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Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Something New

There's something new around the bend I feel my spirits on the mend I throw my hopes up to the wind I wait for what the day will send I wake to hear the healing tone Of steaming coffee, singing phone And even when I'm all alone My heart beats like a metronome I feel a burst of derring-do Of... Sign in to see full entry.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Homing device

People just keep writing poetry. There's no money in it, none to speak of. A disproportionate number of the world's finest poets have committed suicide—or checked themselves into mental institutions or plopped themselves on a couch, peeling off the bills that they don't make writing poetry, reaching... Sign in to see full entry.

When your mother picks up the phone

When your mother picks up the phone ¿Bueno? I want to answer her in Jalisco tones, ask her about her headaches in a language that turns stars into estrellas and your hands into manos. I want to hang up, let her think I am her favorite nephew, in and out of prison the past five years, ashamed,... Sign in to see full entry.

George's Greek Cafe

I am eating in George's Greek Cafe, flanked by workman-like wood-panel paintings of islands with with cinammon-onion-lambspit-ouzo-honeycomb names like Santorini, and though the wash of sea was created in the blue wake of a brush intended for painting walls, and though the slope of messy cliffs... Sign in to see full entry.

Monday, April 10, 2006

I have a rage

I have a rage for filth and a rage for stars For the peace of home and the brawl of bars For the jumbo jet and the stock exchange For the fondu set and electric range For the wedding ring and the S&M sting For a man to wed and 3 to bed For the pistol whip and the easy grip For the drunken haze and... Sign in to see full entry.

The stream of consciousness

I wrote this after being mentally tipped over by Anais Nin's "House of Incest." She was not a woman. She was opium: I am afraid to write my greatest poem, to unhinge the top of my jewelbox skull and let the ballerina dance to her reflection, because the smallness scares me as much as the air... Sign in to see full entry.

Saturday, April 8, 2006

Dorothy Parker floors me

I came across a poem by Dorothy Parker that describes my current mood better than an emoticon ever could. It describes the hateful, ungrateful moods that sweep me like a wind. It makes me remember why I write, and wonder why I bother when someone has already said it all with so much more bravery and... Sign in to see full entry.

Friday, April 7, 2006

. .two-state cheapskate double-header

Heading for the homestead Nothing much been said Radio's preaching 'bout Eating off God's bread But you ain't heard A word he's said Too busy talking 'bout Nascar pointspread Which cowboy Gonna bust his head And which cowboy Got rodeo street cred And I ain't heard A word you've said I need some time... Sign in to see full entry.

Wednesday, April 5, 2006

Art is. . .?

I wrote this recently: Art is subversion A version of the truth That three-fourths of the world Considers uncouth What's your definition of art? Sign in to see full entry.

Testify

In the season when the river runs slow That's where all the sinners go To get washed clean of pride and greed God's gonna give me everything I need The preacher told me yestiddy He was purt near ready to give up on me But then I passed that slate gray stream I cried dear Lord please wash me clean It... Sign in to see full entry.

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