head, and the fat
but its entrails and legs, wash with water

burn all of it on the altar, as a burnt mind, a food mind with a pleasing aroma to the Lord

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Rachel Weiss & Jamie Brown-Apology

Dearest Jamie. My sincere apologizes for pointing out your faults to the class
in which we write. It was very wrong of me and it will not happen again.

hey Rach
no worries
apology accepted
but do you remember? i started this mess
an instigator at heart exploding with malice
i just might be the spawn of satan
it's true that
i deserve nothing but ask for something that may take ALL you have
can you ever forgive me?
i am so very sorry

Sweet Jamie, worry not. Let us not quarrel about who started this hurt that we
both share. Better to make amends and leave the past in the past. It is
impossible for me to fathom the words that came from my fingertips onto the
page, insisting that you were not worthy of praise and only scorne. How wrong
I have been. For you, Jamie, are one of the most sincere people that it has
ever been my priviledge to know. Thanks be to creative writing for allowing me
to meet you.

my darling Rachel
your fingertips compose truth
walk on to future in bare feet
my dog ate my goody two-shoes
humbled by such mercy
a sublime child of God you are
quite deserving of adoration
you possess an altruistic heart

It has become abundantly evident from our correspondence
that yours is a compassionate nature. Your character is one that makes you admired by
those that surround you. Dedicated to the passions that you have in life,
you are a model of what we all strive to be.

the worlds roots tangled in haughtiness
but you dear Rachel wear a quiet confidence
grounded in goodness
you carry the burden of others
work ethic dynamic
attitude inspiring
generosity patience and virtue
fall upon us in ticker-tape fashion

Always joy is seen on your face
even in the midst of adversity
a kind word you have for all
you relate to those around you
in sincerity
Jamie, never do you pull people down
you are always looking for a way to raise someone
to a position higher than yourself
and create strong ties with all those have helped
in your Jamie way
a wonderful way

i'm the Jamie way
you're the Rachel way
dare we say one way's the right way?
we're two ways one ending
but still just the same

Apology poem Andrea/Alex

Friend, I apologize for my earliest remark—it was so bad I cannot speak of this—I love your 64oz cup! I am always thirsty and I stare at your amazing container of beverage, longingly wishing for a sweet swig of cold liquid!

Alex, I congratulate you for your knowledge on corn—I am a mere city girl—I only know where to locate wifi! I want to know all there is about corn! I thank you for sharing your knowledge!

Alex, I congratulate you on your ability to make wedding cakes. Oh! How I wish you would make my wedding cake! How my day would be so much better!

Alex, I congratulate you on your wonderful blond hair! I am a boring brunette, boring and unsexy.

Lincoln, this fine city! How lucky you are to know Alexandrea Davis!

Feed corn! Thank you for being a part of Alex’s life for being a fine commodity!



Dearest Andrea,

I apologize for being so critical of your little red shoes. I just feel dreadful for telling you they remind me of a four-year-old. I despise the fact that you are able to wear such youthful shoes. I really do like them I wish I felt young enough to wear them myself.

I would also like to apologize for any quick - negative - retorts I gave when we spoke of Jeremiah earlier. I realize it was not nice of me to say your face is what keeps him away. Please forgive me.

Please do consider forgiving me for rhyming. I forgot that it reminds you too much of the late Robert Frost.

I also seek forgiveness for using curse words in my poetry occasionally. I do feel guilty about this.

Congratulations on being such a stupendous individual. You carry yourself well and have a super-cute angled hair cut. I love it, and am quite jealous of how full and thick your hair is.

Congratulations on your engagement. How wonderful it must feel to be loved and adored by someone, and how great it must feel to know you will soon spend the rest of your life with this person.

I would also like to congratulate your for your ability to make me laugh. Your writing is quite humorous at times and I love how it makes me smile.



Please forgive my crudeness--I grew up in a household where burps and swears were ok as long as our knees were closed.

