Wow! 15 poems in one post? I have been writing my poem-a-day for 2010, but I didn't realize I was neglecting to share them that much. Apparently, this will be a chapbook-length post. But first, I wanted to share a few tunes from a band I'd never heard before last night. They're called the Mystery Jets, and I like these two songs from them: "Young Love" and "Two Doors Down."
*****
041-Love poem
Something in the way she turns everything off
before she exits the car; something in the way
she uses a hair dryer to warm her feet; something
in the way she sways from side to side when
she's being playful with me; something in the way
her eyes always seem to find mine in a crowded
room; something in the way she reads my words
and makes me feel that her world is on fire,
the flames licking the edges of her skin until
we find each other alone and filled with heat.
042-Black holes
Don't you worry about no
end of the world, no asteroid
hurtling through outer space or
a sun so hot it's ready to pop.
043-Witches
He's getting into everything spotted
& dangerous. They cast spells &
spin webs, stir potions in cauldrons.
044-Hold the handles
He's not happy he's dying,
but he knows he's dying
anyway like an abandoned
house swallowed by nature
he forgets how to fall
in love, but he can still
ride his bicycle around
town at night & pretend
the town needs him--without
me, what can be done--
though he is unhappy & dying.
045-Wanted: Your Heart
I am the can that you crush,
the plastic bottle you deflate,
the newspaper that you fold.
046-Gravity
The phone rings because
someone has to answer
or let it continue ringing.
The fog tells him he is
near a river, but the wind
can't whisper inside his heart.
She can call all she
wants; he will only
answer when he's ready.
047-Poets
Ultimately, we
only care about
the whispers of
our own voices
wondering how
they will carry.
048-Confectionery
In February, everyone wants candy hearts
or a heart-shaped box of varied chocolates,
but by Easter, it's all about those Peeps.
Of course, any time is good for a Hershey Kiss,
and I'm always searching out Appleheads.
Still, it's winter, the season of candy canes,
and I better eat better, or I'll bend my cane
in old age. Plus, who wants to give their heart
to a plus-sized candy eater? I put the Appleheads
down and get down to the sound of chocolate
going into the trash. I'll diet my way to mo' kisses
and late-night parties with my funky peeps
at the club & fall in love with a sweet peep,
because I'm still young & don't need a cane
to get around the dance floor. My soft kiss,
my fully full-fledged foolish and foolhardy heart
will seek out the deepest, darkest chocolate
smile as I lose my fragile, fractured head
for a little while. I'm not talking Appleheads
anymore, man. I'm not concerned with Peeps,
yo. If you don't know the appeal of chocolate,
then I ain't gonna melt it down with candy canes
and pretend I wasn't reaching out for your heart.
Tell me now, have you ever tasted a Hershey Kiss
that didn't make you want another sweet kiss
and then another? Don't bother with Lemonheads,
because they're too sour for anyone's heart.
Start with some marshmallow, a yellow Peep,
then sweep the room for a peppermint cane,
which would actually go well in a chocolate
milkshake. That's right, I said chocolate
is the route you take for a simple kiss,
and if you want more, have candy cane
breath and watch her lose her head.
If you want to talk, don't make a peep,
because words only disturb a beating heart.
So, take her candy hearts and heart-shaped chocolate
boxes, but don't make a peep about wanting a kiss,
because it'll come when her head swirls like a candy cane.
049-Crash
I am the piano
that fell on the crack
& splintered into music
that made everyone jump.
050-Flurries
My heart is a snow drift
collecting your smiles. My mind
is a plastic sled sliding for miles
upon the snowy hill of your
heart. Hold my hand and kiss
me for a start. My heart is
a snow drift collecting your smiles.
051-Poem
Not every poem
is a cardinal darting
through snow-covered
branches in February.
052-With me
You don't want to play
just because I make
the rules (It's cheating.)
& it still hurts (So?)
& you are still weird
(I'm rubber; you're glue.)
& I'm through with you.
053-Intentions
Think of bunnies (filled with good intentions)
or kangaroos (filled with good intentions)--
think of monkeys (filled with good intentions)
or real bad news (filled with good intentions).
Do you wonder (filled with good intentions)
if I'm thinking (filled with good intentions)
about plunder (filled with good intentions)
or your one thing (filled with good intentions)?
I only ask (filled with good intentions)
because I care (filled with good intentions)
about your ass (filled with good intentions)
in underwear (filled with good intentions).
Come now, baby (filled with good intentions),
let's make babies (filled with good intentions).
054-Oval teen sonnet
You say yes
when I ask
you a question.
You say no
when I don't
even mention--
(I want to be your poetic rock star
& deliver a sonnet to your heart.)
You can talk so fast
& I can walk slow
running out of gas
rambling through snow.
(I just want to be your magnetic guy
holding you to things as if you are mine.)
I know
you know
my eyes like to see you;
you know
I know
you kind of like it too.
So let's just wander
& ponder
our parts,
because February is burning us
& our bodies want to fumble & fuss,
but we won't let them
forget then
our hearts.
055-Obnoxious
"Stop being vile," she says and passes him
her coat, "or I won't stay." "Come now,"
he says as he opens the closet, "You act
as if I'm somehow revolting." She smiles
and says, "Well, there are times you are
completely odious, not to mention simply
objectionable." She sits on the couch, and
he takes a seat next to her before saying,
"I'm glad I'm not repugnant or repulsive."
She scoots closer to him as he puts his arm
around her shoulders. "No," she says. "You
are not unpalatable, but you can be abominable
and thoroughly awful." "Though you wouldn't
have it any other way," he says before they kiss.
