Poetry 365: Theodore Says

Make a cup of Lipton
and let it steep on the counter
for 3 minutes and 42 seconds,
no more, no less.

When stirring the milk
and sugar in, go clockwise
only 5 turns, but make sure
to get that nice clink noise each time.

Does it smell of blackberries?
Or maybe cut grass, without
all that 2 stroke gasoline?
Stand at the window

and wonder how long it took
for the kudzu to swallow up the oaks.

Poetry 365: Nassau

Bluegrass jimmy crack rhythms,
but none of them rhyme.
Don't roast a turkey
if you ain't got the time.
It's a fundamental,
it's a ball of tacks,
it's a banjo chord,
so just relax.

Poetry 365: Late September

The morning glories
are opening later and later
each day, as dark as a bruise.

The Poetry 365 Manifesto v.2

As you may have noticed, I've brought back the Poetry 365 project. I like the challenge poems on a daily basis, sort of like doing the crossword, or sudoku. I'll probably just write on school nights. Maybe some weekends, I'll do something extravagant: the poetry equivalent of the Sunday crossword puzzle.

I can't promise that I'll write GOOD poems, but I'll wager that occasionally, there will be gems among the coal.

You will be able to tell when I'm getting lazy: I'll write dashed off haikus. When I am feeling ambitious, you may get a sestina, or some terza rima.

I am always open to requests. There is nothing too silly or weird. I'll try.

Poetry 365: Mix and Match

with apologies to W.C.W.

the red-white chickens
upon a water glazed
wheel barrow

depend so much
on rain besides

Poetry 365: Ormond Beach Nocturne

Handful of shark teeth
and a fifth of Jameson:
this is Saturday.

Poetry 365: Science Park Drawbridge

Every odd hour, on the hour,
the bells sound and life is on hold
for the patient river captains.
We tap our feet, change the station,
use up our anytime minutes,
stare into the tiny space
between our enormous cars,
or wonder what ever became
of the ancient bridgetenders
who read Philip Marlowe novels
to kill the time between boats.

Poetry 365: Quadracolore

Click, click: red. Click: blue.
ACD? Possibly.
Click: black. Click, click: green.

Poetry 365: Taking Confession

Let's pretend I know where to begin.
There's no telling where your teeth have been.
Forty days of sunlight and medicine
don't make up for the years of sin.

Is the lust over? Is the feast?
One half man, one half beast
moving to three quarters at the least?
We will know soon. Look out to the east.

When the poems start again

Two days, and I'm already in a rut. I'll take requests on theme, form, using a particular word, whatever. C'mon, help a guy out!

Poetry 365: 11:45 PM Rte. 20 Eastbound

Right hand on the wheel,
left hand out above the yellow reflectors
that shine like stars in the constellation
Straight Line.

Poetry 365: Night, west of here

The streets seem to throb
in front of the green porches
like suburban veins.

Write something!

Sometimes, we just need an excuse to write something, anything. So here's my Friday Five:


What kind of marks (grades) did you get in school?
As my wife likes to remind me, I was (am) a dork. I was a solid 3.6 sort of guy. I couldn't be bothered to work hard enough for a 4.0, but could coast to mostly A's. One of my favorite teachers once pulled me aside and mentioned my academic "minimalism" as though it was part of my aesthetic.

Do you have any birthmarks?
Yeah. It's barely noticable. If it were a tattoo, it'd be an actual size line drawing of ameoba.

What’s the story behind one of your scars?
I blogged this a few years ago. I have a self inflicted stab wound from a poor practice session with a kung fu sword. Recently, we had to take our son to the ER after an unusually high fever and a weird rash. He turned out to be just fine, but the doctor's all wore masks in case he was infectious. I recognized one of the ER docs as the one who'd stapled up my leg. He asked me if I had gotten any better with the sword. I said, "Apparently not. I stabbed myself in the other leg six months later."

What do you usually use to mark your place in a book?
Whatever is nearby. I tend to use junk mail, receipts or postcards. Once I used a $100 bill in a book of poems by Derek Walcott. I'd got the cash for my birthday from my grandmother. I found the money years later, after she passed away. I decided to save the money for something momentous. I used that bill to pay the minister when Jen and I eloped.

What famous Mark do you most admire?
Um... Mark E. Smith of the Fall?