I will be reading tonight as part the second installment of the Readings at La Mancha series. La Mancha is located at 2815 North 14th Street, right behind Crown Candy Kitchen in Old North St. Louis. The reading begins at at 7 p.m. Along with me will be St. Louis poet Treasure Shields Redmond. This will also be your last chance to see the work of local photographer, Sylvester Jacob.
A House But Not A Home
The process of bringing the
house up to the standards of
Jean Harlow's ghost was
difficult, to say the least.
[Originally posted March 20, 2009. Written circa 1979.]
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Summer, Washington University in Saint Louis
I will be reading this Friday, August 26, as part the second installment of the Readings at La Mancha series. La Mancha is located at 2815 North 14th Street, right behind Crown Candy Kitchen in Old North St. Louis. The reading begins at at 7 p.m. Along with me will be St. Louis poet Treasure Shields Redmond. This will also be your last chance to see the work of local photographer, Sylvester Jacob.
Summer, Washington University in Saint Louis
(for Rhett Miller)
five smokers outside in a circle
four boys and a lone gal
in black and white stripes
the first guy shuffles his feet and paws
at the ground with his right foot
like a horse, a stallion, a randy
thoroughbred
the girl swings her arms in front of her
back and forth until she suddenly
hugs herself tightly and then
explosively un-hugs herself and then
she begins to swing her arms again
the next guy in the circle
begins to shuffle and paw
Summer, Washington University in Saint Louis
(for Rhett Miller)
five smokers outside in a circle
four boys and a lone gal
in black and white stripes
the first guy shuffles his feet and paws
at the ground with his right foot
like a horse, a stallion, a randy
thoroughbred
the girl swings her arms in front of her
back and forth until she suddenly
hugs herself tightly and then
explosively un-hugs herself and then
she begins to swing her arms again
the next guy in the circle
begins to shuffle and paw
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
And He Fell
I will be reading this Friday, August 26, as part the second installment of the Readings at La Mancha series. La Mancha is located at 2815 North 14th Street, right behind Crown Candy Kitchen in Old North St. Louis. The reading begins at at 7 p.m. Along with me will be St. Louis poet Treasure Shields Redmond. This will also be your last chance to see the work of local photographer, Sylvester Jacob.
And He Fell
And He Fell
he remembered where he was and
and he heard her kisses and a high, thin then he had to open the door again
fallen into morning and now, laugh for a space into which he had
no, more then than now, he was
of the fashion, big and visible doubtful of the night, of the sound,
Monday, August 22, 2011
Roldo the Fish-Headed Boy
I will be reading this Friday, August 26, as part the second installment of the Readings at La Mancha series. La Mancha is located at 2815 North 14th Street, right behind Crown Candy Kitchen in Old North St. Louis. The reading begins at at 7 p.m. Along with me will be St. Louis poet Treasure Shields Redmond. This will also be your last chance to see the work of local photographer, Sylvester Jacob.
Roldo the Fish-headed Boy
Roldo was a boy
(that is, he was a young human
with a penis)
who differed from the rest of his society
in that he had the head of a fish
Roldo was a bright boy
he was good at math
and at reading and writing
and he could ride a bicycle like
nothing
but, still, he had the head of a fish
Other boys were often cruel to Roldo
girls, (young humans with vaginas)
were also cruel to him
they (the boys and girls) made up a song
The song was about Roldo
when he would ride by on his bicycle
they would sing:
Roldo the fish-headed boy
he’s so ugly we want to cry
he’s a fish and he should fry
and then they would laugh
The singing and laughing hurt Roldo
but he loved riding his bike too much to
stop
Roldo would often ride blocks
and blocks out of his way to avoid
other children and thus was sometimes
late in arriving at home
where he mother and father would be
anxiously awaiting his return
Mother and Father were worried about Roldo
they felt guilty about inflicting a fish-headed child
on the world and the world
on a fish-headed child
and they were afraid that something would
happen to him and somehow their guilt would be
revealed
But, still, they loved Roldo and when he would
return in tears they would hug and kiss him
and tell him that everything would be alright
and though they hadn’t really believed it
as the years passed things did begin to get better
Roldo’s fish-headedness became less and less
Until one day Roldo was just an average
boy
and went out riding his bike
and no one laughed or sang
Roldo the Fish-headed Boy
Roldo was a boy
(that is, he was a young human
with a penis)
who differed from the rest of his society
in that he had the head of a fish
Roldo was a bright boy
he was good at math
and at reading and writing
and he could ride a bicycle like
nothing
but, still, he had the head of a fish
Other boys were often cruel to Roldo
girls, (young humans with vaginas)
were also cruel to him
they (the boys and girls) made up a song
The song was about Roldo
when he would ride by on his bicycle
they would sing:
Roldo the fish-headed boy
he’s so ugly we want to cry
he’s a fish and he should fry
and then they would laugh
The singing and laughing hurt Roldo
but he loved riding his bike too much to
stop
Roldo would often ride blocks
and blocks out of his way to avoid
other children and thus was sometimes
late in arriving at home
where he mother and father would be
anxiously awaiting his return
Mother and Father were worried about Roldo
they felt guilty about inflicting a fish-headed child
on the world and the world
on a fish-headed child
and they were afraid that something would
happen to him and somehow their guilt would be
revealed
But, still, they loved Roldo and when he would
return in tears they would hug and kiss him
and tell him that everything would be alright
and though they hadn’t really believed it
as the years passed things did begin to get better
Roldo’s fish-headedness became less and less
Until one day Roldo was just an average
boy
and went out riding his bike
and no one laughed or sang
Sunday, August 21, 2011
The Red Drapes
I will be reading this Friday, August 26, as part the second installment of the Readings at La Mancha series. La Mancha is located at 2815 North 14th Street, right behind Crown Candy Kitchen in Old North St. Louis. The reading begins at at 7 p.m. Along with me will be St. Louis poet Treasure Shields Redmond. This will also be your last chance to see the work of local photographer, Sylvester Jacob.