*****
Yep, that's a lot of poems. I wonder how many people will actually read this entire post. If you are such a person (or if you're the type who jumps to the end of blog posts) and you want to follow me on Twitter, you can find me @robertleebrewer
*****
If you're interested in making money writing short (ironic plug for this post, eh?), then I suggest you check out this course offered by WritersOnlineWorkshops.com. (Click to continue.) And if you register for the February course, you can save 15% by using this code: FEB10
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
In Ohio, the sleds are slowly fading
Drove up to Ohio on Friday to spend this past weekend (and next weekend) with the boys. On both Saturday and Sunday, we got in quite a bit of sledding action in my brother David's backyard. My brother is blessed (or cursed, depending upon who has to mow the lawn during the summer) with a slightly steep hill in his backyard that levels off with plenty of room before reaching his fence. Ben and Jonah had a lot of fun; we even made a few ramps so they could get a little (very little) air time.
On Sunday, my mom stopped by, and we all watched my other brother Simon on a recent show he was on for the Speed channel called Dangerous Drives (click here to check it out). Simon is a dangerous driver who also just happens to chase storms. He's pretty good at it, too. Anyway, it's worth watching if you're into storm chasing, dangerous drivers, or young guys with long hair.
*****
Hooray! February is nearly over! That means the tyranny is almost over! The tyranny of February!
*****
Completely unrelated: I love dictionaries! (It's true!)
*****
Somewhat related: I also love exclamation points! (Maybe you noticed!)
*****
Here's some music I've been digging recently (some old, some new):
On Sunday, my mom stopped by, and we all watched my other brother Simon on a recent show he was on for the Speed channel called Dangerous Drives (click here to check it out). Simon is a dangerous driver who also just happens to chase storms. He's pretty good at it, too. Anyway, it's worth watching if you're into storm chasing, dangerous drivers, or young guys with long hair.
*****
Hooray! February is nearly over! That means the tyranny is almost over! The tyranny of February!
*****
Completely unrelated: I love dictionaries! (It's true!)
*****
Somewhat related: I also love exclamation points! (Maybe you noticed!)
*****
Here's some music I've been digging recently (some old, some new):
- "Wisconsin Beaches," by Headlights
- "Atticus," by the Noisettes
- "Love Is Stronger Than Death," by The The
- "Shocker in Gloomtown," by the Breeders
- "Glad Girls," by Guided by Voices
- "No Cars Go," by Arcade Fire
*****
Recent development: Gave up fantasy football and paid off some debt. (Click here to read about it all.)
*****
My positive meter is at around a 9.8 (out of 10) at the moment. If you like being around mostly positive people, then you can follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer. (& be sure to talk poetry on Tuesdays by using the #poettues hashtag.)
*****
While this post seems to be mostly disjointed and fractured, it also has absolutely no point. Guess I'm just giddy that February is almost over and wanted to give a general update of how things are going in this neck of the woods. I'll try to be a little more focused in March.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
All you need is love
In honor of V-Day, I'm going to share a little love, the kind of love that burns bright between my wife and myself. We found each other through poetry, and we continue to write poetry with (and without) words every day we're together (and even when we're in different states, we're together). I thought I'd share a few of those love poems here (we've written so many over the years).
Tammy started it all with this one:
Attachments to Digital Things
For you, it is an alarm
clock, a constant
since childhood, never stopping
or moving fast enough
to get away from his hands.
Children are taught to be still
for fear of breaking something
they're not supposed to touch.
So you dug your feet
into the snow, made a game
of outlasting your brothers in the cold.
It was later you decided to run
cross country, to push forward
alone against the clock, let go
of your legs, your heart
to keep control of your breath
when the alarm fails to sound.
Waking up on your own,
the forgiving sun.
Then, a few V-Days ago, I wrote this:
At the arboretum
From his box of Sweethearts, he hands
her candy that reads CUTIE PIE
before eating his own WILD LIFE.
They walk the paved path to a pond
filled with sleeping koi. A sign warns
KEEP OFF GRASS, but she leads him there
anyway. In high school, this is where
he would run across the frozen pond and
wander off the trails and into the summer
creek water. He hands her CLOUD NINE
and pops a CHILL OUT. He remembers
being young and cold in February, but
a sweater feels just right today. He's
not in high school anymore he thinks and
starts to move back toward the path.
But then, she touches his arm, whispers, "Stay."
At some point in 2008, Tammy wrote this poem and framed it for my birthday:
Sea Gypsies
You said you spent 5 minutes of your life
today looking for a staple remover.
Something to do with your job.
You edit, and sometimes
there is a need to pull things
apart. There are mountains
between us, and then a river.
The land swells with seeds
that fall from your pockets,
sewing the distance with deep
breaths, an entire city
in your smile.
I tell you about the Mokens,
gypsies of the Andaman Sea.
How they knew to flee the tsunami
before the first wave tore trees
from their roots, husbands from wives.
When the sky turns to salt, sometimes
there is a thirst. In their language
there is no word for want,
only an understanding
of give and take. You said
I took away your need
and you want
to share water with me.
The ground presses its pregnant
belly against my feet. I am
distracted by squirrels
in the trees. Wind.
When.
I still use my prompt-poems on Poetic Asides as excuses to surprise Tammy with love poems. Here's one of my recent favorites:
I think the world is a pin cushion
There's a space between everyday matters
that makes someone feel every day matters,
a breath or sigh in the darkness. We surround
our time with excuses and distractions, bind
those we love with commitments when we should be
splashing around in dark puddles while the rain
covers us in nothing more than what it is.
Tammy and I have written scores of love poems to each other (and I'm sure we've got about a gazillion more to write), but I wanted to share a little of the love with everyone, because it is--after all--Valentine's Day. So, Happy Valentine's Day!
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Check out the 2010 Poet's Market I edited by clicking here.
Tammy started it all with this one:
Attachments to Digital Things
For you, it is an alarm
clock, a constant
since childhood, never stopping
or moving fast enough
to get away from his hands.
Children are taught to be still
for fear of breaking something
they're not supposed to touch.
So you dug your feet
into the snow, made a game
of outlasting your brothers in the cold.
It was later you decided to run
cross country, to push forward
alone against the clock, let go
of your legs, your heart
to keep control of your breath
when the alarm fails to sound.
