Is That A Poem In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Glad To See Me 2012

You can pick up a FREE copy of "Poems For Your Pocket" Tuesday night (April 24) at "Poetry at the Point," a reading sponsored by the St. Louis Poetry Center and held at the Focal Point, 2720 Sutton Boulevard, in Maplewood.

I'll be reading along with my •chance operations• co-conspirator Chris Parr, Brad R. Cook, Jessica Baran, Susan Lively, and Kristin Sharp. The event is free and begins at 7:30 p.m. For more information, call 314-973-0616.

Jane Henderson writes in the Post-Disptach:

Writing poetry has rarely been a paying gig —- not to mention organizing the events. On Tuesday at Focal Point, those who make it happen take the spotlight themselves.

"Most of the money you make goes back into promotion and other related things," says Susan "Spit-Fire" Lively. She's in charge of Open Mic @ the Inn series in Belleville.

"The biggest challenge is not overworking yourself," she says, while noting that "honoring and publicizing the artists in the events is very important."

In addition to Lively, the St. Louis Poetry Center is presenting poets/organizers from Chance Operations; Fort Gondo Poetry Series; Poems, Prose and Pints; and the St. Louis Writers Guild.

The Mayá Cafe next door to the Focal Point will donate 20 percent of dinner proceeds to the center. In other words, a burrito dinner before the event is another way to support poetry.

Dr. Benway Consults

he told his patient that
he had often cured such a mania
but that just in case
he should find
a transistor radio

[for William S. Burroughs]

[originally posted 4/23/09]

Design & Intent

Worth trying but still dubious.
Not only a searing burn
But also arguably easier, too.
Some are good and some are not.
But this idea appealed to us, nonetheless.

Haiku

How can "tears" be one
syllable fucking up my
beautiful haiku?

Public Service Announcement: "Drip the Rag" Accepting Submissions

"Send driptherag@gmail.com a text document with the title of the piece, your name, and the poem itself, formatted as you'd like it to appear in print.

"Any and all previously unpublished poetry will be published.

"No editing, no censorship, no questions asked."

Black Diamond Detective Agency, Part 3

The World Mystery Convention, Bouchercon, is in St. Louis this weekend, September 15-18, and that seems like a great time to re-post these excerpts from a short story.

Way back in 1980 I took a fiction writing class at Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville taught by Lloyd Kropp, and my final project was a short story that, frankly, doesn't live up the the promise of it's first two and a half pages. Those first pages, though, are worth posting here.

It was 10:30 by the time I felt sufficiently revived to venture out of the office into the streets. The first place I went was to the bank where I cashed a check for $100. From there I made my way to a barber shop where a saint with scissors managed to get me looking somewhat respectable.

The next stop was a Goodwill resale store where I picked out a sort of cliche movie detective outfit: dark suit, tan overcoat, and a battered but not beaten fedora. I was hoping that Curt would get the joke. I returned to the office where I changed into my getup. Things had been going well and showed every sign of continuing that way.

When I called the public library to ask for information about Ramiland, I was connected to a very friendly and helpful librarian who sounded like she'd be a lot of fun when she wasn't being a librarian. She didn't know anything off hand about Ramiland but told me that she could locate some sources for me if I wanted to come by and pick them up. I told her that was fine and told myself not to get too excited about the librarian. She was probably about 70-years-old and most likely had a figure like a baby elephant.

She wasn't and she didn't, I found out when I got over to the library. We had a pretty good time talking and she thought my detective outfit was as amusing as it was supposed to be. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to make it out to a club sometime in the very near future. The only sources she had been able to find were articles in two magazines, which she handed over to me with a wink.

And here, dear reader, my story grinds to an expository halt never to recover, except for this brief passage:

It was around 2:00 when I finished reading. The librarian I took the magazines back to was 70-years-old and did have the figure of a baby elephant. She had a pretty voice and I was in a good mood so I flirted with her for a little bit. We didn't exchange phone numbers, though, and I didn't even get a wink.

