Find two completely different types of magazines. Examples: RollingStone + Food & Wine or Vogue + Field & Stream or Skateboarder + TIME
Tear out a page from each. Cut out words or phases that interest you, as many or as few as you want. Reassemble to create your new poem. Post results. Please add a title.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
the poem I tried to post last week . . . I don't usually write this sort of thing
far from any
ocean
mind imagines
only
concrete
abstractions do not
hold these
restive limbs this
beating core this
coiled mind
un-
wind
walls planes curves connect
almost seamless
smooth
absorb sun's ninety-three
million mile distant
poured rock
heat
inhale
exhale friction
radiates
wheels spin
gravity
feet push humming
speed
hands shoulders hips
whip body up
across
aloft concrete smooth
below
blood pulse momentum
glow
thigh muscle acid
burn
toes tense knees
sustain this
curve
this line this
turn this
infini-
tesimal
momen-
tary
release
ocean
mind imagines
only
concrete
abstractions do not
hold these
restive limbs this
beating core this
coiled mind
un-
wind
walls planes curves connect
almost seamless
smooth
absorb sun's ninety-three
million mile distant
poured rock
heat
inhale
exhale friction
radiates
wheels spin
gravity
feet push humming
speed
hands shoulders hips
whip body up
across
aloft concrete smooth
below
blood pulse momentum
glow
thigh muscle acid
burn
toes tense knees
sustain this
curve
this line this
turn this
infini-
tesimal
momen-
tary
release
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
the caballero’s dog
howls through the night
as if to prove to us
that air is what we breathe
and sun warms our skin
the caballero’s dog
knows things
has visions
sniffs out hidden meanings
and fetches them back to his master
in the darkest part of night
his howls peal from the east end of the valley
they catch the current of the stream running from the glacier
and careen down the valley to the villages below
moments later the howls spring off the southern ridge across from our camp
pulled by gravity yet refusing earthly landing
they echo into air
and make their way to camp
I remain awake for hours or minutes
waiting for the dog’s next song
Friday, July 17, 2009
towards
evening street lamp glistening
wet reflection
earthworms wriggling up
a river of springtime
rain puddles swell
invisible destination
fleet of flower boats
anchored
in brownie batter garden mud
Shadows, proceed me!
Shoes, carry me
home!
rain
tapping
on my shoulders
wet reflection
earthworms wriggling up
a river of springtime
rain puddles swell
invisible destination
fleet of flower boats
anchored
in brownie batter garden mud
Shadows, proceed me!
Shoes, carry me
home!
rain
tapping
on my shoulders
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
whispering to the opus
A tornado with realism and panache, rarely witnessed in a cool, dark place not far from the tree, above the faded flowers, behind her new backyard, bamboo, rose, butterfly, untouched, floating, she visited and found a story. Negotiations, a whisper, captured breathless, layers of colorful hurricane brought the garden a new life, the exact location - shredded paper inside of a shoebox, buried beneath a wild wind of French satisfaction. Mesmerized, she turned to face the quiet piece of night, pen in hand, shredded paper swirling in a sparkling orb above her head.
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