i did I didn’t think that I would scrape a knee and then i did. I didn’t think that I would lose a tooth and then i did. I didn’t think that I would need braces and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get acne and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get cut from the soccer team and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get my face spit in and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get rejected from college and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get depressed and then i did. I didn’t think that I would see my parents split up and then i did. I didn’t think that I would almost lose an eye and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get varicose veins and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get nose and ear hairs, lonjas and a gut and then i did. I didn’t think that I would settle into a job and then i did. I didn’t think that I would have a kid with autism and then i did. I didn’t think that I would see my wife miscarry and then i did. I didn’t think that I would witness a school shooting and then i did. I didn’t think that I would see somebody die and then i did. I didn’t think that I would get a life-threatening illness and then i did. I didn’t think that I would die and then
Uncategorized
John D. Robinson
JAMMIN Just like you, loss, has followed me all my life, loss of childhood, virginity, innocence, ambitions, dreams, friends and lovers, the loss of hope, for something better, loss of direction and belief and loss is natural and should be embraced, but we don’t embrace it, we hold it up for all to see or try to hide it away, the Buddhists say that ‘all life is suffering’ I think the Buddhists may have something here, loss is not something we get used to, we like to hold onto shit, like breath or love and at some point we have to let go, let go of it all, some Buddhists and other ways of life believe in reincarnation, well, fuck man, I’m always in for another jamming session.
Sushant Thapa
1. Catalogue of Life When all are instructions Life becomes a catalogue. When the journey is difficult The same walks become adventures. A darker side of a coin Still has a printed symbol on it. It is still on the other side. For the sake of Making a poem beautiful Adding decorations is A fools' paradise. Realities need no invitation. Negative and positive both Are the faces of composure. When we meet There shall be revelations Of how strangely close We tend to be. Friendship is a support. Unseen yet true feelings. 2. Cherishing the Faraway I cherish the faraway The flight and its height The immense measure of the horizon. What sets free is a passion. You never know if You were destined For the deeds. Art eases the pain It is there to soothe When you do not live In a suppress. Expression becomes The flowing river or The romanticized moon Still shining in the dark Alone among the multitudes Of the stars. I knew you When the strange air blew. No more a stranger. 3. Masked Specialist Way ahead of time A stone has its impressions Made to the mud. There is history buried In memories and painful wail. The fire of agony Ceases the woods of the mind. But a mind is a free nature. No taming screw Not an avalanche to the thought. A thought can still recover. I feel in my room That the world keeps knocking At my door. The world has a free entry But I cannot douse The ball of fiery emotion. I read for emotions. Only heightened perception Does not make me a specialist.
Curtis Hayes
STOMP I could never dance never move that smooth I could never translate the sound and feeling and motion I felt into anything but chaos. A girl once broke up with me and the last thing out of her mouth, “Your life is a bumper-car ride.” I remember the Dave Clark 5 on the oldies station in my Dad’s Harvest Gold LTD. There was a stomp in those three-minute marvels the sound of black Cuban boots driving rhythm into the wooden stage floor they had harmony they had poetry. My stomp was more like King Kong in a Saturday night swelter rioting through a block of skyscrapers lost enraged another ape chasing the unreachable blonde and aching for the home that will never be seen again.
Howie Good
Human Resources The woman in HR had hard eyes in a doughy face. I had come for advice on what to do about my sadness. Most of what I said she didn’t understand and didn’t want to. In lieu of actual help, the woman in HR placed a box of tissues on the corner of her desk.
Ian Copestick
At Home In Hell Yes, I feel comfortable here. This is obviously where I belong. There's always pain, but I'm used to that. I've known it all of my life. The red hot lake isn't too bad, once you get used to it. And, believe me, you actually begin to look forward to the pitchfork stabs. I guess it's how you know that the Devil cares about you.
Stephen Jarrell Williams
"Blinded" Walking back into yesterday young and strong unafraid ready to love eternity But little did we know what was waiting behind the sunsets.
Laura Stamps
What Does It Take? “Dear Elaine,” she writes on another postcard. “I’ve been thinking, thinking. Today. About my ex-husband. You remember him. Right? The tall guy. Always in a hurry. Yeah. That was him. Couldn’t walk with me like a normal person. No. He had to zoom ahead. Always. Like a rocket. On those long legs of his. And I’d have to yell at him. To get his attention. To make him stop. And then. Watch him look surprised. I mean. He never realized I wasn’t there. Invisible. Evidently. That was me. Spent most of my marriage talking to the back of his head. Conversation. Not his thing. While I was talking. To him. Trying. He’d walk away. Said he thought I was finished. Oh, really? Too hyper. Him. To stand still. To listen. Even though he was chatty. Yeah. He was. Constantly. Mumbling. Mostly. Entire conversations. He’d have. With me. When I wasn’t in the room. Important things. Things I needed to know. He’d say to an empty room. I’d hear a mumbling noise. Somewhere in the house. And I’d have to yell at him. To get his attention. To make him stop. Remind him. You know. That I’m not in the same room. Invisible. In our marriage. Evidently. That was me. So here’s the thing. What does it take for a man to stop? To look you in the eye. Listen. Respond. With more than one word. Can men do that? A conversation. Two people. In the same room. Talking to each other. Back and forth. Give and take. Is that possible? For a man. Any man? Tell me. I’d like to know.”
John Tustin
I THINK ABOUT DEATH ALL THE TIME I think about death all the time: Yours, mine, hers, his, Ours. When I am at work Or at the supermarket Or sitting and drinking As I listen to country, folk and rock n roll Music I fill in the spaces of my thoughts Imagining my death And yours And theirs. The room grows dark And my heart grows dark And I think about my impending death And fill with curiosity. When I die Will you honor me, will you cry for me? Will you still deny me like Peter denied Jesus, Like a child unwilling to repent? As the years pass after I am gone, will you be washing dishes And looking out the window, Seeing the clouds passing over the tempestuous bay Before a summer storm, Think of me suddenly and shudder with loss? Will you even remember me? When I die and then you die Will we meet in the valley Under a crescent moon And finally hold hands as we make a vow Or will my energy just wallow aimlessly With the ashes of my spent useless body? I think of everyone and I think of their deaths: Anne Sexton breathing in poison, rowing away from God. Adams and Jefferson holding hands and dying together And hundreds of miles apart. The death of Christ In agony on the cross. The death of my mother And the death of your mother. The death of Gram Parsons and Gene Clark, Drunk no more, singing no more. The death of Augustine of Hippo Who said “Wipe your tears and do not cry, If you love me. Death is nothing.” Life is everything.
Guy Roads
A Congregation of Poets for Dougie Padilla On the way to your poetry reading I saw a “congregation” of turkeys They were praising Jesus by the side of the road God only knows their denomination In the Badlands I’ve seen prairie dogs in their towns praying on holy ground facing east with their tiny hands folded. Shalom! and the marmots meditating up on Beartooth Pass all seemed like devout Buddhists and every fish I ever caught was a Baptist Sometimes I wonder… What is the doctrine of trees, and are rocks really orthodox? Where can I find a blessed congress of monkeys or a herd of sacred cattle that aren’t branded? Last October I saw 30 deer at Vespers in a hayfield — their humble heads bowed in silence a choir of birds was singing aloft.
The Beatnik Cowboy 