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Sunday, May 24, 2009

Bad Country Song

We all have problems
some more then others,
and we all want to be
loved by our brothers
reach out your hands to strangers,
for we all wander the same road
our lives are broken circles,
with forgotten oaths.

Some people talk of sunshine,
some people talk of snow
some people talk of rain
but we don’t know.

We all say we're different
yet we all act the same
we are all hypocrites,
but no ones to blame.

Some people talk to somebody
but that is rare,
mostly we talk to nobody
because nobody cares.

We want to be noticed,
we don’t care how
all we want is,
to be noticed now.


We all have problems
some more then others,
and we all want to be
loved by our brothers
reach out your hands to strangers,
for we all wander the same road
our lives are broken circles,
with forgotten oaths.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Wayne Allwine February 7, 1947 – May 18, 2009

No more, no more
the voice is gone
my childhood
my childhood is gone.

Oh Monday, Monday
it was thirty two
thirty two and sixty two
not alive in 77 but
my childhood is gone.

life and love he preached
life and love and joy

I wrapped him in my arms
I wrapped him in my world
so tightly did I hold him
so tightly did I know him

No more, no more
the voice is gone
my childhood
my childhood is gone

Twenty three
and my childhood is gone.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Thanks Guys

Don't Teach Your Class This

Yes a crystal never tries to make a paragraph,
but does a tree ever try to paint a person?
Mixing fire and ice and expecting
that tree.
I'll keep a picture of my enemies on a chain.
I'll try to force myself
to like them better.
Throw my net into the sand, though I'll only get sand
and maybe a pissed off crab.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

3 Poems

a few more poems :D


I have a comfort zone and I am not afraid to use it.
Am I a feminist? A Humanist? A Whateverist?
Take your pick, I don't care.

It Tick's Me Off

Why is it, that people ask me
if I am I ok, am I ok...
No, I was NOT shot down by a smooth criminal
I'm not blaming, I'm just stating facts

Hey, but, you know...
don't worry about it.
It was bound to happen.

Yellow Motorcycle [Lucky You]

There was a yellow motorcycle.
I saw it on the road.
It turned in front of my car
while I was waiting for the bus.
The rider was wearing khaki shorts; and I thought
what an idiot.
It reminded me of the first rain of the year...the green truck.
Except, then, when the truck spun in the road...
and I thought we were going to die
as we slammed into the divider

we weren't wearing khaki shorts.

Friday, May 8, 2009

drawing by me

I am going to respond only to the poets I felt strongly about.


Gregory Corso:

I read The Mad Yak and got really excited for more of Gregory Corso's poetry. I really thought it would be in the Mad Yak style. Simple, with a neat/unique point of view kinda I dunno earthy but still sorta mystical. I don't know how our anthology portrays Gregory Corso's work because after The Mad Yak I sort of got disappointed. His work just didn't captivate me after Yak. It almost seemed like it was a different poet...and that saddens me because I thought I might actually like Gregory Corso. But like I said we are reading from an Anthology so it might be manipulating my thoughts about him as a poet.


Frank O'Hara:

He really started to get into my head. I really don't know if he has left yet. I like how he is able to have a poem that sounds like he is telling an everday story but how the story can be somewhat distorted and the reader dosn't care. Maybe it's just me but I love the clever references to Movie Stars (like they are his own little nods/odes to the past). But it's not just the Movie Star's also (like I said) how he can tell a story and I feel like I am listening to a story and I feel satifyed after reading it. My favorite poem of his in our Anthology is Why I Am Not a Painter it has this awesome franticness and playfulness to it.

My favorite section of the poem is when he talks about orange:

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's tweleve poems, I call

Kenneth Koch:

Variations on a Theme by William Carlos Williams it's funny. It's absoulty funny. It's a great parody but you can totally see the respect for William Carlos Williams. 'I don't think I could do that very well... I just mock.

The snippets that Kenneth Koch comes up with are hilarious. Notes you would never see ever written yet you kinda wish they had been written just because it would be so absurd to have them be written.

I think my favorite has to be #4 it's silly yet kinda creepy if you really think about it...

alright so next post will be the MISC.

Posting is a Result of a Chocolate Meltdown and Maple Blondie

A title idea for my chapbook

Slightly Divertivo

and a couple of poems. (I think I'll expand on two of them. Maybe.)


There are people who get hit in the head
with an out of control flying monkey bar
and there are people who get catapulted into a barbed wired fence.


It vibrates when I step onto the crosswalk
dose(does?) the ground feel like jello?


She got on the bus, and there were four of them.
They were sitting on the left-three were in the front
and one was in the back.
When she went to class
two walked by her as she was climbing the stairs.
When she sat down, one was in front of her.
If he turned around he would have seen the smile.

Sunday, May 3, 2009


photo by me


I found the Black Mountain poets impossible to read... the formatting of the poems just kept throwing me off, and I know I sometimes have problems with my own formatting but these were just hard to read. I found myself reading in the same mechanical voice every single author I read.

The hardest to understand for me was Paul Blackburn. Each poem was so...all over the place I had a hard time distinguishing one poem from the next. If the dates and the names of the poems weren't in our anthology I would probably have a really really really big headache right now. But because there are dates and names I only have a slight headache.

I couldn't concentrate and I couldn't enjoy the poetry because my eyes hurt from trying to follow the formatting. This doesn't go for just Paul Blackburn I had a hard time with each of the BLACK MOUNTAIN poets. Robert Creeley seems to be the only poet in the BLACK MOUNTAIN who isn't all over the pages. His formatting is easier on me and I like his use of enjambments he seems to know when to cut off to the next line...I don't know if I like his poetry per say but I do think he is an excellent enjambment-ator.

so conclusion BLACK MOUNTAIN hurt my eyes.

Another Poem


I wish I could sing like Ella Fitzgerald
and dance like Cyd Cherise.
Detrick is close to Dietrich
and the middle school teacher
I once knew
told me I should change my name.

When I think of rain
I think of Gene.
And that helps me get through the day.


I promise I'll have a post soon of what I thought of the readings *shields self from flying tomatoes*

But here is something for the time being...

I realized that the long poem I had written was definitely two poems...not one :)

so here is a much better version of the poem. There is more to come!


I hate writing.
Everything I write has to be smart.
I'm caving under the pressure.
and my Dad wants to know what I am going to do with my life.
He tells me I should start driving again.
I am not driving with him.
He mumbles everything.
I'm like a deer in headlights
my hands grasping the wheel
I'll kill everyone on the road.
What would happen if I told him
all I wanted to do was be a face character
in Disneyland?
I'm the right height for Snow White.
I got the round face
and the squeaky voice
I think little kids like me.