Categories
Poetry

Pluto Shits on the Universe By Fatimah Asghar

tn-p_lorri_fullframe_bw_custom-1c3fd83c90aa01f369f2ddb1f8060347b655fb62-s800-c85fatiheadshotPluto Shits on the Universe
By Fatimah Asghar

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/250212

On February 7, 1979, Pluto crossed over Neptune’s orbit and became the eighth planet from the sun for twenty years. A study in 1988 determined that Pluto’s path of orbit could never be accurately predicted. Labeled as “chaotic,” Pluto was later discredited from planet status in 2006.

Today, I broke your solar system. Oops.
My bad. Your graph said I was supposed
to make a nice little loop around the sun.

Naw.

I chaos like a motherfucker. Ain’t no one can
chart me. All the other planets, they think
I’m annoying. They think I’m an escaped
moon, running free.

Fuck your moon. Fuck your solar system.
Fuck your time. Your year? Your year ain’t
shit but a day to me. I could spend your
whole year turning the winds in my bed. Thinking
about rings and how Jupiter should just pussy
on up and marry me by now. Your day?

That’s an asswipe. A sniffle. Your whole day
is barely the start of my sunset.

My name means hell, bitch. I am hell, bitch. All the cold
you have yet to feel. Chaos like a motherfucker.
And you tried to order me. Called me ninth.
Somewhere in the mess of graphs and math and compass
you tried to make me follow rules. Rules? Fuck your
rules. Neptune, that bitch slow. And I deserve all the sun
I can get, and all the blue-gold sky I want around me.

It is February 7th, 1979 and my skin is more
copper than any sky will ever be. More metal.
Neptune is bitch-sobbing in my rearview,
and I got my running shoes on and all this sky that’s all mine.

Fuck your order. Fuck your time. I realigned the cosmos.
I chaosed all the hell you have yet to feel. Now all your kids
in the classrooms, they confused. All their clocks:
wrong. They don’t even know what the fuck to do.
They gotta memorize new songs and shit. And the other
planets, I fucked their orbits. I shook the sky. Chaos like
a motherfucker.

Categories
My Poetry Poetry

Svarog’s Hymn

Svarog’s Hymn

One true Church,
he grinned mischievously.
It is mine, obviously.
The Church of Me—
I, mine and me,
now that’s a trinity!

Categories
art Commentary Poetry video

Lowell Blues

kerouacThinking about things Beat after yesterday’s Shakespeare & Company post.  Seems like a good time to share this cool film, found on the equally cool Allen Ginsberg Project blog.

Henry Ferrini’s impressionistic evocative Lowell Blues (2000) is a honeyed melancholic visual poem (somewhat imposed upon in this version by Journeyman Pictures intrusive logo!), with home-town boy Jack Kerouac’s words always at the center, featuring Lee Konitz’s mournful alto sax, and distinctive readings of Kerouac’s distinctive prose, by such distinctive voices as (those clearly belonging to) Robert Creeley, Gregory Corso, Carolyn Cassady, Johnny Depp, David Amram.. We even catch isolated fragments of Kerouac himself.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSy8jn6Yiss#t=561

 

http://ginsbergblog.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html

Categories
Poetry

Do You Recognize This Poem?

I found this in an file, dated 4/2014, along with a lot of potential edits, the full text Genesis: I 1-27, and A LOT of notes on those passages.  I have no memory of the how and the why, if I wrote this or I was just playing around with someone else’s stuff, but it sure looks like I was toying with trying to turn the creation myth into a love poem.  I’m feeling pretty old, finding something I’m not sure that I wrote or not. A google search doesn’t cause me to suspect it isn’t mine, but….anyone recognize it?

In The Beginning

move as a wind the heavens and the earth
set fires in the dome of the sky
to give light upon the earth
to gather together formless void and darkness:
morning, the second day
beneath the ark of the mists called Sky
yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind is flying creeping

make it good if there was light, make it you
fruitful and multiplying
the image of you.

Categories
My Poetry Poetry

Spam Poetry Challenge Entry

Christy over at Poetry Parfait threw down the gauntlet for a Spam Poetry Challenge.  I apologize for my entry in advance–I didn’t take it very seriously, I guess.

I’m putting the poem first, because it works better that way.  The original spam lines follow.

DisappointedA different female I had been speaking to was stunned,
said Wow, you might be excellent without it–but–
11 weeks accomplishing almost nothing?–
simply, Junk, a dedicated artist of desire(?):
Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis…

 

So, here’s my lines of spam…

1.A different female I had been speaking to (who hadn’t reported just about anything still) was stunned and said Wow, you might be excellent out with it ehand then said I want to complete whatever you did. 

