Sunday, November 30, 2014
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Poem in the Early Morning
and wife beater.
In bad dreams I killed him
and once, in the consequential light of day,
I called the Humane Society
about Blue, his dog.
They took her away
and I readied myself, a baseball bat
inside my door.
That night I hear his wife scream
and I couldn't help it, that pathetic
relief; her again, not me.
It would be years before I'd understand
why victims cling and forgive.
I plugged in
the Sleep-Sound and it crashed
like the ocean all the way to sleep.
One afternoon I found him
on the stoop,
a pistol in his hand, waiting,
he said, for me.
A sparrow had gotten
in
to our common basement.
Could he have permission
to shoot it? The bullets, he explained,
might go through the floor.
I said I'd catch it, wait, give me
a few minutes and, clear-eyed, brilliantly
afraid, I trapped it
with a pillow.
I remember how it
felt
when I got my hand, and how it burst
that hand open
when I took it outside, a strength
that must have come out of hopelessness
and the sudden light
and the trees.
And I remember
the way he slapped the gun against
his open palm,
Horror Notes
Click the picture for a beautiful ambient / horror-esque soundscape. Lots of hints of old school horror film notes combined with drone / dark ambient. Might serve well as a backdrop to a haunt. I recommend listening to it with headphones to hear its cavernous quality and subtle goings-ons.
Photographer unknown.
*
Labels:
ambient,
dark ambient music,
haunted,
horror,
music,
scamall,
wee hours,
yard haunt,
YouTube
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Saturday, November 22, 2014
I Believe It's Magic
I saw Ghostbusters in the theater three times when it came out. And, of course, I had the cassette of the soundtrack. Mick Smiley's I Believe It's Magic was my favorite song. This subtle remix and video are so much fun.
*
Friday, November 21, 2014
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Corners
Corners
I've sought out corner bars, lived in corner houses;
like everyone else I've reserved
corner tables, thinking they'd be sufficient.
I've met at corners
perceived as crossroads, loved to find love
leaning against a lamp post
but have known the abruptness of corners too,
the pivot, the silence.
I've sat in corners at parties hoping for someone
who knew the virtue
of both distance and close quarters, someone with a
corner person's taste
for intimacy, hard won, rising out of shyness
and desire.
I've turned corners there was no going back to,
corners
in the middle of a room that lead
to Spain or solitude.
And always the thin line between corner
and cornered,
the good corners of bodies and those severe bodies
that permit no repose,
the places we retreat to, the places we can't bear
to be found.
*
Photographer unknown
Poem by Stephen Dunn
Monday, November 17, 2014
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Friday, November 14, 2014
Latest Poem
Drought
For the last year
I've eaten nothing
but cinders for breakfast.
Burnt words piled on plates,
not a lick of rain
to sooth my cracked tongue.
Outside,
creatures go on bleating
and bleating
while the sun above
never ceases its staring.
It can't stop seeing
what it's seen.
My hands, a tattoo of ash,
fold and rise
as if to beg,
but my brittle heart
has hardened
and I cut
the nearest throat,
desperate
for the quenching,
not caring
that it's blood,
not caring
whose it is.
*
Poem written 11/2014
Photographer unknown
October Kitty
He helped us get ready for Halloween. I also have photos of him helping Rot carve jack o'lanterns.
But I won't be posting them here. ;)
*
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Beautiful Ugly Beautiful
Die Antwoord - from South Africa. Been a fan of these guys for quite some time. This latest video is absolutely stunning, and most definitely not work safe. I get this song stuck in my head alot. And you gotta respect the sampling of I Believe It's Magic by Mike Smiley.
*
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Poem
Untitled
She didn't last the night.
The blanket that held her
was standard hospital issue,
white, worn and frayed.
The orderly
took it down to the basement
where tomorrow it will be washed,
folded and stacked with the others—
these quiet ferrymen,
who circle in on themselves,
hold and wait with
infinitesimal patience
under the hum of lights
that never go dark,
never stop illuminating
what no one
wants to see.
*
Poem written 2014
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Monday, November 10, 2014
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Lost
The Letter
And in the end, all that is really left
Is a feeling—strong and unavoidable—
That somehow we deserved something better.
That somewhere along the line things
Got fouled up. And that letter from whoever’s
In charge, which certainly would have set
Everything straight between us and the world,
Never reached us. Got lost somewhere.
Possibly mislaid in some provincial station.
Or sent by mistake to an old address
Whose new tenant put it on her dresser
With the curlers and the hairspray forgetting
To give it to the landlord to forward.
And we still wait like children who have sent
Two weeks’ allowance far away
To answer an enticing advertisement
From a crumbling, yellow magazine,
Watching through years as long as a childhood summer,
Checking the postbox with impatient faith
Even on days when mail is never brought.
*
Poem by Dana Gioia
Photo taken 11/8/14
Labels:
dana gioia,
fuji digital,
my photography,
Poetry (not mine)
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Friday, November 7, 2014
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Old Poem
Catastrophe
The words they'll use to describe
what happened.
Believing to have articulated
what a tragedy that befell,
what horror was visited upon.
See how it deafened the morning?
Grass stopped growing,
weeping children
fell silent.
The words they'll use to describe
what happened
will leave us
with our hands
cupped and waiting,
cupped and waiting,
in the 3 a.m. dark.
*
Photographer unknown
Poem written 2011
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Sunday, November 2, 2014
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