broken'tooth

wheel"
squatted conceive chairing
direct forge'd
just "greater puncture
that crap that was crap
it said exceeding gray below"
spills extracted used) stench (mephitis)
way," (never that comes this
(s) alternative table "structure porta-potty
night," smell outside here each
dry'd "no, (lity) dozen eucalyptus
in excess as the stable
that (form) the pyracantha berries
help it," stock card "cannot
fan supply shit human being
from the moved away dab
incline sitting down way," to
it all the dragged) "pushing
reacts (if they fact examination
steady structure) inside foot (no
one examples stump edges (o)
is it 'tresses the way"
part ankle, in mush back
shoe way mouth twisted low
never comes this way that
to come this "it remained

I Have Been Here Before

I Have Been Here Before
(for JD Salinger)

I am not the little boy on the cruise ship.
I am not the little boy staring out the porthole,
ignoring my parents while they argue.
I am not the little boy who has been dismissed.
I am not the little boy wandering the decks,
hair tousled by a female passenger
who thinks she has the right to touch
with concerned affection any passing child.
I am not the little boy who scribbles
in his journal. I am not the little boy
who knows what life is and writes it down
in pencil. I am not the little boy
who flaps his lips during the random
encounter with the stranger
who sits on my father’s lounge chair.
There are no strangers;
there are no accidents.
I have been here before.
Don’t look it in the mouth.
That’s what I would’ve said to the stranger
if I had been that little boy.
I would’ve said: Life, my friend,
is just a portal. Then, I would’ve kept
my appointment, taken my swimming lesson
and drown even though I am not,
and never was that little boy;
maybe next time ‘round.
After, of course, telling the stranger:
You look familiar.
You have been here before too.

Henry’s Dream Song For Norman Dubie


I dreamed that Norman Dubie
was one of the Doobie Brothers,
Ooby Dooby.

I dreamed that Dylan Thomas
pronounced Robert Hass
to unrhyme with oz.

I dreamed that John Ashbery
wrote New York verse
to please his hearse.

I dreamed that Robert Lowell
hailed a yellow taxi
while his heart took a cab.

I dreamed that Sylvia Plath
sat in the bathtub
and dreamed of gas.

I dreamed that every poet has a dream,
some like coffee black,
some with cream and sugar.

I dreamed that Henry Haiku
don’t agree with you or me,
Ooby Dooby, Ooby Dooby.

on't

“it isn’t right!”
pucker up
turn
‘guage peculiar “and,
kiss me!”
backseat
vinyl folded (ng)
lock hole
parked
squad cars lined
doors buckled
in
tight
“I only,”
joint connecting sphere
liquid
with slow
saliva (knobs) window
glass
“what makes
this needle,” liquids
un
[secure regard]
clasped complete leg
parts rested head
forward “not,
mine?”
fuck
(uo) words
nouns head slamming
opposed ‘isetionism (grill
separate) seats
“not
there” (turned out
from) “my,
rights,”
staring
back (rea son)
less stamping feet
“not’s
new” mention
rolling back left
sleeve (think) context
word words
wall
back high hat
cook smoking
shoulders
even “right?” accusing
forehead eyebrow
nose

resting

on’t

Bone

bone, close to skin
fragile crystal cup
sing as I circle you
do not feed me,
I will not eat
let my bone grow closer
to skin

bone, close to broke
bamboo wind chimes
knock in the wind
do not measure marrow,
I will not extract
let my bone
be broke

bone, close to blood
rhythmic drum
beating loud at night
do not stop,
let my bone rise
through blood

bone, close to bone
seeds drop from trees
like hail hit tin
do not hold me,
I will not resist
I will not go home
let my bone rub close
to bone

bone, close to dirt
fill my ear,
the sounds are gone
do not cover my daughter,

do not cover my daughter,

I will not emerge
let my bone be covered
in bone
and close to dirt.

mmb Nov 17, 2005

Ice King (my telephone poem.)

That year, like others when
sleet found our obscure
southern town, limbs cracked
like old bones and birds skied
down iced slopes of sagged
telephone lines. Huge bags
of rock salt were dug from
their cobwebbed hiding places
by cold fingers and spread carefully
across steep steps and walkways.

Only bald Mr. Peterson, the
transplanted Yankee from Boston,
with chains for his tires, dared
that treacherous mile long ride into
town in search of a morning paper.

Mrs. Smith's monkey, Harold, got
loose late morning. He rushed between
houses, terrorizing both rabbit and
possom. At noon, he climbed the First
Presbyterian Church steeple, ringing
its bell incessantly, in claim of his
throne as King of this strange iced-over jungle.

School closed, we played cards, ate
red-eye ham and grits, warmed hands
over fireplaces and stoves, pleased
to be freed from lectures of other
cold wars and from plump knees bruised
by kneeling too long beside desks,
prepared, lest the bombs come flying tomorrow.

By morning, we slogged through dank
puddles under still bomb-free skies,
books clasped to wool chests, unaware
of dogs howling and cats meowing
about yesterday's clear, silent miracle.