Black Diamond Detective Agency, Part 2

The World Mystery Convention, Bouchercon, is in St. Louis this weekend, September 15-18, and that seems like a great time to re-post these excerpts from a short story.

Way back in 1980 I took a fiction writing class at Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville taught by Lloyd Kropp, and my final project was a short story that, frankly, doesn't live up the the promise of it's first two and a half pages. Those first pages, though, are worth posting here.

My clothes were in even worse shape than my hair. The Hawaiian tourist shirt had never been the height of fashion and was now just barely wearable. It did go, more or less, with the Army surplus fatigue pants I had on. The splotch of puke, my own or someone else's I couldn't remember, on my right thigh came pretty close to matching the flowers on the shirt. I didn't think Curt or his family would appreciate that too much.

I looked around the lovely Black Diamond Detective Agency for something else to wear but couldn't find anything. I did find my checkbook in a pair of black-and-pink checked pants that I couldn't remember ever wearing. Looking at them now, I was glad that I didn't. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had $450 in my account. It was obviously money left over from the last time I had worked as a laborer on a construction site. I certainly hadn't worked on a $450 case for a least a year. As a matter of fact, I hadn't worked on a case of any kind -- cases of beer excluded -- for 6 months. Maybe I'd been working on too many cases of beer.


(To Be Continued)

Black Diamond Detective Agency, Part 1

The World Mystery Convention, Bouchercon, is in St. Louis this weekend, September 15-18, and that seems like a great time to re-post these excerpts from a short story.

Way back in 1980 I took a fiction writing class at Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville taught by Lloyd Kropp, and my final project was a short story that, frankly, doesn't live up the the promise of it's first two and a half pages. Those first pages, though, are worth posting here.

It was 9:45 in the morning when the ringing of the telephone ended my sweet dreams. I know it was exactly 9:45 in the morning when the telephone rang because I'm a detective and I get paid to remember little details like that. It had been a long time since I'd been paid for remembering little details, though, so I did a fairly good imitation of a man leaping out of bed to answer the phone. The imitation was flawed because I was sleeping on the floor of my office and only had to roll over on my side to answer the phone. As far as I was concerned, I was leaping out of bed and it's the thought that counts.

"Uh, yeah, what do you want?" I inquired of my caller.

"This is Black Diamond Detective Agency, isn't it?" I allowed that it was and further admitted that I was George Blake, head honcho. "George," the caller continued in much happier and excited tones, "this is Curt Simonson. I just got into town a couple of days ago and I thought I'd give you a call to invite you over."

"Oh, hello, Curt. It's been a long time. You've been off in Africa or someplace, right?"

"That's right. I've been doing fieldwork in Ramiland in eastern Africa. The political situation got pretty hot so I decided it was about time to come home to the family for awhile."

"So you're back at "the Mansion," eh? I think I can still remember how to get there. What time do you want me?"

"Around 3:30, if you can make it. And, George, I may have to ask you to mix a little business with pleasure."

"That's fine with me. Lord knows I could do with a little of both. I'll see you at 3:30, then. 'Bye." I hung up and began getting ready for the upcoming reunion. The first thing I needed, I saw when I finally located a mirror under a pile of old newspapers on my desk, was a shave and possibly a haircut. A haircut soon became a necessity when it became obvious that no amount of combing was going to produce any style other than grubby. It'd been a long time since I'd dealt with anyone who would mind hiring a detective whose hair was grubby.

(To Be Continued)

Reading at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" at Dressel's on Tuesday, September 6

I will be reading on Tuesday, September 6, at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" held at Dressel's, 419 North Euclid, in the Central West End. Reading begins at 7:00 p.m., and admission is free. Other schedules readers are Billy Foster, Pat Piety, Jason Dockery, Dawn Dupler, Sarah Kuntz Jones, and Stef Russell. Music by Kevin Renick.