Please forgive me for bringing up your love for J--It was a cheap shot--really a test of my non-wittiness. I am sure he thinks of you often especially since you are a lovely looking woman

Please forgive my quickness to assume your only writing ability is to rhyme and then to make it worse I had to insult your grammar--you know that I have horrible grammar in fact I often receive Bs b/c of this

Thank you for congratulating me on my engagement!
Thank you ants for being present as Alex greets you! Hello ants!
Thank you chocolate!
Thank you lampost for guiding Alex when the sun has set at 4pm!
Thank you pen!
Thank you water so Alex will not be dehydrated!
Thank you winter accessories for protecting Alex from the flu!
Thank you movie theaters for entertaining Alex! Please make your popcorn less expensive!
Thank you ice cubes for cooling the water Alex drinks!
Thank you shoes for covering Alex's feet!
Thank you frogs!
Thank you hair straightener!
Thank you midol!
Thank you anti-bacteria soap!
Thank you prophylactics!
Thank you mouse pad for making each click a smoother transition!
Thank you Ethics Training to ensure each of Alex's professors are ethical!
Thank you frozen dinner especially Lean Cuisine and Smart Ones

Cute little Andrea! Thank you for being so cute. Thank you for making me smile.

Please forgive me for saying it is your breath that keeps Jeremiah away. For although we don't sit close I believe your breath smells like that of roses, ripe peaches, or a sprig of fresh peppermint.

I would like to take a moment to thank you for all the things that make you - you!
Thank you for your beaming face that always holds a smile!
Thank you for your bubbly personality that creates a positive writing atmosphere!
Thank you for your comments and opinions they are always notable!
Thank you for being yourself, for teaching prisoners, for loving the world as you do. Thank you!

Sweet Alex!

Forgive me for cursing at you! I hate to swear—it was only for exaggeration.

I hope you live a life aware of wildflowers and baked pumpkin seeds
I hope you are able to cry w/o shame or embarrassment

Praise your future children may they have wonderful names beautiful thoughts may you reflect on funny stories about mispronouncing words or not being able to give up their blanket or toy may they live with imagination may they love junkfood and carrots and broccoli

Praise your future partner may s/he love you think you are cool compromise watch bad television with you go shopping for groceries with you rub your feet be a good lover tell bad jokes share clothes share blankets pillows may they protect you from bees wasps and other funny creatures that seem threatening may they hold you when you have nightmares may they walk with you play catch with you go fishing with you play cards, backgammon may they curl with you

Or if you do not have a future partner or child this is ok

Praise your kitties, cows, sheep, bears, tigers, puppies, blackbirds

Praise your ability to make cakes pies zucchini nut bread casserole rice (I could never make rice well until my mother gave me her steamer)

Praise your current and future gardens of lettuce cucumbers cabbage daffodils sunflowers(my grandmother Naijba had wild sunflowers in her yard for years and then my Baba died and then the sunflowers never came back)

Praise your shoes your wonderful shoes

Praise your future and current cars I hope they get good gas mileage they do not break down they keep you safe over snow rain

Praise your future and current friends may they be healthy kind beings who volunteer at YMCAs who do not hate women or men who do not use curse words who love you and will buy you ice cream when you are sad or happy or when it’s summer or when you have cramps

Praise your parents and siblings if you have siblings your grandparents aunts uncles cousins may they live long lives may they be healthy may they never pay too much for hospital bills may they never burn their fingers on ovens or stub their feet (I stub my feet toes fingers two three times a day)

Stu n' Stephen


We meet again, Mr. Chamberlain
hung like Wilt the Stilt,
I guess marrying at 18 is fine where you live
but it’s unheard of in my part of the world
a ham sandwich for two would taste delicious right now
since we couldn’t build upon our previous collaboration

Stu, polite and scribe-willing,
how you sate yourself on the smoothie-skin
that rises to the top of your lid,
making the actual contents last until
evening when you thoughtfully reconstitute it
and victual your itinerant mouse,
the name of which I know sounds
as soft as your intermittent coughs,
not their timbre, but how you’ve hung them
on the contracted muscle of trains.
You’ve not dispatched him, the mouse, I know
because when you first saw him submerge
in the hamper, his tail shaped like your
expert capital G’s, you overturned the clothing and
rodent into the filling washer bowl and left the room.
Yet you did not shower as planned. Divested of clothing you
ran into the kitchen and dove your hand into the water,
and bringing the spent body to your face
you vivified him with not a please but a plangent you’re welcome.
Christened him Royal, for the blue tint of his detergent complexion
and its concomitant susurrations.