Waking up on your own,
the forgiving sun.
Then, a few V-Days ago, I wrote this:
At the arboretum
From his box of Sweethearts, he hands
her candy that reads CUTIE PIE
before eating his own WILD LIFE.
They walk the paved path to a pond
filled with sleeping koi. A sign warns
KEEP OFF GRASS, but she leads him there
anyway. In high school, this is where
he would run across the frozen pond and
wander off the trails and into the summer
creek water. He hands her CLOUD NINE
and pops a CHILL OUT. He remembers
being young and cold in February, but
a sweater feels just right today. He's
not in high school anymore he thinks and
starts to move back toward the path.
But then, she touches his arm, whispers, "Stay."
At some point in 2008, Tammy wrote this poem and framed it for my birthday:
Sea Gypsies
You said you spent 5 minutes of your life
today looking for a staple remover.
Something to do with your job.
You edit, and sometimes
there is a need to pull things
apart. There are mountains
between us, and then a river.
The land swells with seeds
that fall from your pockets,
sewing the distance with deep
breaths, an entire city
in your smile.
I tell you about the Mokens,
gypsies of the Andaman Sea.
How they knew to flee the tsunami
before the first wave tore trees
from their roots, husbands from wives.
When the sky turns to salt, sometimes
there is a thirst. In their language
there is no word for want,
only an understanding
of give and take. You said
I took away your need
and you want
to share water with me.
The ground presses its pregnant
belly against my feet. I am
distracted by squirrels
in the trees. Wind.
When.
I still use my prompt-poems on Poetic Asides as excuses to surprise Tammy with love poems. Here's one of my recent favorites:
I think the world is a pin cushion
There's a space between everyday matters
that makes someone feel every day matters,
a breath or sigh in the darkness. We surround
our time with excuses and distractions, bind
those we love with commitments when we should be
splashing around in dark puddles while the rain
covers us in nothing more than what it is.
Tammy and I have written scores of love poems to each other (and I'm sure we've got about a gazillion more to write), but I wanted to share a little of the love with everyone, because it is--after all--Valentine's Day. So, Happy Valentine's Day!
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Check out the 2010 Poet's Market I edited by clicking here.
Friday, February 12, 2010
February, I Don't Like You
I was going to say, "February, I hate you," but I'm trying to teach my boys not to say the word "hate," so--sigh--I need to lead by example. But seriously, February is always last place on my favorite month list. Blame it on the weather.
I mean, February has Groundhog Day (which I love), Valentine's Day (which I adore), President's Day (hey, I like Presidents, too), Mardi Gras (I am sooooo into food, including cajun dishes), the Super Bowl (I am a football fanatic). I should love February, right? Wrong.
Perhaps, it's the unrelenting cold temps and never ending bombardment of gray skies. Perhaps, it's an impatience for spring, summer, and autumn. Perhaps, it's all just some mumbo jumbo stuck in my head, and I only dislike February because I convinced myself I do. Regardless, I enjoyed today.
Today, it snowed in Duluth, Georgia. I didn't break out the ruler, but it was probably in the area of 2-3 inches, which is not a lot by my Ohio standards, but pretty uncommon for these parts. As soon as Reese got home from school, I bundled up him and Baby Will, and we played in the snow at the park. It was wet snow, so we were able to make snowballs, a little snowman (or snowperson--we didn't really define the gender, I guess), and snow angels. We had a ton of fun!
*****
I was recently interviewed on the Red River Writers Live radio show. You can check out an archived version of the interview by clicking here. I'm the second person interviewed. I talk about how I got started in poetry, read a recently published poem, and share a little insight on how to write a backwards poem.
*****
A novel has consumed me recently--my own. Since I'm a busy guy, I haven't been able to just sit down and write-write-write, but I've been writing in about all the time I can carve out, whether that means writing late at night, while I'm waiting for Reese's bus to drop him off, while I'm waiting for Tammy's bus to drop her off, while I...umm...should be reading a book even. Sorry if that's TMI, but that just goes to show the hunger I have for telling this story.
I've written enough stories in my day that I know this one will definitely be a keeper as long as the fire keeps burning this bright. It's one of those pieces of writing that just won't leave me alone; I even have dream sequences that fit into this novel. My only hope is that I'll do the story justice and be patient and disciplined with my revision (when I get to that point).
*****
I mentioned that I write when I wait for Tammy's bus to drop her off. Beginning earlier this month, Tammy has gone green and started riding the bus to work. It's actually faster getting in and out of Atlanta, since the bus can jump in the HOV lane; it also saves money on gas, not to mention the savings in wear and tear on her Subaru Outback; and it even gives her a little extra time to read books again (she just finished Salinger's Catcher in the Rye and is moving on to Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle). So, yay for public transportation!
*****
Here are some songs to get you through February:
1. "Roland," by Interpol
2. "She Sends Kisses," by the Wrens
3. "November," by Azure Ray
4. "Australia," by the Shins
5. "Amsterdam," by Guster
6. "My Love," by The Bird and the Bee
7. "That's All," by Clare and the Reasons
8. "Do the Whirlwind," by Architecture in Helsinki
9. "Id Engager," by Of Montreal
10. "Percussion Gun," by White Rabbits
*****
Comfort food recipe of the month: Ham and Beans
Ingredients: Bag of Dry Pinto Beans (I use 2 lb. bag); Diced Ham (I use 8 oz. bag, but you could use more--or less if you're not into meat, but you'd probably just need to call this Beans); water (lots of water)
Preparation:
I mean, February has Groundhog Day (which I love), Valentine's Day (which I adore), President's Day (hey, I like Presidents, too), Mardi Gras (I am sooooo into food, including cajun dishes), the Super Bowl (I am a football fanatic). I should love February, right? Wrong.
Perhaps, it's the unrelenting cold temps and never ending bombardment of gray skies. Perhaps, it's an impatience for spring, summer, and autumn. Perhaps, it's all just some mumbo jumbo stuck in my head, and I only dislike February because I convinced myself I do. Regardless, I enjoyed today.