Camera Obscura

You make a pin-hole camera
from an old cardboard box
with film stuck inside at one end
and a hole pricked in the other

You uncover the hole and
light streams in exposing
the film and then magic
and science work it out
and a picture is made

Exposure of the film to light
can be minutes
not even seconds or
fractions of seconds
time enough

The still is captured sharply
but the moving
blurs and becomes
indistinct

After you make your camera
someone says
hey, let’s make a picture of us
fucking

And so you do and the picture
shows skin on skin, yes
but neither bulging veins
nor butterfly labia
nor, clearly, is any
penetration revealed

On the periphery but not out of sight
captured in their quotidian glory are
a broom and a dustpan full
it is true

Published on Troubadour 21 on September 7, 2010.

Reading at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" at Dressel's on Tuesday, September 6

I will be reading on Tuesday, September 6, at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" held at Dressel's, 419 North Euclid, in the Central West End. Reading begins at 7:00 p.m., and admission is free. Other schedules readers are Billy Foster, Pat Piety, Jason Dockery, Dawn Dupler, Sarah Kuntz Jones, and Stef Russell. Music by Kevin Renick.

The Wedding Dress

He had moved his mother's wedding dress
time after time, from apartment to
apartment, city to city

Friend to friend, lover to lover

Until we found him hanging
A white apparition in a candlelit room
Acrid myrrh failing to mask the death-stench of shit

"A fruit on a loop," the cop called him

[Note: Inspired by an anecdote CA Conrad told on the Poetry Foundation's "Off the Shelf" podcast.]

Reading at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" at Dressel's on Tuesday, September 6

I will be reading on Tuesday, September 6, at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" held at Dressel's, 419 North Euclid, in the Central West End. Reading begins at 7:00 p.m., and admission is free. Other schedules readers are Billy Foster, Pat Piety, Jason Dockery, Dawn Dupler, Sarah Kuntz Jones, and Stef Russell. Music by Kevin Renick.

The Boy's Hand

could at last have his
hands which were
together on one bed playing
he muttered slowly
hands in her lap
the tips of his fingers
traced a smooth curve
was wet and his and
his finger as he felt
the boys hand
over it, the girl and then
him to his feet
to her, pushing the girl
to one side of the bed
there, holding on
between the palms of her hands
she set it down again
the boys hand

Reading at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" at Dressel's on Tuesday, September 6

I will be reading on Tuesday, September 6, at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" held at Dressel's, 419 North Euclid, in the Central West End. Reading begins at 7:00 p.m., and admission is free. Other schedules readers are Billy Foster, Pat Piety, Jason Dockery, Dawn Dupler, Sarah Kuntz Jones, and Stef Russell. Music by Kevin Renick.

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.

Reading at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" at Dressel's on Monday, September 6

I will be reading on Tuesday, September 6, at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" held at Dressel's, 419 North Euclid, in the Central West End. Reading begins at 7:00 p.m., and admission is free. Other schedules readers are Billy Foster, Pat Piety, Jason Dockery, Dawn Dupler, Sarah Kuntz Jones, and Stef Russell. Music by Kevin Renick.

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.

Reading at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" at Dressel's on Tuesday, September 6

I will be reading on Tuesday, September 6, at "Poems, Prose, and Pints" held at Dressel's, 419 North Euclid, in the Central West End. Reading begins at 7:00 p.m., and admission is free. Other schedules readers are Billy Foster, Pat Piety, Jason Dockery, Dawn Dupler, Sarah Kuntz Jones, and Stef Russell. Music by Kevin Renick.

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.

A House But Not A Home

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.]

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

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

he remembered where he was and

then he had to open the door again

and he heard her kisses and a high, thin

laugh for a space into which he had

fallen into morning and now,
no, more then than now, he was

doubtful of the night, of the sound,

of the fashion, big and visible

then he saw it and he fell

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

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."

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.