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Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Friday, November 8, 2013

The Gratiot County Darling

It was my dear friend: the "Howl"-ed out, foulmouthed, class act jack ass,
who taught me to brave the sex shop and giggle in its face,
to laugh at hardships known as kidney stones in the urethra of life,
to fearlessly make waves in the abandoned water park in the dead of night.

One day Big Tony will help you steal Tony's giant ceramic chicken,
thanks for the summer days, the plays, your originality, the visits,
the reminders to take life seriously but also to live it.

--Dr. Pen Name
Happy Birthday, Preston!

Thursday, October 31, 2013

1 Cor. 1:18

to the jack-o-lanterns hiding behind faux-pa-pillar,
to the warm october rain & the worms which wriggle
under my door & into my kitchen, happy halloween,
you crunchy-kitchen surprises; trick-or-treats, reminders
of mortality.

-W.C.Smith

Monday, October 21, 2013

Welysburgh

Welysburgh,
a home worth
driving for, when
all the treelines are
alight in glory.

-W.C. Smith

With More Passion Than Skill

If I am a poet,
if a poet at all,
with more passion than skill,
--then so be it,
some loved ones will still read it,
and my words that should be heard,
will find their way to those who need it.

--Dr. Pen Name

Friday, October 11, 2013

will-O-the-wisp 1

when will-o-the-wisp
hit-the-car and
i blink; we are so.

what is a muse
if untested by time? if not
a little back broken;
reserved for 3.a.m. 

-W.C.Smith

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Things Fall Apart (And Into Place)

I've cherished old words important to my cultures or nation,
and mourned when they got lost in translation,
though I have found that even then they are not out of place,
and I trust,
whatever may be the case,
that if they don't find their homes,
they'll at least find their way.

--Dr. Pen Name

Skegoneill Drive

Tea cups pressed against the lips of a stranger,
sweetened by answered prayers of the foreign ones,
where our laughter with the family of 16,
awakens the neighbor's wee one.

All this only a mile away from a riot,
happy to make abrupt wake up calls to guffaws instead of violence,
keeping organics moments loud and helicopters quiet.

--Dr. Pen Name
For Billy, Tracy, And The Rest Of The Family

Friday, February 22, 2013

Where There's Smoke There's Fire

She wouldn't fuck with cigarettes but she'd butt in and butt out,
we'd blow smoke out our asses as we'd kiss on the mouth,
she went upward in smoke--
she wouldn't reroute.

Smoking out smoke and mirrors for the first time in years,
still, ash tray to ash tray,
we all burn out

--Dr. Pen Name

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Son of a Gun

Something triggered premature tactics,
when I jumped the gun in a back alley,
and took all its money.

Initially when I targeted my victim,
I figured it was worth a shot.
Surely it could be a bang for my buck,
but guns wear bulletproof vests to save them from themselves.

--Dr. Pen Name

Sunday, December 9, 2012

It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

Shit-eating grin, grim gums that bleed!
I am the subtle floss that did that deed!
Better brush up before time runs out!
Time is up! Now open your mouth!

Tongue depressor at the psychiatrist's couch!
Tongue depressor sad it don't have a house!
Tongue depressor living in a popsicle pouch!

--Dr. Pen Name

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Rugs & Brooms


The rugs were beaten with brooms 'cause they were too outspoken
They made a dusty escape
From a clothesline that looks like tracks of a train
They were once tied down to too many crossroads
They're fine now, back to the wash load
I will keep your cabin safe with me
If you'll let me be

--Dr. Pen Name

Sunday, November 11, 2012

retroself b4 u wreck yoself (#foreveryoung)

Buzzard, buzzard--
your circle got this square.
You rounded my L7 high school heart
and ate what was left of its head full of hair.

It took less than two to shoot through my less than three.
Just when I think you're honest you emoti-con me.
One acronym, one colon, one parenthesis.

--Dr. Pen Name

Thursday, November 1, 2012

"Let Go Of My Daughter, You Black Eyed Bitch..."

--whose blank and gleaming eyes glazed with the demonic tint of onyx hopelessness
sees with transparent ease the opaque soul of time-worn fragility
and munches on the tender meat of the psyche...seasoned with sorrow

--Preston

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Sleepyhead and the Bed Bug Blues

Muffled into the pillow,
talking in his sleep,
were the last words of a man before he was killed in his own dream,
just as he fell asleep on me,
just when he thought
he had nothing left to say,

--and I wouldn't listen, anyway.

--Dr. Pen Name

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Unlike You

Please leave
a message after the censorship beep,
on the obscene home phone landline,
that's blocked by black bars,
like the leaf over Adam.

Restless and ready to be wrong,
sometimes we feel more than gone.

--Dr. Pen Name

Monday, September 3, 2012

Lyin

Those that stand tall as towers,
with bellies made of bricks
that are yellow as cowards,
will not follow their gut home when they should.

"Surely they are frightened!"

"Nah, just learning,"
said the Courageous Lyin.

--Dr. Pen Name

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Every Underdog

The hand that fed us crap has heeled,
for every underdog has its day!

So we must and do believe,
that we will awake from the most beautiful American daydream,
only to realize we have made it come true,
and that this we involves not only He, she, me, and us,
but you.

--Dr. Pen Name
For Every Underdog I Know

Monday, August 20, 2012

The Arrival (NY)

So the contagious and anxious anticipation
of my Arrival's survival rivals
nice ol' reliable libel
and all its cuddly clientele of
kiss and tell and jail and gel?

...get your head out of that magazine, bab-ay!
For I have arrived!

--Dr. Pen Name

Monday, August 13, 2012

Going Through

The texts they typed out,
the ones they didn't send.

A tunnel with bad reception,
its light at the end.

The scientific hopes and theories,
what they didn't intend.

After the disasters still calling up friends.

--Dr. Pen Name

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

I Pray This High Hope Lasts


My teary eyed gaze into the reflected face of my foe-side-me
—once pallid with the soul’s anesthetic—has dried with pleasant conversation
and sweet sensations of God-blessed hope
have again graced the damp and weary hearth  of my torpid temple of torment

So glad again am I that I no longer have the freedom not to feel
for just as a home without a family is just a house
a hearth without a flame is crumbled charcoal to the pit

--Preston