jen's #2 for 23: I gotta nuther

Poetry

don't matter what
or how much you
write, how much
you feel it: the world
will hide its warm
glad knowing name
from you behind
its back, under its
bald shivering wing:
pick a hand/o no
the other hand

Ada's for April 20th

Untitled

Perhaps the wind will move the flap
of the GRAND OPENING sign above
the florist/deli next door that makes
sandwiches named after all the presidents,
and tomorrow the woman with
the artificial heart will find her
perfect housewarming plant for her
new small guest. I want to be here
when that happens, I want to cherish
my own ninety-nine cent heart.

Jen's for the 20th

Jen's for the 18th

Carried Home

Dog?
Absolutely.
Curious
However:
Stubborn
Hobbling.
Underneath:
Negligibly legged,
Downright dwarfy.

Ada's for April 17th!

Bedtime Story

Quiet now, the dreamland bed buoys me. When L comes in,
he puts his cold motor hands on my back to wake me on purpose.
I dreamt last night that kittens were being born all over and I could
not contain them. When I woke he was gone. I believe he had
said, We sleep as a team, and I do not know if it was a dream.

Jen's #15!

Smooch

The lady will have a white wine spritzer and the nacho cone, followed by a dune buggy ride and a candlelit screening of Romancing the Butt. Sweetie, the boy who got you pregnant and nearly gave you herpes in a three-way oughta gotten his ass beat like a bass drum at half-time. Your tits are fine. So’s your chin. Promise you’ll keep smooching pets of all species even turtles. Promise you’ll keep leaning in for the pink velvet promise of smooch. Let time turn the hairy, sour air right and nice because it really is, you know.

This is hard!

I just needed to check in and say, wow, writing a poem a day is way more difficult than I thought. I mean, I'm loving it--and I LOVE to see Jen's every day, but I'm surprised how much time it takes to complete a poem (or complete it enough to post it). Everyone else in National Poetry Write More Month seems to rockin' it hard core, and don't worry, I'm not giving up! I'm just calling in to say, geez!

Jen's #2 for #13

A Nice Nap Thought

With pillow on the floor
I could hear the parrot
snoring too suddenly I
felt/knew/understood I was
sleeping in a big hand thought
maybe it's the very same hand that
cradles the Burt Reynolds tribute band (!)

Jen's for the 11th! Hey Mark send me a cd!

Ghazal for Hooper

My mother never told me that I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

His name is Mark, he’s from Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and he’s a great guy but check it out: he’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

He was in town, called and told me his band was playing at the Lakeside Lounge. I figured they’d suck and I had other plans so I told him sorry I can’t make it but what’s the name of your band? He said Hooper and I said cool let’s have dinner tomorrow. Then I went home and looked them up and I was like, holy mother of God—I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

There’s no work to it he says. Well they work hard on the music, but then some dude will come up before the show and say Hey, I love Burt, I’ve got a smoke machine—you guys wanna use it? The universe cradles them adoringly in its hand like…like what? I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

He says the law of the stuntman comes in two-parts: Know when to hold on, and when to let go. I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

There are songs for Burt of course, for Sally, for Dom and for Loni. I ask, are there songs for Jerry? No. That’s more of a side project. I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

I have been listening to the same Nico song (sounds like a cartoon cow on peyote) for three days straight. Well flip that record over and how. I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

It’s not cheesy he assures me. The songs don’t come out and say, “Liftin’ weights and drinkin’ beer is something I like to do.” They talk more about the soul from Burt’s (aka Sonny’s) point of view. Would you risk your life for $50,000? What if your selfless act spared the life of your friend? Is it truly a selfless act if you get paid and don’t die? I have no idea how to answer these questions. I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

Mourning morning and night. I swore no joy would land nor stay. Now I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

This poem should be one thousand pages long, full of pictures I’ve never seen, and ideas so ready for the world they’re born with mustaches. Can’t you feel it? It’s like the sun on tight jeans. I have a cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

It’s not because it makes everything bearable or funny for a while or forever, it’s because it means a thing can happen and when the world's hell-bent on breaking the land-speed record for undoing itself that’s the best thing about being in Burt Reynolds tribute band says my cousin who’s in a Burt Reynolds tribute band.

Ada's for April 10th!

The Meal of Wishes

Bring me water and turnips
and coarse sea salt and the sliver
of the moon that hovered over
my house as a child, the one
I made wishes on, the one
I swore would bear me witness.
Bring me all of this to make
the perfect meal that requires
no prayer before hand, the meal
that is the prayer itself. Let me
eat my wishes and swallow
them whole, their sweet taste
still so impossible and full.

Ada's April 9th!

Talking Loudly to No One

We are all so scared
that other humans
cannot hear us;
we are also scared
that they can.

Reading at the Liar!

It was a great reading with many fun people and a nice big crowd.

Dan Nester was crazy and made fun of Helen Keller.
Michael Costello was brilliant.
Andrew Michael Roberts is my new favorite poet.
(Someone publish his book right now).

Now I must nap.

Things I accomplished:

-Went to reading
-Saw Dr.Cocktail

I just walked to the post office to pick up my books. It's raining hard outside. Perfect day for a reading. Perfect day for a warm afternoon cocktail and a poem.

List of things to do today:

-laundry
-write poem
-buy brother birthday present
-make chocolate chip cookies with L for Rob's birthday
-determine life plan
-map out the next 15 years of my life
-have lunch with Jen and L before reading
-go to reading at 2pm
-See Dr. Cocktail aka Shafer Hall

Ada's April 7th!

