Posted tagged ‘iPad art’

“Here, Body” (Your Body Is Not Even Your Good Lab)

July 29, 2012

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Here, Body

The body is not your good dog.
It may sit, lie down, roll over,
but there’s a limit to its Rover
aspect. No spank
will keep it from
accident; no leash
train it to the right; no yank
make it heel
feelings.

You tell it what to want, but
it will vaunt
its fleshly, furry ways,
sneaking food when already fed;
taking up all the room on the bed;
whiffing what should not be sniffed;
its passion aimed at but a toy–
here, girl; here, boy–
that can never love it back.

It will decay
though you say stay. Still,
you will love it,
this not-good dog;
for even as you scold and cajole,
call,
and despair
of calling,
you will find yourself
cradling it;
you will find yourself
in its arms.

This is an older poem I am reposting for MagPie Tales, a writing blog hosted by Tess Kincaid. Tess posts a picture prompt each week; Tess’s prompt, an image by Zelko Nedic.  I am also posting for Open Link Night of Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, a great poetry blog.  My rather silly picture, prompted by Leonardo, is above.

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If you have time on this rainy Sunday, check out my books. Nose Dive is only 99 cents on Kindle – well, with ten times that much, which is its price in paper!

Children’s counting book 1 Mississippi -for lovers of rivers, light and pachyderms. Or, if you in the mood for something older, check out Going on Somewhere, poetry, or Nose Dive, a very fun novel for those who are somewhat discontent with their appearance but love musicals, cheese and downtown NYC.

Synapse Subway – 14th Day of National Poetry Month

April 14, 2012

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Synapse Subway

There is a subway under the skin that
travels by synapse rail. It trails the curve
of spine and your sixth birthday out
in the yard; accelerates through the loins, jumps
with only a bump over that boy
in the backseat, chugs its way up
to the brain. Trestles of pleasing
try to ease the way, still, it bogs down over
changes in time, destination, track,
derails completely
periodically.

You don’t much care for the riders–the breath of some is terrible–
others (poorly shaven) constantly bug you for change.  A few make themselves
up while the train careens through
the autonomic nervous system, but they are not like
those on the IRT, who, holding
compact mirror in hand, apply their eyeliner
in a precise calligraphy–these
bunch the lines in blotted
jags that disrupt clear
vision, practically invite tearing up,
the rider’s grasp upon the glass
not as firm as it might be, nor
upon the brush either.

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Here’s my poem for the 14th day of National Poetry Month.  It is also written for dVerse Poets Pub “Poetics”  challenge asking for poems about subways, hosted by the wonderful Claudia Schoenfeld.  Since I live in NYC, and have written many posts about the NYC subway, I wanted to go for something a bit different. 

Loss of Two Cultural Icons (And More)–Thanks to/for Them

March 28, 2012

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Two cultural icons die over the last two days.

Of course, they were more than “cultural icons.”  (The term ‘cultural icon’ could probably be applied to the star of a reality show.)

Two great American artists die over the last two days:  Adrienne Rich, great and groundbreaking American poet, 1929-2012, dying yesterday; Earl Scruggs, great bluegrass banjo player, 1924-2012, dying today.

I’m not in any way comparing Rich and Scruggs, their impact, lasting value, merits, reach. They were both inspirational practictioners of their arts, each happening to die in late March 2012, each incredibly devoted to what they did and wonderful at it.  I personally really liked them both.

I am sure they had somewhat different visions of the world and country. but what’s strikes me at this moment is my personal great good fortune to live in a world and country that has accommodated both of their voices.

I’m sending out thanks for their wonderful gifts, and the very different inspiration, and invitations to joy, compassion, understanding, and protest that they offered their audiences.

There are wonderful links to Rich’s poetry, and a short bio, at the Poetry Foundation. For Scruggs, well, check out youtube.

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“Screened (Mid-Sixties)”

March 13, 2012

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Screened (Mid-Sixties)

It looked, from the peaceful pictures,
like the land of the hand-held scythe,
what with the impossibly green gatherings
of ankle-short stalk so gently bordered
by palm and vine,
till the choppers swept the frames
like combines, their great blades
threshing a beat that thwapped
to the other side of the world, even of our
TV screen, where we fought
over the only truly comfy chair, its
thick sag re-shaping to each
as required, the rest of us
stretching out on the living room rug
rather than take a straightback.

We watched, silent beneath that thwap,
the jewel shag of paddy turn
to a blurred-stained-brown, the sweating lens
become a windshield wiped
by blades of chopping/chopped, fogged
by non-monsoon cloud and
napalm drizzle, vibration only clipped
by shouts of Charlie, shots
of GI, the stretch of sagging legs,
boots notched at elbows–the air
seemed to be sucked from us too
by the rotary vacuum, though, of course,
that was not the case; we could change
the channel, turn off
the TV, pretend
that what we’d seen
had absolutely nothing
to do with us there, in our living room;
we could fight again
about our only truly comfy
chair.

