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Entries From the Farmhouse: The Reading
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Saturday, March 7, 2015. And sometimes I dream. Of being asked to read my poetry. At a very fine college. I am picked up at the airport. Or the train station. Because of my poetic. Disposition or for fear of flying. By a young poet too. Who is full of nothing. But little bits of beauty. I enjoy the car ride. I look out and see the landscape. I even think of a few lines. And jot them down. They will make a fine poem someday. I am well received. By the muffled voices as I pass.
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Entries From the Farmhouse: Tossed
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Saturday, March 7, 2015. By the great wave. It has thrown me. But I do not. Its waters into my mouth. I cannot fill it. Deposits in the branches. Of the lungs and. Brittle stars have taken. I am as indistinguishable. As a shoal to a boat. When the tides change. My bones bleach like shells. Poking through the sand. My heart cannot save it. Nor can I fill or hold it. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Barrow St. Review. Words With No Names. View my complete profile.
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Entries From the Farmhouse: July 2015
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Saturday, July 18, 2015. I do not understand your patient. Your image in the unemotional. Of the quick tempered pioneer. Changing into sand into. For the gullible ideals. Able to sew a few days of fabric together. Saturday, July 4, 2015. Someone who walks around without shoes. Pulveratricious - Covered in dust. Dorty - portly, obese, fat, plump. Gussock - a gunnysack or a Russian sock. Slaney - cinema or a play house. Balatron - The center of a gala. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).
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Entries From the Farmhouse: September 2014
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Sunday, September 21, 2014. It was nature repeating itself. The rain began to fall. I forgot you were in it. It was that you. Were not yet a something. Regardless we wouldn't encourage others. We even left instructions. On how not to do it again. How we were setting the stage. That it would be awkward. Tapping the mic to set up the awkward. Look and awkward laugh. Whose intent was to relieve. And to further set up. Something that wasn't expected until. We were actually doing it.
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Entries From the Farmhouse: Stalling for Time
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Saturday, August 8, 2015. Larry was a fine cop. Until he got beaten up by Ramona. He'd always come into the bar. And just sit there after that. After a long week and a. Long night of just sitting at the bar. I asked Joe to go over to Larry. Why do you want me to go over to Larry? I don't know, to cheer him up." I said. He's just been coming into this bar. For this past week and just sitting there the whole night." I said. So have we." he said. He moved to Montana.".
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Entries From the Farmhouse: March 2015
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Saturday, March 7, 2015. The poem arranges itself. It is in first person. It is entitled poem. It has a color. A face that looks the other way. It is from a book of poems. It slips outside when you are not looking. And lives another life. It is in time. It does not mock words. It is limited and repetitive. But it unravels in front of a theater. And throws on a scarf. Lives on an island. At the end of a century. The word noodle makes it sound silly. In a rather other worldly.
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Entries From the Farmhouse: April 2014
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Thursday, April 10, 2014. Care less about you or me. They do not populate our dreams. Like we may think:. I am thinking of one episode. Where my mother, a shade,. Lays down on her side of the bed,. Crying silently in her room,. With her flowered night shirt on. While I a child, calls, "I love you". To the darken face. That rises like she used to do. With the same weight I remember. Why would anyone do that? And as some may watch,. The magnificent boob tube of oblivion.
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Entries From the Farmhouse: January 2015
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Tuesday, January 20, 2015. Upon Hearing of a Poet I didn't Know had Died was Dead. You know I heard that poet had died. Like an actor of any sort. That father used to talk. About as he sliced an apple. Or pealed an orange. To share a piece with me. As we watched TV. That is Ray Milland or that is Josephine-. He died, and she is dead" he would say. I am young, we two are young. As he hands over his collection to me. Monday, January 19, 2015. I might not be here with you. View m...
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Entries From the Farmhouse: Staying Up Alone
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Saturday, July 18, 2015. I do not understand your patient. Your image in the unemotional. Of the quick tempered pioneer. Changing into sand into. For the gullible ideals. Able to sew a few days of fabric together. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Barrow St. Review. Words With No Names. View my complete profile. Picture Window template. Powered by Blogger.
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Entries From the Farmhouse: Whose Eyes Were Watching God
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Entries From the Farmhouse. Wednesday, April 29, 2015. Whose Eyes Were Watching God. The first thing the morning. Landing on my finger. Emptying like a fist fighting. Til the infinite ceilings break. As bad as that my lucid. Remains remaining where my eyes. Fell well dusk fell well. Footprints and the electric. Outlet breath the muscle. Faucet and mirror meetings. Mooring throats and wonder. Welling in the pockets of. Cities and in rivers. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Barrow St. Review.
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