Perhaps in retrospect
in a classroom that consists of
a braless bohemian,
a basketball biker girl,
a thirty-something pervert,
a hippie stoner who never shows up,
a pink-haired free spirit,
a hirsute creature that answers to “Buddy,”
a dainty young thing whose last name sounds like the Swedish version of Lipitor,
a former 300-pound man,
a suicidal emo artisan,
three pious Christians,
two Jewish princesses,
and a partridge in a pear tree…
why would I ever want to insult you?
Dearest Emily,
I am so deeply sorry for my cheesy un-original comment about you being a Giant, are a supermodel not a giant.
With deepest regrets & in hope for forgiveness,
Oh sweet Danielle,
Your apology is sweet and unnecessary. It's I that should ask for your forgiveness. I apologize for being so blunt and criticizing you for your shortcomings.
With greatest apology,
I am writing you again to apologize about my comment on your big feet. It is not your fault you were blessed with such large feet. They must come in handy for something; like kicking the shit out of guys, for example. And for that, my friend, I would love to have you on my side.
With regrets,
Please do not feel bad about your critiques of me. I should be apologizing to you for criticizing your taste in music. There are so many forms of music to express oneself, rap should be appreciated as much as other genres. I am in no position to judge.
Sincerely apologetic,
To the supermodel, cowboy loving Emily,
In my previous apologies I have failed to mention that I do not think you are a hoe. Just because you lasso & ride things does not mean that it is done in a sexual manner. I also know that mechanical bull riding is looked at as talent, not as skanky. So I deeply regret calling you a "hoe" at all. Clearly, you are just a country girl who loves to have a good time.
Wishing you the best with your rides,
To my petite and honorable friend, Danielle,
I thank you for your apologies. Once again, they are not warranted. It's I that is sorry for referring to your fashion choice in such a negative manner. I am also sorry for implying you are anything but an honorable and upstanding young woman with whom I am proud to know. Regretfully judgmental,
You are right, I am an honorable & upstanding young woman. And you should be proud to know me. And I just want to confess that the reason for all my harsh comments is that I am jealous of your motorcycle-ridin', cowboy-boots-wearin‘, tall and slender type ways. I want, and desire to be as care free and fun-loving as you one day. My jealousy took control and my harsh comments were bitter because I wanted to be the one working in the country on a farm instead of working retail with old stuck up ladies. I wanted to be the one who went into a beauty pageant and was told that I am too "manly" but that it would be okay because I was proud of my identity and selflessness ways. I hope to grow & learn from your apologetic and forgiving ways.
Thanks for the understanding,
Danielle,You are right. I do love riding my motorcycle and to wear my cowboy boots. It's who I am and I'm proud of that. Thank you for your understanding of my unique lifestyle. Please do not feel jealous, for you are a fun and beautiful person; inside and out. Be proud of who you are. We have exchanged harsh words. I know I am sorry for what I've said. We are both proud women that are each unique. In understanding that, we will become stronger and will hopefully, one day, be friends.
With all best wishes in your bright future,

Deep Breath

deep breath


I wanted to say,
the day you were born,
your mother looked at you
and came to life;

that like you said,
all she wished
for you was kindness.

A kindness that could
penetrate,a kindness
that could transform us.

If only kindness was
not so hard, as the grimace
and grin always enmesh

If only families smiling truth
in pictures could hold that pose
Nor would your father’s lips wail

for loss, the loss of song, the loss of breath,
The Loss of the dream of your mother
I am sorry

Sorry I said that I slept with your sister. Cala
and you did not deserve to lose your imagination.
I think you two never lost it really,

it just went underground. Aliza still hides there
in the rocks, they are inside of you, swirling like
a river, not yet ready to meet the sea.