Today, it snowed in Duluth, Georgia. I didn't break out the ruler, but it was probably in the area of 2-3 inches, which is not a lot by my Ohio standards, but pretty uncommon for these parts. As soon as Reese got home from school, I bundled up him and Baby Will, and we played in the snow at the park. It was wet snow, so we were able to make snowballs, a little snowman (or snowperson--we didn't really define the gender, I guess), and snow angels. We had a ton of fun!
*****
I was recently interviewed on the Red River Writers Live radio show. You can check out an archived version of the interview by clicking here. I'm the second person interviewed. I talk about how I got started in poetry, read a recently published poem, and share a little insight on how to write a backwards poem.
*****
A novel has consumed me recently--my own. Since I'm a busy guy, I haven't been able to just sit down and write-write-write, but I've been writing in about all the time I can carve out, whether that means writing late at night, while I'm waiting for Reese's bus to drop him off, while I'm waiting for Tammy's bus to drop her off, while I...umm...should be reading a book even. Sorry if that's TMI, but that just goes to show the hunger I have for telling this story.
I've written enough stories in my day that I know this one will definitely be a keeper as long as the fire keeps burning this bright. It's one of those pieces of writing that just won't leave me alone; I even have dream sequences that fit into this novel. My only hope is that I'll do the story justice and be patient and disciplined with my revision (when I get to that point).
*****
I mentioned that I write when I wait for Tammy's bus to drop her off. Beginning earlier this month, Tammy has gone green and started riding the bus to work. It's actually faster getting in and out of Atlanta, since the bus can jump in the HOV lane; it also saves money on gas, not to mention the savings in wear and tear on her Subaru Outback; and it even gives her a little extra time to read books again (she just finished Salinger's Catcher in the Rye and is moving on to Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle). So, yay for public transportation!
*****
Here are some songs to get you through February:
1. "Roland," by Interpol
2. "She Sends Kisses," by the Wrens
3. "November," by Azure Ray
4. "Australia," by the Shins
5. "Amsterdam," by Guster
6. "My Love," by The Bird and the Bee
7. "That's All," by Clare and the Reasons
8. "Do the Whirlwind," by Architecture in Helsinki
9. "Id Engager," by Of Montreal
10. "Percussion Gun," by White Rabbits
*****
Comfort food recipe of the month: Ham and Beans
Ingredients: Bag of Dry Pinto Beans (I use 2 lb. bag); Diced Ham (I use 8 oz. bag, but you could use more--or less if you're not into meat, but you'd probably just need to call this Beans); water (lots of water)
Preparation:
- Night before cooking, sort the pinto beans into a container filled with water (fill well above the level of the beans); make sure you sort the beans to make sure no pebbles somehow sneak in--I've yet to encounter this problem, but I've heard of it happening.
- Next morning, pour beans and water into strainer to drain water.
- Put beans in crock pot.
- Add ham.
- Add water a little higher than level of ham and beans.
- Set crock pot and let it cook.
Simple as that, and you get an awesome comfort food that is great re-heated for days to come. If you're into spicy foods (like me), then you can add your preferred hot sauce to add even more taste (I prefer Frank's Red Hot).
This is seriously simple and yummy, which is why I'm passing it on to you.
*****
I'll be leading a webinar on How to Publish Your Poetry Collection on April 29, 2010, at 1 p.m. (Click here to check it out.)
The webinar will cover the differences in chapbooks and full-length collections, getting published traditionally and in a more DIY fashion, and will allow participants to ask questions throughout the presentation. These are usually fun, and people tell me they are helpful. If you're interested, you should totally sign up.
*****
Also, if you're not following me on Twitter, you can do so @robertleebrewer.
Keep it real!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Poems, poems, poems!
Update on my 2010 Poem-A-Day progress (2 weeks of poems even!):
027-State of the ampersand
No skin in January. Fingers forced
into pockets and gloves. Some mittens
even. We avoid eye contact
as our breath makes like smoke.
February will only get worse. More
gray skies & hands held apart
even as we pray for March
& everything that follows after.
028-False Alarm
It wasn't a fire
& it wasn't a drill.
029-Before & after
Before midnight & after noon;
before Xbox & after Atari;
before episodes I through III
& after episodes IV through VI;
before the whole 9/11 thing
& after the Challenger explosion;
before the dominance of Google
& after the decline of card catalogs;
before the end of smoking in small bars
& after the "This is your brain on drugs"
commercial; before the Large Hadron
Collider & after Albert Einstein;
before Nickelback & after Nirvana,
there was a brief moment in which
I felt the world move a little.
030-Searching for hearts
Brave women search
for accommodating men,
who search for accommodating
women, who search
for brave men searching
for brave women.
031-Why I started writing poetry
Say every time a woman looked in your direction
people found you sprawled out in a gutter
muttering, love, by god, love. Say the last look
burned down a house and left everyone
running for cover. Say what you want, because
you can re-build that house whenever you want,
and you want and want and want. The blood
soaks into the bread; you can say so. Say
the sky is empty and you just want it full.
Say the end is too close for comfort. Say
it all began with a girl. Say the words just
came and that they just continued to do so.
032-Don't Panic Just Yet
Every lost cause, every forgotten
commercial song, every dropped
phone call, every doomsday
prediction and abandoned placard,
every mateless sock, every empty
inbox, every unfulfilled promise--
there is always a button to push.
033-To the groundhog
You may have the others fooled,
but I am on to you.