I am posting the above poem for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night.  (For dVerse devotees, it was the poem I wrote last weekend thinking that the poetics prompt would relate to going back anywhere in time, not specifically 1999!)   And if you are not a dVerse devotee, become one!  Check out the site.

And while you are at it, check out my comic novel,NOSE DIVE,  book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, or children’s counting book 1 MISSISSIPPI. )  NOSE DIVE is a lot of fun and a great bargain on Kindle for 99 cents, only a bit more in print.  K.

Fish For Friday Flash 55 – “Used to Be” (The Secret Life of You Know What–)

March 9, 2012

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Used To Be

Fridays were permeated
by the smell of fish; fuzzy brown
limp sticks exuding stink
through the school in vengeance for
their not-so-sea
change, an odiferous insistence
that they had once been something actually
found in the natural world, subject
to the laws of birth, death, decay.  We
could only eat them
with ketchup.

As always, all rights reserved.  And, as always, have a great Friday.  And, since it’s Friday, tell it to the G-Man!

And finally, finally, if you are looking for some light-hearted escape over the week-end, check out NOSE DIVE, my comic novel about noses, New York, friendship, and fallen goudas.   Told too with a dab of fone sex. (But very innocently.)

PS – and I should really have made it 55 flavors instead of 57, but couldn’t do that to an old icon.

Mag 107–I Want! (The perfect Chapeau)

March 4, 2012

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Below if my rather silly offering for Magpie Tales 107, hosted by Tess Kincaid.   My picture is based on a really great photo by Seralta Ban.

I Want!

She has always adored
a Fedora–rakish on a man,
foxy on a woman–the perfect
chapeau for one
and all, but especially, she thinks,
for her, because,
with such a large head, she
really needs
a man’s size hat.

And now–smack
under her nose!
Will he, she wonders,
take credit?

Have a great Sunday!  And, if you have time, check out, please, my books!  Comic novel,NOSE DIVE,  book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, or children’s counting book 1 MISSISSIPPI. )

“Great Scott!” says Andy (“What ho, Marilyn?)

February 26, 2012

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Move over, Ican

What say you, Marilyn?
Now that he kneels
before the True Icon,
with curves so ho
supreme, lids
silvered, cheeks
rouged, surface
steamy, the object
of heated
exchange all over
the word, spooning with
the Plebian, can-
noodling with
the Sublime.
Great Scott! says
Andy, can this really
be love?

The above is for Mag 106, Magpie Tales, hosted by Tess Kincaid.  My picture is based upon an unidentified photo, posted as Tess’s photo prompt, appearing to depict good old Andy Warhol.   I’m sorry that I cannot resist re-posting another version of Warhol’s icon/can below.

Making the Best of It – Natural Life In Unnatural World (“They Perch”)

February 18, 2012

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They Perch

They perch
on posts in the Hudson above/
below Canal, by the West Side Highway,
downtown.
Walking, we duck
our heads, bob knees, swish shoulders–as if
our moves will motivate their stretch
or intake of wing.
On a sunny day, their still basking
seems so reasonable that it takes some time
to realize that
they are sculpted–Herons?
Seagulls?
On those same sunny days,
New Yorkers stretch
on the jetties, Adam’s apples towards the
sky–there, by the brick/braille ventilation
tower of the Holland Tunnel, all that
putput
below the tide.

We want to think that our life
is natural, here in this city, country, mindset.
We want to believe
that a place where many building windows
do not even open
can support wild birds.

Apparently, there’s even a raptor
or two, aeries wedged
by cornice.

We want
to believe that they like it
here.  That even untempered
by doses of the more rarified Metroplitan (opera or gallery) (which
we too do not experience enough)
life
can thrive.

We strain–eyes, head, shoulder–
just in case a living one
has gotten confused, just in case
a living one
has landed, perhaps even
settled down.

On the opposite side, cars
rush every green light.

Hi all!  Happy Saturday Night!  The above poem is a draft posted for the wonderful dVerse Poets Pub poetics prompt, hosted by Brian Miller, based on beautiful photographs by Reena Walkling.  I don’t like to post other people’s are work so have done my own drawn version of Reena’s photo above.

(As always, all rights reserved.)

Late Night Drive

February 16, 2012

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Late night drive. No blogging! Luckily, I wasn’t the one driving. (Poetic license in drawing.)

Friday Flash 55 feeling bedraggled before dinner out

February 10, 2012
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Not looking one's best

Going Out To Dinner Straight From Work (Not Ready)

As a child of the sixties,  a child
of a child of the Depression, it is hard
to feel deserving of a dinner at
a fancy restaurant, even if
paying for it,
without running home first
for a shower,
freshly-washed hair.  Eating
out requires
clean hair, at least until
a first glass of wine.

(I’m going to tell it to the G-man.  AND while you’re at it, check out NOSE DIVE , comic novel bargain on KINDLE and AMAZON.)