Mr Pausz, cradled you as a baby, then
you were broadened out into your bone

And to see the millions of trilobites,
and tully monsters
Slithering up the rocks past the

Many layers eddying on this pointless
and profound thought river
You were placed into, at

the top of the ladder, sidewise,
becomes a link,
And I think I have more evolving to do.

Yes, we do have eternity
The maelstrom of leaves coming down,
want us to go with them.

But we have to wait. The world
always calls us to gravel, and further
more to crumple up and be. But I think

we are sitting here, ruminating
over hot tea. The stone moving
slow, carving though the distance

yet being molded. somehow, the sun’s
warmth comes in and tells us
we are not just open books, nor liars,

but we are drawings on rocks,
spontaneous: A wingspan of chaos.

andy thank you for using your name time
with breathing learning into your life
for the struggle you lost through
we all churn inside your suggestions

andy thank you against your honesty
for the sorryness please accept
by the idea hint of redheads being bozo
my mother would not be proud

andrew thank you with your tolerance
for people and leaves of change
by being in church with love
hearings of God's word, remaining

andrew thank you over Nevada and back
with the words you wrote that rushed
me, for apologizing for my sister
under affirming craziness life ensues

andrew clark thank you with your religion
twelve stepping towards sincerity, serenity
for the nonshake within your voice
the spirit beneath your intentions

andrew clark thank you to survive stressful stats
in their ever growing ant hill
mounting passed all those rejections
from an entity, beautiful and unyielding

andrew clark hall thank you for shining like you
I too keep falling for the same
old disappearing act
ever rolling with the magic of change

and above all
andrew clark hall thank you at the kindness you unpack
pellets of humor and helpfulness
all by meaning of the education one
falls in love with slowly, faithfully

Alissa,Suppose gravity not withstanding
we could walk off the flat earth-
would we fall or rise
become birds and feather
We raise children to the pedestal
and then they dive off the platform
or perhaps they are pirates withdrawing
the plank or aliens preparing to invade us
and if we are ubermensch
floating about in primordial stew,
What then? ...Alissa,
I also apologize for calling you
a festering sore. That was lame
of me we are all festering
sores, wounded from the beauty
of nothingness. I am a fool.


andy can you please steam up all
the thank you greetings cards
in the world in all languages
accept them on behalf of all explorers

if I had one hour to ache just like
a woman, find something tangible
something real true in the dark
I would take it back
give anything to consult barbara and claude

even bob dylan would say you’ve
walked down enough roads
to call you a man, how could I or a
lakota chief suggest otherwise

my speaking of a craziness in you
was unthinkable
I am crazy, dandelions are crazy
the moon and love, beauty and airplanes
we’re all crazy,

the solitary category alone could kill you
you deserve so much better andy

if I could take a deep breath like you said
disclose this book with you
perhaps I might refresh your river
you imagined for me
open it page by word, share
like you so admirably

praise be the teacher, andy clark hall
how he lets life come
so agreeably with struggle
leaning into pleasure, leaning into pain
unlocking the chest of uncertainty to

a space where kites can fly
as they catch the wind so gracefully
allow us to go where
we are meant
seeing the poetry in each ordinary day


You are everyone’s sunshine,
no one could take you away

for ever, unless you wanted to.
Tears remind us that we are water.

I thank you for reminding me to be water
You have made my Mackinaw flow

I am grateful for the changes yet to come
The cold that is descending upon us

I am grateful for the barren trees, the autumns
That remind us of nature’s perfect chaos

I am grateful for the humbug of our
Sometimes humdrum existence

I am grateful for my fuck-ups;
and you, you have shown me

A passage into the world, a porthole
we view this chasmous universe,

We are journeying out, draining
inward at the same time. Star rats, in search

of immortal cheese, or a wormhole to
the next dimension. Blessed are we all,

and the cheese too, a mold of milkholes,
to peer into substance, lovingly.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Kitty likes to smell men's shoes

Nataliewood meow meows Happy Birthday Alissa and Jamie.

Early birthday to Andy--

and Good Vibes to Eng 347.