034-Ohio Geography
Zanesville-place to stay the night when lost
Youngstown-pot holes big enough to swallow a car
Xenia-always worried a tornado will hit
Waynesville-antique capital of the midwest
Vandalia-place to visit as a child, forget as an adult
Upper Sandusky-actually south of actual Sandusky
Troy-eat strawberries along the river levee
Sharonville-has a nice park for running hills
Reynoldsburg-wrong side of Columbus
Quaker City-pretty much self-explanatory
Perrysburg-has a water tower south of Toledo
Oxford-attractive college campus and students
New Lebanon-nice town to drive through without stopping
Mansfield-largest all boy track relay meet in midwest
Lebanon-has a horse track and other stuff
Kettering-great place to raise a family
Jeffersonville-outlet shopping madness
Ireland-tucked away in corner no one ever visits
Hillsboro-place to escape after graduation
Greenville-weird circle in middle of town
Fairfield-caught between Cincinnati and Hamilton
Eaton-home of the Preble County Pork Festival
Dayton-birthplace of aviation and Paul Laurence Dunbar
Columbus-the heart of the heart of it all
Bowling Green-flat land with one big manmade hill
Ashtabula-Lake Effect Snow
035-celestial poem
bend the sun
around the moon
like a halo.
tell the other
planets to align
as if blessed.
in the morning
we will search
for the answers.
036-rain poem
let the rain cover me
slide across my skin
connected to itself
let the rain fall on me
pitter patter plink
as if I'm made of tin
let the rain dampen me
my skin is not tin
nor will it rust away
037-moon poem
He pulls the moon
down to the lake
and asks the girl
to lose the clothes
he bought for her.
038-One evening
"I am surprised
you're not in love
with me," he said
as she shifted
in her seat and
looked for the moon.
039-Like branch
This branch
that branches out of this
other branch
branching out of this tree
is like the way
I like your very
like-minded
likeability.
040-Love Sestina
She shows me her chifforobe,
but I'm more interested in her pantaloons:
how they make her a hobbledehoy,
a girl traveling a circuitous
vocabulary. The awkward hullabaloo
of my heart, a wooden boomerang
slashing the air. She asks, "Boomerang?
I was only showing you my chifforobe;
why is everything about hullabaloo
with you? Forget my pantaloons
and your lusty, circuitous
cravings. I may be a hobbledehoy,
but I'm not easy." "Hobbledehoy
or not," I say, "I didn't mean boomerang
in that way." My reasoning's circuitous
path, my sudden despair of chifforobe--
maybe I should stop being a pantaloon
and ignore the overwhelming hullabaloo
of my heart! "After all this hullabaloo,"
I tell her, "I feel like the hobbledehoy."
"You wish," she says, "Mr. Pantaloon."
She calls me out, puts a boomerang
to the very cluttered chifforobe
of my heart. "Am I being too circuitous,"
I ask her, "or are you being too circuitous?"
"There you go with your hullabaloo,"
she answers, "always confusing chifforobes
with closets." She smiles like a hobbledehoy
who knows she can hold any boomerang
she wants, and I can't stop her pantaloons
from wandering through my pantaloon
mind. Dirty or not, this is my circuitous
soul! I want to give her my boomerang;
I think she should take my hullabaloo
and declare that she is my hobbledehoy--
throw open the doors of my chifforobe!
But she knows my chifforobe contains pantaloons
of other hobbledehoys; they wander circuitous
trails through the hullabaloo of my boomerang.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Workshop poems online at WritersOnlineWorkshops. (Click to continue.)
Use the code FEB10 during the month of February to receive 15% off registration prices!
027-State of the ampersand
No skin in January. Fingers forced
into pockets and gloves. Some mittens
even. We avoid eye contact
as our breath makes like smoke.
February will only get worse. More
gray skies & hands held apart
even as we pray for March
& everything that follows after.
028-False Alarm
It wasn't a fire
& it wasn't a drill.
029-Before & after
Before midnight & after noon;
before Xbox & after Atari;
before episodes I through III
& after episodes IV through VI;
before the whole 9/11 thing
& after the Challenger explosion;
before the dominance of Google
& after the decline of card catalogs;
before the end of smoking in small bars
& after the "This is your brain on drugs"
commercial; before the Large Hadron
Collider & after Albert Einstein;
before Nickelback & after Nirvana,
there was a brief moment in which
I felt the world move a little.
030-Searching for hearts
Brave women search
for accommodating men,
who search for accommodating
women, who search
for brave men searching
for brave women.
031-Why I started writing poetry
Say every time a woman looked in your direction
people found you sprawled out in a gutter
muttering, love, by god, love. Say the last look
burned down a house and left everyone
running for cover. Say what you want, because
you can re-build that house whenever you want,
and you want and want and want. The blood
soaks into the bread; you can say so. Say
the sky is empty and you just want it full.
Say the end is too close for comfort. Say
it all began with a girl. Say the words just
came and that they just continued to do so.
032-Don't Panic Just Yet
Every lost cause, every forgotten
commercial song, every dropped
phone call, every doomsday
prediction and abandoned placard,
every mateless sock, every empty
inbox, every unfulfilled promise--
there is always a button to push.
033-To the groundhog
You may have the others fooled,
but I am on to you.
034-Ohio Geography
Zanesville-place to stay the night when lost
Youngstown-pot holes big enough to swallow a car
Xenia-always worried a tornado will hit
Waynesville-antique capital of the midwest
Vandalia-place to visit as a child, forget as an adult
Upper Sandusky-actually south of actual Sandusky
Troy-eat strawberries along the river levee
Sharonville-has a nice park for running hills
Reynoldsburg-wrong side of Columbus
Quaker City-pretty much self-explanatory
Perrysburg-has a water tower south of Toledo
Oxford-attractive college campus and students
New Lebanon-nice town to drive through without stopping
Mansfield-largest all boy track relay meet in midwest
Lebanon-has a horse track and other stuff
Kettering-great place to raise a family
Jeffersonville-outlet shopping madness
Ireland-tucked away in corner no one ever visits
Hillsboro-place to escape after graduation
Greenville-weird circle in middle of town
Fairfield-caught between Cincinnati and Hamilton
Eaton-home of the Preble County Pork Festival
Dayton-birthplace of aviation and Paul Laurence Dunbar
Columbus-the heart of the heart of it all
Bowling Green-flat land with one big manmade hill
Ashtabula-Lake Effect Snow
035-celestial poem
bend the sun
around the moon
like a halo.
tell the other
planets to align
as if blessed.
in the morning
we will search
for the answers.