Big Help from Small Imaginary Things

Again, with the animals
talking in my sleep.
Last night a spaniel
with a long face like
a relative, helped me
gather my children
together. Every one with
a lunch and a bag of
glass fish beads. I said,
“It feels nice to have
you help me with these.”
And she answered,
“We make the
perfect team,” and
moved my little humans
out the door with
her leash in her mouth
and of course, I followed,
obediently.

I've got more New York Readings--if anyone is interested in coming out!

Sat, April 8th, 2PM: The Four-Faced Liar with Daniel Nester, Michael Costello, and Andrew Michael Roberts, New York, NY
Hosted by Tarpaulin Sky at the Frequency Series with Shafer Hall and Sam Amadon!

Mon, May 8th, 7:30PM: Readings Between A & B at 11th St. Bar with Nicole Cooley and Anthony Hawley, New York, NY
I love this bar, I mean, reading series.

Sun, May 14th, 7:00PM: Zinc Bar with Jennifer L. Knox, New York
Dude, it's Mother's Day, let's read some mother f*%#@&^ poems! (Hi Mom!)

Tues, July 11th, 7:00PM: Acentos in the Bronx (this is a great reading series and the people are amazing). We will miss Oscar Bermeo, but he's off to Califas and we know Rich Villar is always marvelous.

Tues, August 8th, 6:30PM: Bryant Park through the Acadamy of American Poets with Thomas Sayers Ellis and Peter Covino!

Saturday, November 3rd , 7:30PM: Gist Street Reading Series with Richard Jackson, Pittsburg, PA

Ada's April 6th!

The Extraordinary Event of the Ordinary Day
--For Trish Harnetiaux

I’m whistling
something atonal
and if I was listening
to my whistling
I’d surely be alarmed,
but I’m not.

I’ve found a catalog
of great things
left undone,
and I will begin to look
for the moments
I have missed.

The disasters in hindsight,
the elephants
marching in the mind.
O how I live in those
giant footprints. How long
it has taken me to notice
their large pounding
in the in my too-tight chest.

Ada's April 5th!

Little Wishes

What would I give for this:
our real selves in warmth
after a cold outside ride,
tiny bodies upside down
in my shiny chandelier,
eyelashes to eyelashes—
as the morning pushes clear.

Ada's April 4th!

Gratefulness
-For Deb Stein

In my deep dream
last night, I could
finally talk to birds
(I say finally there
because apparently
I had been waiting
a long time), and one
was sitting in a little
hole and speaking so
beautifully. I can't remember
ever hearing something
so beautiful.I began to cry
and when it asked me
what was wrong, I said,
"It's just so nice to
speak with you."

Jen's for April 4: Happy Birthday Deb Stein!

The Present I Want For Your Birthday

"Roses are reddish. Violets are blueish.
If it wasn't for Jesus, we'd all be Jewish." —Deb Stein

Would you consider doning the hippy skirt
with jingle bells and fringy boots you wore
twenty years ago to this evening's soiree?
How about a woven yarn bracelet, or three?
Or filling the nearly-closed holes up your lobes
with yin-yang studs and cheap hoops? Yeah,
I didn't think so. You've probably a more tasteful
ensemble already set on the closet door.

It's your day to do as you choose (you seldom
overdo or underdo anymore, though—more just-
rightdo—little dishes of chips or pickles set out
with perfect timing, seltzer to wash it down—
if it weren't for your flurry about the burners,
I might've starved this winter) but please tonight
do the Toaster Dance, take a puffed-up stranger
down a notch with "Easy, sizzle tits" for me—

as your generosity's boundless as the dirty jokes
you know when and how to place just so—
like fuzzy, goofball flowers set beside
sleek reeds in a sublime ikebana bouquet.

Ada's April 3rd!

The Unusual Request on a Corner Close to Home

Love, try to remember that you and I are dying.
Watch the thick white blossoms fill in the concrete
cracks next to the dry cleaners where they are piling
like unearthly fabric. Maybe no one will see
and grind them into the soot beneath their feet
they soon will become. Maybe they will not smell
to the unobservant stranger, like the sweet
corn in the field and he will not be compelled.
But Love, remember, that even Adam finally fell.
Try to remember that we are dying. The good
story is not always as beautiful as we would
want it, but it is the only story that we can tell.
You may think I am cruel or unforgiving,
But Love, remember, tonight, we are living.

First day back at the office..

So forgive me, my poem will be coming this evening.

So far my mind is white with office walls.

Nice to be back though, in some weird corporate way.

Good people make it all worth while.

Ada's April 2nd!

The Brain Birds are Happy and In Love!

When the cool white moon is replaced
by the sudden sun in the lobby of the
mind, well folks, the birds in there
simply freak out.

You cannot stop them, don’t try,
from flying all over the pink curls of the brain,
making nests of catkins and horse hair and
painted French candies.

Down with sadly singing the last lines
of "Send in the Clowns" over and over!
Down with hiding in the dusty
mean corners of January!

Today, the birds (the ones in here)
are going to play dress-up in all their
favorite dress-up clothes and prepare
to sing a song, no, not a song, a real,
honest-to-goodness anthem.

Ada's April 1st!

The Widening Road

All winter the road has been paved in rain,
holding its form as if it made its own direction.

We have a lot of these days. Or not.

A woman in a car staring out, her hands going numb.
When did the world begin to push us so quickly?

A blue jay flies low over her into the madrones.
She can still see it, its bright movements rocking a branch
surely delighted that it matches the sky.

The honest clouds.

A trembling tenderness grows like a fluttering in her hand.

She wants to hold it in her arms, but not pin it down,
the way the tree holds the jay generously in its
willful branches. The spring wind is blowing
through her—pulling the dead debris free from her limbs.

She cannot decide what she desires, but today it is enough
that she desires and desires and desires. That she is a body

in the world, wanting, the wind itself becoming
her own wild whisper.