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Poem-A-Day: November 2006

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Friday, November 17, 2006. This is not a poem. I'm afraid that school is keeping me busy enough that I don't even have time to post the few new poems I have written. I'll try to put up an omnibus post soon. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). This is not a poem. Painting a Month by Rod Dutton. Daily Paintings by Justin Clayton. View my complete profile.

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Poem-A-Day: August 2007

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Friday, August 31, 2007. A thousand paper cranes. Is supposed to bring one wish, but who. Could fold a thousand today and not think,. At least once, of wasting so much;. The trees felled, the fossil fuel burned to power. The plant where the paper’s made, and the gas. Burned to bring it near—. All for a single wish for me. It’s surely. A kind of bad karma yoga. If I met one of these in a dream, large. As an angel, it would strike me. Or the ...

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Poem-A-Day: untitled poem requiring much revision

http://ericdutton.blogspot.com/2007/09/untitled-poem-requiring-much-revision_07.html

I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Friday, September 07, 2007. Untitled poem requiring much revision. I get these little wounds that I don’t remember taking,. I’ve found them on my chest, a short slash. And the pink swelling edges. But mostly. I get them on my legs. One bled into my sock. And dried before I noticed. I like the way. Blood turns hard like lava out of the hot,. Weightless core of the Earth. All bodies have gravity. If we were falling. Washes up on the sand.

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Poem-A-Day: April 2007

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Thursday, April 05, 2007. I first knew classical music. Through cartoons and movies. When I first heard Wagner's. Flight of the Valkries. Sailing naked from the radio,. I could only imagine flying monkeys. It was the first time I heard. The rattle of the brass and the clatter. Of the keys, and from there. The breath of the players. And the whine of their chairs. Shifting on the stage. I could hear it was a made thing. I didn't like it then.

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Poem-A-Day: September 2006

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Thursday, September 28, 2006. And rides the trough. Notice it, diving. Tuesday, September 26, 2006. Looking for Good Poems in Poetry Magazines. Sometimes the only poems you can find are cobwebs,. The ones with dead bugs. Hanging, but no spider left to bind them, drink them up. They come off in your hair with a sticky rip. There’s a phone ringing in a toybox. It’s buried. We don’t have caller ID. Being a toy in that box–no usable hands.

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Poem-A-Day: October 2006

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Sunday, October 29, 2006. You think about death a lot. When you lift things for a living. I stay healthy and my back is strong. But my wrist is sore from twisting it. My shoulder blades ache underneath-. I hurt myself sometimes and it’s harder. To work. It’s easy to think about death. When a small piece of you goes bad. I’ve pictured my knees crunched flat. By the long iron conveyor belt so often. I can feel the endorphins loading. You&#821...

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Poem-A-Day: March 2007

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Thursday, March 15, 2007. As a long-lived animal who has seen more snows. Than any of the creatures whose small footprints. Stitch the ground down into a drunken white quilt. And make meetings that lie to time itself- -. I'm certain to make more than love. I've seen thirty springs and made. Love and child but my mind is made. To want more than memories,. It wants to be the recurring dream. The mind wants so much more than the body. Getting ...

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Poem-A-Day: August 2006

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Wednesday, August 30, 2006. Three Poems for August. Love for the Living. Dark and light, bad and good, are not different but one and the same.". God commanded the light into being and the shadows came. Creatures came to inhabit the shadows and began to draw blood. When we sons and daughters sat on the immense skin of the Earth,. With its eczemas and cancers showing, and tried to make sense of bad,. Removing the motes of ash from its white.

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Poem-A-Day: November 2008

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I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not. Friday, November 14, 2008. Meditating at My House Near the University. Some mornings I sit on my porch and do nothing. But drink coffee and listen to squirrels chirp,. Car brakes squeak, and bulldozers shatter a house. But I can meditate back into that morning-porch body. In the middle of the day if I listen to my breath. Until the greasy machines rattle to a halt. You know the machines: one practices cleaning the house,. Painting a Month b...