036-rain poem
let the rain cover me
slide across my skin
connected to itself
let the rain fall on me
pitter patter plink
as if I'm made of tin
let the rain dampen me
my skin is not tin
nor will it rust away
037-moon poem
He pulls the moon
down to the lake
and asks the girl
to lose the clothes
he bought for her.
038-One evening
"I am surprised
you're not in love
with me," he said
as she shifted
in her seat and
looked for the moon.
039-Like branch
This branch
that branches out of this
other branch
branching out of this tree
is like the way
I like your very
like-minded
likeability.
040-Love Sestina
She shows me her chifforobe,
but I'm more interested in her pantaloons:
how they make her a hobbledehoy,
a girl traveling a circuitous
vocabulary. The awkward hullabaloo
of my heart, a wooden boomerang
slashing the air. She asks, "Boomerang?
I was only showing you my chifforobe;
why is everything about hullabaloo
with you? Forget my pantaloons
and your lusty, circuitous
cravings. I may be a hobbledehoy,
but I'm not easy." "Hobbledehoy
or not," I say, "I didn't mean boomerang
in that way." My reasoning's circuitous
path, my sudden despair of chifforobe--
maybe I should stop being a pantaloon
and ignore the overwhelming hullabaloo
of my heart! "After all this hullabaloo,"
I tell her, "I feel like the hobbledehoy."
"You wish," she says, "Mr. Pantaloon."
She calls me out, puts a boomerang
to the very cluttered chifforobe
of my heart. "Am I being too circuitous,"
I ask her, "or are you being too circuitous?"
"There you go with your hullabaloo,"
she answers, "always confusing chifforobes
with closets." She smiles like a hobbledehoy
who knows she can hold any boomerang
she wants, and I can't stop her pantaloons
from wandering through my pantaloon
mind. Dirty or not, this is my circuitous
soul! I want to give her my boomerang;
I think she should take my hullabaloo
and declare that she is my hobbledehoy--
throw open the doors of my chifforobe!
But she knows my chifforobe contains pantaloons
of other hobbledehoys; they wander circuitous
trails through the hullabaloo of my boomerang.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Workshop poems online at WritersOnlineWorkshops. (Click to continue.)
Use the code FEB10 during the month of February to receive 15% off registration prices!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The End Is Near!
The end really is near. The end of my month as Guest Poet over at www.poets.org/forum. It was a really fun experience, and I hope the conversation continues on into February and beyond. Regardless, I'd like to thank Larina Warnock for thinking of me and affording me the opportunity to talk poetry with a new (and familiar) group of poetic hooligans.
*****
020-Sleeping Over
Only a house. Only a dirty house
without heat and filled with smoke
from cheap cigarettes. And animals
that use the carpet as a backyard
substitute. Only one or two seizures
on good days after a lifetime not
having any. The house is no longer
a place he has to stay, but her
seizures are something new and
terrifying for the boys. And worries
the boys' father. Only months
earlier, he was the one who quit
breathing. He knows what it is
to not trust his body to do what
it should. The house he no longer
has to visit felt alive when he
did. Maybe all the smoke. Maybe
the absence of any fresh air.
021-Haiku-ish
Found under light--
full moon blocked by clouds--
toothbrush on asphalt.
022-Triolets
I have been thinking about the meaning
of life again. For instance, I can't help
feeling I need to spend more time cleaning.
I have been thinking about the meaning
of my last dream. In it, I was leaning
into a mop, sweeping away wet kelp.
I have been thinking about the meaning
of love again. For instance, I can't help
motivating a bird to fly north when
that sweet bird should be headed only south.
My mouth can't stop flapping its wings and then
it motivates a bird to fly north when
the bird should reverse course, turn on a ten-
cent piece. But my heart beats across my mouth,
motivating a bird to fly north when
that sweet bird should be headed south.
023-Shouting poem
Here's a poem found by me;
I found it stuck inside a tree.
The poem was scared and crying out,
so I whispered, "Please, do not shout."
"But shouting is what I do," it said
as it threw words and lines at my head.
"Well then, I guess," I said, "We'll see
if we can shout you out of this tree."
024-Cracks
Three beds and a cabinet
for storing luggage and
utensils. Spoon me out
of this hot soup, this
messy basement. Gutter
the television into my
garden. I'll pay for cable
if it comes with Internet,
forget about the sidewalk.
025-Punctual
not every person is an inverted
exclammation point, but if enough
men plug into so many women,
the punctuation won't matter as much
as the sentence--one swift noun
verbing away its entire meaning
026-Distracted Drivers
Cars covered in ice and rock salt,
February blew in early this year.
One cross after another along the road
side as if they are cautionary billboards
exclaiming, "Watch out! Watch out!"
He thinks he's dying the death
of a thousand cuts. A cemetery
covered in January snow. Headstones
cracked and crooked; others rigid
with polish. He wants to stop and look
for his name, but he must keep
moving. His life depends on it.
*****
Wow! That last poem was composed at 11:59 p.m., which means I had less than 60 seconds ticking on the clock when it was finished. How am I possibly going to make it through 11 more months?!?
*****
I'm half-way through my January week in Ohio to visit Ben and Jonah. Beginning with this trip, my brother David (and my sister-in-law Laura) has been letting me stay at his place over my father's house (which is referenced in the "Sleeping Over" poem above and juxtaposed with my ex-wife's sudden seizure problem). I can't tell you how over-joyed I am at getting to stay in a clean house without smoke and with a functional heater and toilet. For the past year or so, it felt like every single time I returned to Ohio from Georgia that dad's house slipped a little further into some kind of evil. Enthusiastic thanks go out to David and Laura!!!!!!!
