One of my occasional gigs is taking my Montgomery Ward typewriter to a festival or conference and setting up to write poems in a minute. You give me three words, and I will make a poem for you with them in it. Today, I am snowed in and could use some practice. If you put your name (or a fake name) in the comments box along with three words, I will write you a custom poem and post it on this page. You can see samples of the poems I’ve written in the past. It’s what I do. Continue reading “Poem in a Minute”
Tag: love
Come With Me, My Love
Sea of Love, a thriller from 1989, is not your typical police drama. Yeah, there’s the career cop drinking too much (Al Pacino) and the sexy woman who becomes a suspect (Ellen Barkin), and the cop’s buddy who offers comic relief (John Goodman). But the killer finds victims through poetic ditties in the newspaper personal ads. Continue reading “Come With Me, My Love”
To Day
Here is what I bring to you, Day:
A restlessness haunting the hours,
Like the moon behind the trees—here,
And here, now here. A belief
In the core, the place of origin,
Creek water walked in as a child,
The dirt tracks toy Corvettes made,
My son’s laughter exploding
From a pile of leaves we never
Gathered in fall. I give this all up Continue reading “To Day”
Sunday Night
Eros walked into the room like he’d forgotten
How to fly; like his wings had been left behind
In some other girl’s bedroom, some other girl’s
Backside. He walked into the room like hey,
I’m just trying to meet you where you are at.
Let’s make it happen. But avert your eyes. Continue reading “Sunday Night”
Asking for It
On the blind channel, Jane Russell’s wrists strain the leather straps,
Her bosoms in her filmic Howard-Hughes-created bra,
Contorted like wadded socks in the wash.
The narrator says, “She turns from Billy in disgust.” Continue reading “Asking for It”
Sticks and Stones
I learned yesterday that I am a finalist in this competition. Here is the poem I sent in. I will be sending the rest of the manuscript now.
She was reminded of the aphorisms from childhood:
“This is for your own good” and also,
“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.”
He never wanted to spurn her. There was something
Uncontrollable in him, a world of the parent
That enabled him to decide that making his world
Disappear from her was for her own good.
He let her grip on his thighs slide down
To his knees and then to his calves and then
She fell to earth as he continued to fly.
He was so sure he was hurting more.
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 