2.Ala Dolomite all their motto is “Just claim it! very well Correctly, often the Democrats would want practically nothing better than to be able to inveigle all their media allies directly into spending another 11 weeks accomplishing almost nothing although talking about Romney’s taxes brand by means of brand (and every person how the media have to have valuable very little when it comes to inveigling). 

3.Just simply read this junk to check out the time out and about in to the weeds a dedicated reportorial disadvantage artist such as MacGillis goes while offered practically nothing of importance or maybe desire.

4.Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis Buy Cialis

Categories
Commentary Poetry

Two Poems Stuck In My Head

Forgive me, it’s been over 6 weeks since i sat down and tried to think in verse.  Forget about the actual work of putting it on paper and tinkering.  I could blame all the obligations–work, kid’s stuff, chores, a wedding, a vacation, fiction, and this damned blog–but I don’t do excuses with writing. It’s like Kermit says to Luke Skywalker in Star Wars: do or do not.

I’ve been doing not…

But the weird thing is that whenever I think of poems, and my not making time for them, my mind plugs up with two fairly famous poems, one often replacing the other when I try to force the former from my consciousness.  Neither are pieces with particularly resounding significance to either my brain or my soul, but it’s as if they’ve infected me.  The Dickinson poem is a ubiquitous piece in high school English classes–or used to be before poetry was marginalized in order to make more room for standardized test prep, and I’ve seen the Oliver poem frequently anthologized as well–no idea why they’re colonized my brain, though.

Anyone ever experience anything like this?

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver published by Atlantic Monthly Press

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm –

The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room –

I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly –

With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz –
Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see –

from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson.

Categories
link Poetry

The Colorado Independent: News Poems

I’m continually scouring the internet, looking for poetry to roll around in like one of those crazed grizzlies on Kodiak Island loll about in rotting whale flesh–intoxicated by the joy and sensory overload of sustenance, bounty, excess.  I found that The Colorado Independent is doing a series on poems inspired by the news–don’t think about it, just check it out. 

With more to come, there are already a couple of really great pieces, especially this one, presently the most recent entry.

And while you’re there, check out this:
David Mason, the son of Colorado natives, is a literature and creative writing professor at Colorado College and the state’s poet laureate. He grew up in Washington state, lived overseas for many years and moved to Colorado to teach in 1998, determined to write something that anchored him in his people’s landscape. Mason’s 2007 verse novel, “Ludlow” (Red Hen Press), is 600 stanzas of poetry about fictional characters’ experience of the Colorado Coal War of 1913-1914. It’s also a meticulously reported journalistic study about coal miners’ struggle against the Rockefeller-owned Colorado Fuel & Iron Company, and the bloodshed and heartbreak that culminated in the state-led attack on the strikers, their wives and children 100 years ago this week. The book has inspired an opera by composer Lori Laitman. Mason recently spoke with Colorado Independent editor Susan Greene.
http://www.coloradoindependent.com/147142/the-massacre-in-iambic-pentameter

Categories
My Poetry Poetry

Tsunami Sketch

I watch them walk wonderingly,
Stupified across the strange expanding sand
And I, likewise bewitched, stare mute
Eight years and half a world distant:
It’s not right
It’s not right
It’s not right
And when it comes, it is perfect,
A brilliant curl rimmed in white
An embrace
And still they walk
And still I watch
Naseaous and bewildered
By this, this thing like god itself
Wrath and love and death
The scale of which is clear
Too late, too little
Against the cold,
clenching mountain.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_Indian_Ocean_earthquake_and_tsunami

Categories
Commentary Poetry

Link: Why should poets engage with ‘ordinary people’?

Why should poets engage with ‘ordinary people’?  They don’t exist.

Ordinary is just the word we use for the less intellectually sophisticated.

“The best part of human language, properly so called, is derived from reflection on the acts of the mind itself.” So wrote Coleridge in the great 17th chapter of Biographia Literaria that deals with his friend Wordsworth’s argument that the proper diction for poetry consisted in language taken from the mouths of men in real life, under the influence of natural feelings. The language, in Wordsworth’s own words, of men “in low and rustic life… because in that condition our feelings coexist in a state of greater simplicity… are more easily comprehended and more durable”. Tosh, said Coleridge.  CLICK BELOW TO READ ON……

http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/why-should-poets-engage-with-ordinarypeople-they-dont-exist-9499712.html

Categories
My Poetry Poetry

I Love Your Soft

I tossed a draft of this against the Twitter wall yesterday and it stuck.  A little. 

I love your soft
Solomon-songed geology–
oh, those hills and valleys–
your glacial erosion.