*****
Finally, I've assembled THE POETRY COLLECTION. It runs a little over 50 pages, and I'm very happy with how it reads and flows. And I've already submitted it to a couple destinations! I will continue to shop it around until it finds a home, but now I feel liberated to start building from scratch. I'm a never ending warehouse of ideas, but one project I've been considering is constructing an 808-line poem comprised of triolets that is autobiographical and makes leaps. But we'll see. Just glad to have THE POETRY COLLECTION together.
*****
Want to follow me on Twitter? Of course you do! Just find me @robertleebrewer!
*****
Things I've been blogging:
* Interview With Poet Helen Losse
* Writers Should Model Themselves After IKEA
*****
Want to publish your poetry? Click here to check out an OnDemand Webinar hosted by yours truly!
*****
020-Sleeping Over
Only a house. Only a dirty house
without heat and filled with smoke
from cheap cigarettes. And animals
that use the carpet as a backyard
substitute. Only one or two seizures
on good days after a lifetime not
having any. The house is no longer
a place he has to stay, but her
seizures are something new and
terrifying for the boys. And worries
the boys' father. Only months
earlier, he was the one who quit
breathing. He knows what it is
to not trust his body to do what
it should. The house he no longer
has to visit felt alive when he
did. Maybe all the smoke. Maybe
the absence of any fresh air.
021-Haiku-ish
Found under light--
full moon blocked by clouds--
toothbrush on asphalt.
022-Triolets
I have been thinking about the meaning
of life again. For instance, I can't help
feeling I need to spend more time cleaning.
I have been thinking about the meaning
of my last dream. In it, I was leaning
into a mop, sweeping away wet kelp.
I have been thinking about the meaning
of love again. For instance, I can't help
motivating a bird to fly north when
that sweet bird should be headed only south.
My mouth can't stop flapping its wings and then
it motivates a bird to fly north when
the bird should reverse course, turn on a ten-
cent piece. But my heart beats across my mouth,
motivating a bird to fly north when
that sweet bird should be headed south.
023-Shouting poem
Here's a poem found by me;
I found it stuck inside a tree.
The poem was scared and crying out,
so I whispered, "Please, do not shout."
"But shouting is what I do," it said
as it threw words and lines at my head.
"Well then, I guess," I said, "We'll see
if we can shout you out of this tree."
024-Cracks
Three beds and a cabinet
for storing luggage and
utensils. Spoon me out
of this hot soup, this
messy basement. Gutter
the television into my
garden. I'll pay for cable
if it comes with Internet,
forget about the sidewalk.
025-Punctual
not every person is an inverted
exclammation point, but if enough
men plug into so many women,
the punctuation won't matter as much
as the sentence--one swift noun
verbing away its entire meaning
026-Distracted Drivers
Cars covered in ice and rock salt,
February blew in early this year.
One cross after another along the road
side as if they are cautionary billboards
exclaiming, "Watch out! Watch out!"
He thinks he's dying the death
of a thousand cuts. A cemetery
covered in January snow. Headstones
cracked and crooked; others rigid
with polish. He wants to stop and look
for his name, but he must keep
moving. His life depends on it.
*****
Wow! That last poem was composed at 11:59 p.m., which means I had less than 60 seconds ticking on the clock when it was finished. How am I possibly going to make it through 11 more months?!?
*****
I'm half-way through my January week in Ohio to visit Ben and Jonah. Beginning with this trip, my brother David (and my sister-in-law Laura) has been letting me stay at his place over my father's house (which is referenced in the "Sleeping Over" poem above and juxtaposed with my ex-wife's sudden seizure problem). I can't tell you how over-joyed I am at getting to stay in a clean house without smoke and with a functional heater and toilet. For the past year or so, it felt like every single time I returned to Ohio from Georgia that dad's house slipped a little further into some kind of evil. Enthusiastic thanks go out to David and Laura!!!!!!!
*****
Finally, I've assembled THE POETRY COLLECTION. It runs a little over 50 pages, and I'm very happy with how it reads and flows. And I've already submitted it to a couple destinations! I will continue to shop it around until it finds a home, but now I feel liberated to start building from scratch. I'm a never ending warehouse of ideas, but one project I've been considering is constructing an 808-line poem comprised of triolets that is autobiographical and makes leaps. But we'll see. Just glad to have THE POETRY COLLECTION together.
*****
Want to follow me on Twitter? Of course you do! Just find me @robertleebrewer!
*****
Things I've been blogging:
* Interview With Poet Helen Losse
* Writers Should Model Themselves After IKEA
*****
Want to publish your poetry? Click here to check out an OnDemand Webinar hosted by yours truly!
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Coke Zero, IKEA, Poetry Publishing & 7 More Poems
I'm doing all right on my resolutions so far. I've been on a successful diet, losing more than 10 pounds so far this month, and I have written a poem each day of 2010. Here's the latest batch:
013-Not Writing
He punches a hole in the wall,
which sets off an alarm. He
can't stand the beep and finds
the alarm box. When he enters
a code to disarm, the beeping
grows louder. He wishes he
never punched a hole; but now,
he unscrews the box from the wall
and pulls all the wires out. He
puts the box back on the wall
before fixing the hole he made
with his fist. He lays on his
bed (hands behind his head)
and thinks tomorrow maybe.
014-The last time
we stood beneath this street light & kissed each other
we talked the pigeons right out of our lungs
until the moon shielded itself with a halo
the sun didn't return until the morning
of course by then we were both gone
015-Dear Diary
The sun was out today,
so I was too. I found
a park and ate some soup.
I heard the children laugh
as they chased each other
around slides and swingsets.
Perhaps, I've been too hard
on myself after all.
Tonight, I will relax.
016-Geometry
Faced with a hill, I drew a line
in the sky and said, "Fly
me to the next world, the one
where everyone sees the wolves
circling them in the forest."
Maybe I should have called
first or at least announced
my presence; maybe I could
have assembled my life
in another order, but that
would've made sense, and I
never was one for proofs.
