These are poems that aim at reflecting something uniquely American in experience. Be it a place. Or a person or an experience. It had to happen somewhere to become something.
As
Fast
As a Falcon Flies
Pere-
Grine
Fastest bird alive
Tracks
Three
Objects with one eye
Sharp
White
Feathers, tucked to fly
Brown
Tail
Strapp’d down for the ride
Sharp
Gold
Talon avicide
Bloody
Dinner for his bride.
Boys
are dumb
I was one
I sat upon a
Rocky Mountain
shale slide eating
lunch with my brother
And sister. A logging road
As the likes my parents loved
To drive around on. I sat upon
A slide of shale that went down
For a while. I thought what fun it
Would be to slide on down that mile
and so I listened to my will and let go.
Down I went at quite a clip, wound up below
Terrified, I realized the error of my ways and began
to cry. “Dad, Dad! help me!” and down he came a bound
he sprang to my rescue. “Are you alright?” he said with fright
“Let’s get out of here.”
When we
were out
on desert snow
Up top
our fair
equestr’an mounts
We saw
A lone
Ghostly Mustang
Upon
the hill.
Whiplashing mane
White
Like snow
It flows
flurry over muscle
Watch’d us
ride by
then off
with a stride
Chasing after Freedom
A Place without a People is Speechless.
As I have been going through my recent practice and development of form, you will see a recurring capture of language. To some it may sound like I have some love for the cliche. But, I am drawing from William Carlos Williams here. I want to document the language. Capture the most common and local forms of reference. In my case that’s a southwestern mashup of red neck American English and Mexican Spanish.
I assure you it is intentional and if it’s off putting, good. Then, I’ve got your attention. Place without people is speechless.
Hallow’s Eve
Cold and Dark
Scary promises
Sweet and stark
Frightening ventures
Under foot
Roaming hoards
Seek input
From every house
Willing to play
A treat? A trick?
How will you pay?
For every house
Will yield a toll
Toilet paper trees or
Something from the bowl?
“Trick or treat?!”
Goodbye garden
Your time is done;
Late and short
November Sun.
Cut off their heads
and dig their graves;
Before autumn rain
Yields to icy waves.
Last of summer’s
flowers cling;
Removed to tables’
center to sing.
Stow the barrow,
Heat the birds;
“Winter’s coming”
so we’ve heard.
“Want me to start a fire?”
Finger Thunder
Lightning-rod tremolo
Crack of rosewood ripped
From the smooth
glossy finish
of the Semple
Stringy vibrato
Struck by perfect nail
Out of control
Sounding
Complete
Domination
Of structure
Dissident
dissonance
Rolling into
The beautiful
Thunderous
Rhythms of
Desert whispers
I wish to tear
these mountains down!
Rebuild them atom by
atom in your mind
Every molecule
a monument to their beauty,
so that you may remember
them so long as you may live:
Flaming amber at daybreak;
Violet and sage, wilted rose and orange peel at sunset.
Remnant of catastrophe.
Earth shook her bed sheets
and left a wrinkle on the aeons.
“Quick, before Mars returns,”
let us take a moment to rest
in the arms of her
peaceful precipice.
As I sit in my car
And wonder where we are
I was wishing we could
Get lost like the beats
On the road, freedom free
Wind and cactus and bugs
In our teeth, gobbling on
The American landscape.
Alas, romantic… til you
Realize you’re homeless
And poetry doesn’t pay
And you never learned how
To farm. Your quaint garden
No replacement for year-
Round bread. Eat these words?
Deaf ears on empty stomach
Too much focus on need
To consume gospel.
The loaves are gone
And the wine?
I gave that up.
Years ago.
“It’s OK.” She says.
My eyes forsaking
This fantasy gone awry.
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”