The Red Drapes
(for Roman Polanski)
She was totally paralyzed after
A few glasses of champagne and
After all that noise, she
Stayed there and opened up
He examined her, approving
She did not consider
What had occurred
When she saw the heavy red drapes
Early in the morning over
And around her long legs
"Goodbye," he said,
"You figure it out."
The Red Drapes
(for Roman Polanski)
She was totally paralyzed after
A few glasses of champagne and
After all that noise, she
Stayed there and opened up
He examined her, approving
She did not consider
What had occurred
When she saw the heavy red drapes
Early in the morning over
And around her long legs
"Goodbye," he said,
"You figure it out."
Saturday, August 20, 2011
What Remains of the Day
I will be reading this Friday, August 26, as part the second installment of the Readings at La Mancha series. La Mancha is located at 2815 North 14th Street, right behind Crown Candy Kitchen in Old North St. Louis. The reading begins at at 7 p.m. Along with me will be St. Louis poet Treasure Shields Redmond. This will also be your last chance to see the work of local photographer, Sylvester Jacob.
What Remains of the Day
(for Lori Blue)
Drunk and broiling in the summer sun
Telling a dude from that one band
About how you'd killed yourself
With a gunshot to your head
One of their songs playing on
Endless repeat.
What remains of the day remains to be seen
I remember his sad, shocked stare.
What could he have said?
He was only the guitar player not the singer.
What Remains of the Day
(for Lori Blue)
Drunk and broiling in the summer sun
Telling a dude from that one band
About how you'd killed yourself
With a gunshot to your head
One of their songs playing on
Endless repeat.
What remains of the day remains to be seen
I remember his sad, shocked stare.
What could he have said?
He was only the guitar player not the singer.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Times Square, 1973
I will be reading on Friday, August 26, as part the second installment of the Readings at La Mancha series. La Mancha is located at 2815 North 14th Street, right behind Crown Candy Kitchen in Old North St. Louis. The reading begins at at 7 p.m. Along with me will be St. Louis poet Treasure Shields Redmond. This will also be your last chance to see the work of local photographer, Sylvester Jacob.
Times Square, 1973
A smell barely remembered reminds her
of the day when the two of them met
and went to a Times Square hotel. She
should have known better than to skip
lunch and pick him up. He sometimes
complained when she did. But the fashion
has changed, she said. In the room,
she imagined rather than felt
the breeze from the open window
that he gazed out, humming quietly.
She asked him to come nearer and like
a long fall slowed she reached out
and touched him and it stood up and
went hard into the pink and together
they moved rhythmically. He could not
stay with it long but he could move
as she moved and then he shivered slightly
and with delight shuddered. They turned
aside and she stared at the lights beyond
as if awakening on the other side.
Times Square, 1973
A smell barely remembered reminds her
of the day when the two of them met
and went to a Times Square hotel. She
should have known better than to skip
lunch and pick him up. He sometimes
complained when she did. But the fashion
has changed, she said. In the room,
she imagined rather than felt
the breeze from the open window
that he gazed out, humming quietly.
She asked him to come nearer and like
a long fall slowed she reached out
and touched him and it stood up and
went hard into the pink and together
they moved rhythmically. He could not
stay with it long but he could move
as she moved and then he shivered slightly
and with delight shuddered. They turned
aside and she stared at the lights beyond
as if awakening on the other side.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
A Slow Twist
he's being carried past us.
it is, as a thing, a new way of looking,
a slow twist,
a kind of indignation.
we still feel it, though,
but not as much as before,
this emptiness in the middle.
