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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: May 2015

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Tuesday, May 26, 2015. First plant sale of the spring-. Bright boxes bursting with blooms-. Marigolds, petunias, zinnias, snapdragons;. Six-paks of hope all competing. To see who I will take home. And kill with neglect first-. Pots of sprouting hosta,. From your backyard to mine;. Breakfast for your deer last year,. A midnight snack for my deer this year. Pots of raspberry and blackberry canes-. So much potential,. In a black plastic container:. On the hottest day of July.

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Bargaining-

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Wednesday, February 25, 2015. Books tell us that the basic difference. Between me and my cat. Is my greater cranial capacity,. And an opposable thumb-. But that’s science;. The important difference is that. I make deals with the Universe. It may seem silly to believe. That if I use a certain spoon. To stir my coffee every morning. The Universe will help the Sox win-. But it’s worked so far,. At least some of the time. Some people may call that ‘Superstition’,. That I&#8217...

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Road Trip

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Wednesday, April 15, 2015. They told us that the road to Fame. Went through Maine that Friday night-. So the band ended up in New Hampshire. I was the roadie for a pack of Boston rockers. Who worked at liquor stores and copy centers between gigs. The only band member who owned a car. Was the drummer, and we named his. 1978 Chevy Impala station wagon “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”. Our bassist worked in a screen-printing shop. We never worried about the cops-. Sure, they noticed us,.

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Bones-

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Wednesday, July 08, 2015. Life is that clock. Looming on the wall. In the morning of my life. And danced in the snow. On the hottest day in July. In the noontime of my life. Farted them out as crocuses. And burped booming thunder. I still want to believe. But in the afternoon. For the afternoon hours. I feel the possessiveness. Of the mother bear. With her new cubs. In the afternoon I just want. To write words that let me. Burrow like a mole. And feel the honest earth.

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Tough Love

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Sunday, July 05, 2015. That poem was nothing. The rose bush that. Wouldn’t bloom;. The puppy who refused. On the carpet;. On having 18 syllables. You can’t lock a puppy. Or a rose bush. In a drawer,. But I got smart-. I stuffed the poem. Walked away for a week;. And a day more. Just to be sure. Then I took it out. And opened it up. Like a flower petal,. That refused to work before. Under my fingers;. My lovers’ touch. And they fell into place. Then I walked away.

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Golden

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Saturday, April 25, 2015. Before my brain begins to work,. Process - edit - manage - filter). Is my golden writing time. When my mind is crystal clear. When the sun breaks over the windowsill. I can feel the moment growing shorter;. Golden light erases golden focus. Don’t throw light into my brain;. It makes the shadows stark;. But tomorrow is another day. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Poets and Poetry Sites. Poetry News (Western Mass.).

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Plant Sale-

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Tuesday, May 26, 2015. First plant sale of the spring-. Bright boxes bursting with blooms-. Marigolds, petunias, zinnias, snapdragons;. Six-paks of hope all competing. To see who I will take home. And kill with neglect first-. Pots of sprouting hosta,. From your backyard to mine;. Breakfast for your deer last year,. A midnight snack for my deer this year. Pots of raspberry and blackberry canes-. So much potential,. In a black plastic container:. On the hottest day of July.

madbookseller.blogspot.com

Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Snow Love-

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Sunday, February 22, 2015. Poetry does not help me love the snow. It helps me love the ‘concept’ of snow-. It helps me appreciate the metaphor of snow-. The blanket of innocence-. The pure white new morning-. Poetry or not, the snow. Has still got to be shoveled. And there’s a metaphor. To be found there as well. Shoveling the s- -. And while shoveling I begin to contemplate. The subtle, eternal question. A new snow brings-. Is snow really innocent? Enveloping all sound,.

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Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller: Snow day

http://madbookseller.blogspot.com/2015/02/it-is-big-bad-poetic-day-out-there-air.html

Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller. Monday, February 02, 2015. It is a Big Bad Poetic Day out there-. The air is alive with syncopated syntax. Oh, wait- that’s snow. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Poets and Poetry Sites. Poetry News (Western Mass.). Tara Jean Bernier Writes. Other Blogs Worth Visiting. How to be a Starving Artist. What Fresh Hell Is This? Links to People and Places Ive Written About Here. The Austin Lounge Lizards.