017-Sunday morning
I puddle in the terrifying light
your smile shines on me. I place
orange cones around my heart
and erect MEN AT WORK signs.
In this big country, there is only
one sidewalk that I want
to travel: It leads me to you.
018-At your own risk
I found a crack in the floor
& slid my fingers along the path
of it before letting the jagged
trail swallow me whole. My
few white hairs changed blue
& signaled the shower rings
to open & close their curtains.
The bath mat covered me &
soon, I bathed in darkness.
019-Choosing friends
I've grown suspicious of beautiful women,
especially if they wear bikinis or expose
too much cleavage. I imagine these hussies
are actually men who want me to purchase
or click something that will do me harm.
I avoid people who take pictures with their
pets or use pictures of their pets in place
of themselves. I am no animal's friend. Also,
people who are in the process of eating
or part of a group photo or who insert
an inanimate object or graphic or something
not human--all such people I skip over.
I've found I like people with simple head-
shots and who hold books or microphones.
I friend people who send me messages
and who seem as if they might actually
be real, which is odd, since I'll never meet
most of my "friends," but still, there's that
feeling of maybe someday. And besides, I
think, I found my beautiful wife on MySpace.
*****
I really did meet my wife (Tammy Foster Brewer) on MySpace. And she really is beautiful. And she really is my best friend, which I didn't mention in the poem, but I thought I'd go ahead and share anyway. In fact, eventually, I'll probably make a post that outlines some of the high points of our wonderful love story.
*****
I had a great 3-day weekend with my beautiful wife and Baby Will. On Friday night, we watched a bunch of movies. On Saturday, we made it out to Barnes & Noble and the dollar store and other places of interest. On Sunday, we went to IKEA and the West Egg and Whole Foods and Kroger. On Monday, Tammy had to work, so Will and I traveled into the ATL to have lunch with her at Subway.
*****
Observation #1: IKEA was designed by a genius.
*****
Observation #2: Coke Zero is like the greatest drink in the world for a Coca-Cola junkie who is trying to diet.
*****
Parting shot: I've got a little more than a week left as guest poet over at the Poets.org forum. I'll be answering questions about poetry publishing tomorrow from 1-2 p.m. (Atlanta, Georgia, time). So, feel free to post a question tomorrow or any time between now and January 31.
By the way, if you're interested in publishing your poetry, you should totally check out the 2010 Poet's Market, edited by moi.
013-Not Writing
He punches a hole in the wall,
which sets off an alarm. He
can't stand the beep and finds
the alarm box. When he enters
a code to disarm, the beeping
grows louder. He wishes he
never punched a hole; but now,
he unscrews the box from the wall
and pulls all the wires out. He
puts the box back on the wall
before fixing the hole he made
with his fist. He lays on his
bed (hands behind his head)
and thinks tomorrow maybe.
014-The last time
we stood beneath this street light & kissed each other
we talked the pigeons right out of our lungs
until the moon shielded itself with a halo
the sun didn't return until the morning
of course by then we were both gone
015-Dear Diary
The sun was out today,
so I was too. I found
a park and ate some soup.
I heard the children laugh
as they chased each other
around slides and swingsets.
Perhaps, I've been too hard
on myself after all.
Tonight, I will relax.
016-Geometry
Faced with a hill, I drew a line
in the sky and said, "Fly
me to the next world, the one
where everyone sees the wolves
circling them in the forest."
Maybe I should have called
first or at least announced
my presence; maybe I could
have assembled my life
in another order, but that
would've made sense, and I
never was one for proofs.
017-Sunday morning
I puddle in the terrifying light
your smile shines on me. I place
orange cones around my heart
and erect MEN AT WORK signs.
In this big country, there is only
one sidewalk that I want
to travel: It leads me to you.
018-At your own risk
I found a crack in the floor
& slid my fingers along the path
of it before letting the jagged
trail swallow me whole. My
few white hairs changed blue
& signaled the shower rings
to open & close their curtains.
The bath mat covered me &
soon, I bathed in darkness.
019-Choosing friends
I've grown suspicious of beautiful women,
especially if they wear bikinis or expose
too much cleavage. I imagine these hussies
are actually men who want me to purchase
or click something that will do me harm.
I avoid people who take pictures with their
pets or use pictures of their pets in place
of themselves. I am no animal's friend. Also,
people who are in the process of eating
or part of a group photo or who insert
an inanimate object or graphic or something
not human--all such people I skip over.
I've found I like people with simple head-
shots and who hold books or microphones.
I friend people who send me messages
and who seem as if they might actually
be real, which is odd, since I'll never meet
most of my "friends," but still, there's that
feeling of maybe someday. And besides, I
think, I found my beautiful wife on MySpace.
*****
I really did meet my wife (Tammy Foster Brewer) on MySpace. And she really is beautiful. And she really is my best friend, which I didn't mention in the poem, but I thought I'd go ahead and share anyway. In fact, eventually, I'll probably make a post that outlines some of the high points of our wonderful love story.
*****
I had a great 3-day weekend with my beautiful wife and Baby Will. On Friday night, we watched a bunch of movies. On Saturday, we made it out to Barnes & Noble and the dollar store and other places of interest. On Sunday, we went to IKEA and the West Egg and Whole Foods and Kroger. On Monday, Tammy had to work, so Will and I traveled into the ATL to have lunch with her at Subway.
*****
Observation #1: IKEA was designed by a genius.
*****
Observation #2: Coke Zero is like the greatest drink in the world for a Coca-Cola junkie who is trying to diet.
*****
Parting shot: I've got a little more than a week left as guest poet over at the Poets.org forum. I'll be answering questions about poetry publishing tomorrow from 1-2 p.m. (Atlanta, Georgia, time). So, feel free to post a question tomorrow or any time between now and January 31.
By the way, if you're interested in publishing your poetry, you should totally check out the 2010 Poet's Market, edited by moi.
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