Thursday, June 18, 2009

New Poems for Comment

Hello all, I'd love some feedback (positive and negative) on some new poems. My brain still feels a little rusty and tired, but these are some beginnings.

Lord Stanley
for Jeff Kresge

Get me a hammer to knock
out these two loose teeth.
Took us three hours to shovel
the snow from the pond. I want
to play. Dougie’s stick smashed

my mouth into pulp of bloody teeth.
I missed only one line
shift, drowning the pain
with two Blues and cotton balls
stuffed into the cavities.

The Cup’s stories are not always
suitable for the youngsters,
as the gleaming silver has been left
in a brothel, for example, lost,
plunged to the depths of a pool.

That damn Cup, misspellings
and all, will someday stand
in Buffalo so I can die
happy, and my mother

can put away the photo
of the illegal goal in 1999, the photo
that shocks her awake every morning
like no coffee shot every could.

It’s different here in Buffalo, where boys
still slap sticks on frozen ponds,
the frozen Canadian wind blowing
hard and cold, and those boys
just skate faster.

Potato Musk

Earthy tangs of brown green
and yellow inspire

rooftops of strawberries
to grow in barrels.

Get your hands dirty
to hold off the rain

of darkness out there
into compost and peat.

All six growing stations
connect to your enemies:

wind and evaporation,
so let’s see what happens

in the back yard of yours,
when senses delight

in sun, water, soil.

You’re Really Nice, But
for Bonnie

Under the tan brick fa├žade,
maybe I am bitter. The recessed
display window
has a front tooth gap filled
with colored crepe paper.

The large banana hook
in the corner is broken
and tarantulas might still
lurk in that part of the store.

The candy case stayed
even filled with trays of licorice
and jars of bright colors
too bitter to eat.

And the candy sometimes
came with a spoon, for the fairy
food that melted in my
empty mouth.

Concrete Tablets

The dark-haired
girl sits on
the pavement

sipping iced
coffee while
her mother

makes new lists.
She holds white
chalk to write

her name Kate,
draws light blue
little girls

pink flowers
blooming gray
concrete stone.

Bay Sounds

Oh, that was cool.
No, but I’m going tonight.
Soft sneakers scratch sidewalks
and flip flops pop stick. The car

engine purrs. Go! shouts one
stomping along the sidewalk
after sticky brakes slow
at the corner.

Soft laughter from the next
table, from behind, from above.
Mom! His pencil scratches.
That’s there, mom. I don’t care.

Do you want anything to drink?
But it’s all tangy and nasty
and there’s the loud thud of full
plastic cup in the garbage.

Okay, bye, I’ll call you. Hello,
Dan! Who’s that? Oh man. Hi Ellen!

You look wonderful. They are in the same place
there. Slap, slide of flip flop sandpaper.
For the two weeks I’ll be at camp,

Absolutely not, no. But I’ll tell him.
I’m sure she’ll get a chuckle out of it.

Bass beat in the back of the truck.
That’s Sam, right there. I’m
off Friday.

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