(for Elvis Presley)
Wikipedia says:
it is, as a thing, a new way of looking,
a slow twist,
a kind of indignation.
we still feel it, though,
but not as much as before,
this emptiness in the middle.
(for Elvis Presley)
Wikipedia says:
Elvis Aaron Presley (January 8, 1935 – August 16, 1977) was one of the most popular American singers of the 20th century. A cultural icon, he is widely known by the single name Elvis
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Found Poem
Hark, could this be the poetry
of which I have heard the praises
sung? 'Tis like the gibberish of babes.
(Exit, pursued by a bear).
of which I have heard the praises
sung? 'Tis like the gibberish of babes.
(Exit, pursued by a bear).
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Found
The Saint Louis Evening Standard 5 Star Summer Special
Hello Saint Louisians everywhere. Today the Evening Standard of greater St. Louis
Declares that this newsletter is the prince and pauper of the publication world.
Larger publications such as The Post Dispatch, The Globe Democrat, The Argus,
The Saint Louis American, The City Journal of Saint Louis all live on creating job
Opportunities and raising publication dollars by providing advertisements for
Customers in print. The Evening Standard is a document that only exist to create
An interesting muse for our fan base.
Grammatical Mistakes are common place and our conversations are many.
Job Opportunities and providing Advertisements is not, I repeat is not, the purpose
Of this publication at this stage of the Evening Standard.
We really only concern ourselves with amazing bylines and keeping a story out there.
That being said, Our major headlines in this issue declare a circulation war with all
News outlets in the country. The Evening Standard will achieve Supremacy nationwide.
Horace Greeley the patron saint of the evening standard calls out to old and new readers
Of the Evening Standard. Grab your copy because it is better than any New York Paper
Ever was. To Quote T.E. Lawrence, the will of the evening standard is written in the
stars.
This statement is derived from the seven pillars of wisdom.
Now the covenant of sports! Anyone who reads the Evening Standard knows that this
Publication only covers Washington Baseball. It probably is our most interesting of
Features because we are a Saint Louis paper and only cover the toy soldiers of D.C.
From a Historical Perspective Washington Baseball is 8 and one half games out of first
Place. Philadelphia and Atlanta lose out to west point on the final week of the season.
How about that folks ! It's raining! Root Beer Floats.
Boston verses Washington in the Fall Classic. October 18,2011. Don't forget your
Peanuts and beer.
Weather for Mid Summer in Saint Louis is Hot, Hot, Hot, and humidity out of this world.
Winds bring jet stream from west to east this cooler air is in contrast with winds from the
south, sending the Canadian Geese further north to say the likes of Northern Prairies of
South Dakota. Menu Suggestions for summer anything cold and yummy.
For more information concerning this publication send a post card to P.O. box 190162
Mackenzie Point Post Office Affton MO. 63119. William T. Rogers Editor in Chief.
Hello Saint Louisians everywhere. Today the Evening Standard of greater St. Louis
Declares that this newsletter is the prince and pauper of the publication world.
Larger publications such as The Post Dispatch, The Globe Democrat, The Argus,
The Saint Louis American, The City Journal of Saint Louis all live on creating job
Opportunities and raising publication dollars by providing advertisements for
Customers in print. The Evening Standard is a document that only exist to create
An interesting muse for our fan base.
Grammatical Mistakes are common place and our conversations are many.
Job Opportunities and providing Advertisements is not, I repeat is not, the purpose
Of this publication at this stage of the Evening Standard.
We really only concern ourselves with amazing bylines and keeping a story out there.
That being said, Our major headlines in this issue declare a circulation war with all
News outlets in the country. The Evening Standard will achieve Supremacy nationwide.
Horace Greeley the patron saint of the evening standard calls out to old and new readers
Of the Evening Standard. Grab your copy because it is better than any New York Paper
Ever was. To Quote T.E. Lawrence, the will of the evening standard is written in the
stars.
This statement is derived from the seven pillars of wisdom.
Now the covenant of sports! Anyone who reads the Evening Standard knows that this
Publication only covers Washington Baseball. It probably is our most interesting of
Features because we are a Saint Louis paper and only cover the toy soldiers of D.C.
From a Historical Perspective Washington Baseball is 8 and one half games out of first
Place. Philadelphia and Atlanta lose out to west point on the final week of the season.
How about that folks ! It's raining! Root Beer Floats.
Boston verses Washington in the Fall Classic. October 18,2011. Don't forget your
Peanuts and beer.
Weather for Mid Summer in Saint Louis is Hot, Hot, Hot, and humidity out of this world.
Winds bring jet stream from west to east this cooler air is in contrast with winds from the
south, sending the Canadian Geese further north to say the likes of Northern Prairies of
South Dakota. Menu Suggestions for summer anything cold and yummy.
For more information concerning this publication send a post card to P.O. box 190162
Mackenzie Point Post Office Affton MO. 63119. William T. Rogers Editor in Chief.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Found Poem
What is with that crazy tropical-sounding bird in your back yard?
It messes with my naps.
i don't know. it seems angry at
the pig
and it has a slingshot
It messes with my naps.
i don't know. it seems angry at
the pig
and it has a slingshot
Saturday, April 30, 2011
On Continuing
One day she realized she had
failed -- there was no use
worrying. She didn't know how
little they had advanced. For
some time their recent relations
had been neither this nor that.
He seemed to think she should
know something. She smiled faintly,
"before you go." That startled him.
Then there was a touch.
Swift strokes, then the thickening,
the stiffening, the electric rise
in her hand. On the brink of it,
he had to turn to watch, her
hand straight ahead across.
Finally he came, falling gently to
her naked. There was nothing they
could not see: the sky, the early
spring snow, the nature of continuing.
failed -- there was no use
worrying. She didn't know how
little they had advanced. For
some time their recent relations
had been neither this nor that.
He seemed to think she should
know something. She smiled faintly,
"before you go." That startled him.
Then there was a touch.
Swift strokes, then the thickening,
the stiffening, the electric rise
in her hand. On the brink of it,
he had to turn to watch, her
hand straight ahead across.
Finally he came, falling gently to
her naked. There was nothing they
could not see: the sky, the early
spring snow, the nature of continuing.
Friday, April 29, 2011
The Dangerous Point
This was where he crossed his fingers. "Today,"
he said as he anticipated her next move.
Make of it what you will.
"That was like some kind of book," she said
after they had passed the dangerous point.
he said as he anticipated her next move.
"That was like some kind of book," she said
after they had passed the dangerous point.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A Cautionary Tale
should say
that I might
have known. I guess
those who know about pushing
higher into the ether should have
told me they had nothing for me.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Mystery Dance
(for Declan Patrick MacManus)
She was ready. But he felt
Ignorance -- as if he had not
Heard of it before, but as for her:
She switched position and then
Pulled down her pants as if
Only to make him laugh
At what she was about to do.
He had never seen anything.
She was ready. But he felt
Ignorance -- as if he had not
Heard of it before, but as for her:
She switched position and then
Pulled down her pants as if
Only to make him laugh
At what she was about to do.
He had never seen anything.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Answers Found In Dreams
He realized that he had forgotten
To ask about it. It had always been.
Gravitated away and would not kowtow.
Could possibly have before, but now.
Back in the chair, going down, slowly.
This way not only simple but also holy.
To ask about it. It had always been.
Gravitated away and would not kowtow.
Could possibly have before, but now.
Back in the chair, going down, slowly.
This way not only simple but also holy.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Can You Find Me?
Shadows, along the ridge.
The room, already to bed.
He sighed quietly, she had gone.
Swore to himself, as if to keep a chance
To be right, but uninterested in the trouble.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
& In the Listening
(for John Ashbery)
Who's to say that theirs
Are less than ours. And
In the listening to or
In the talking with, or
Another, breathing hard.
Curiously, I signaled.
We were almost ready.
All right you know how it is.
I gave a reason to be. Can you?
His right hand quivered.
Who's to say that theirs
Are less than ours. And
In the listening to or
In the talking with, or
Another, breathing hard.
Curiously, I signaled.
We were almost ready.
All right you know how it is.
I gave a reason to be. Can you?
His right hand quivered.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The Magical Scientist
To him it was an actual event that
He would be able to explain:
"It's bad luck to be too superstitious."
The day before when he was alive.
Everybody was. Then he was dead.
He would be able to explain:
"It's bad luck to be too superstitious."
The day before when he was alive.
Everybody was. Then he was dead.
Friday, April 22, 2011
On the Assassination of John F. Kennedy
"The President's been shot," he said seriously.
We heard about it; it was what we talked about.
Brains and blood and bones in an upward curve
And his body across the woman: that's what we imagined
Though we'd be proven wrong by slow motion film
Showing his body just as if we were there with him.
But we didn't stop looking; we haven't stopped yet.
We heard about it; it was what we talked about.
Brains and blood and bones in an upward curve
And his body across the woman: that's what we imagined
Though we'd be proven wrong by slow motion film
Showing his body just as if we were there with him.
But we didn't stop looking; we haven't stopped yet.
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