Near Voice

It becomes personal once you reach the third cause. Even more direct,/

even if by accident, when to happen upon the compounded reappearances:/

waiting, the sitting nearby, the unsuitable spoons changed by the lost softness/

from their lips. What is meant by the possible wealth that accompaniment curves/

for the idea of passage? Two to the surface lean—the caught below seem large/

to the crevices below. They have the success of avoiding the shuffle of the filled sleeve./

What camps before the mirror or the letters that make up the mirror? The light/

that fixes after light, overcome and returning the undergrounds of measurement,/

who continue throughout the core and invention and the straight permission to complete.

Forecast

Lose night to day or other hemispheric alternatives.
Already, I record the movements of winter birds
On tree limbs, inconspicuous as with nicotine patches,
Take notations on train tickets, margins of guide books,
Used envelopes, library slips, and parts of bakery boxes.
Just listen to The Weather Station's 500 watt incantations
And remember to scrap each and every reference to timepieces.
There is no need, I've also got my pulse set on alarm function.
Therefore, let us take care not to rush head-long into this,
We must invite what shines only in secret.
And yes, you may remove my things and burn them
For fuel on cold evenings. I have gone all to sequins.
Covered in all these defects. So here we sit
Among a multitude of small flames and nearby water sources,
Under a positively zodiacal assortment of stars--
A fugitive discussion of adornment, underestimated and counter.

Piezas de Vida

1. Piezas de Adoración

El perfumen, la piel, y el sudor
la noche, el silencio, el beso.
Ojos camuflados en Otoño.
El destino, la lagrima, la risa
la nuca, los labios, y el suspiro.
El borrón verde que traza
un lucero a través del cielo.
El cuerpo, el pecado y la libertad
la seducción, las piernas, la unión.

2. Piezas para el Olvido

La niñez, los sueños, y las nubes,
el viento, la Biblia, los muertos.
Ojos camuflados en Otoño.
Canciones, poemas, promesas,
el dolor, mentiras que dije, el adiós.
El borrón verde que traza
un lucero a través del cielo.
Miradas, números, y nombres
el reloj, la edad, la historia.

3. Piezas para el Recuerdo

Las llaves, el cielo, las flores
el camino, el hambre, hechos al prójimo.
Ojos camuflados en Otoño.
Las madres, los hijos, el vino
la risa, la patria, sabores
romances, recuerdos, besos.
El borrón verde que traza
un lucero a través del cielo.
El sabor de la mujer.
Ciertos latidos del corazón.
El olor del amor.
El toque de la lengua.
Incrementos de pechos jadeantes.
Piezas de adoración.
Piezas para el olvido.

Preparations

Shut the drawers. No.
Open the drawers first.
Check for forks. No.
Knives. If there are knives
crossed, straighten them. No.
Check for knives which are out. If
they are, straighten them. Crossed
knives attract lightening.
Then put any knives
into a drawer.
Make sure
  they're
parallel.
Spoons. Light is crescent upon a spoon.
Turn spoons over.
Spoons contain.
Spit. Not to polish but to shine.
Shine remains when darkness covers,
even if it is dark inside.
Retain composure.
Keep fingers busy.
Mark words.
Paw doubt.
It is show time and pretty soon a morning star
will wander for a manger.
The Madonna's hands shall be Raphael eclectic
and not one bit bloodied: an edict unwritten
in her wrists.
How remiss
to have missed stains.
Pause. Check for rain.
Rain heralds anger.
Keep no thirst. Never call spades. Recognize
a pot when it bubbles over. Moreover
place all cups within shrines.
Allow irons to cool. Strike not, nor linger.
Take measure. Pool any present danger.
Hush. (No, hark.)
There may be breathy strangers
haggling cupboards. Hurry.
She might unswathe, or tell
hordes where she hoards
more treasure. Myrrh for example. Although no
one knows quite what for.
Shut all.
Shut all.

What image comes to mind when you think of Telephone Wires?

Actually, I just want to know what people think of when they think of telephone wires? I can't stop thinking about how they dangle. Dangle. What a fun word to say--dangle. In fact, what else dangles and still has the opportunity to be buried after a couple of storms or a shovel in winter? I've noticed that many telephone wires dangle completely to the ground--some touch. I'd never let my fingers touch a telephone wire that was dangling--that'd be suicide wouldn't it. Dangling death. Amazing how close we come to death everday. Something telephone companies have been dangling over our heads for years.

An Open Interview With Cafe' Cafe' Bloggers

Instructions:

Please do not post any new poems until I am done with this open interview. This interview will be available as a whole on the next issue of MiPoeisas Magazine. I will post one question at a time and you place your answers in the comment section. If you would like to ask a question yourself to the community, please e-mail it to me and if I think it works well for the interview I will let you post the question to the community as well. (e-mail me at chinavieja at gmail dot com with questions).

First question:

How do you really feel about online publication vs print?

The Couple of Today is Kind to the Guardian

these gone on or last times, those who seem to sense

what’s known to turn remembered, slipped place beyond these places,/


still there for being what’s needed, what’s to know,

what must’ve been mainly here, always with the lived in of returning,/


doing so without some famous departure, even in the always

or the staying, it’s all bound to find or fall as it is

are'racked'it

statue of street
light frown a
taken time some
hour "the comparison,"
place reference a
lightweight
cinereous well source
paper knee(ing) "and,
I spoke, I,
I spoke to
it," pant rolled
foot glove above
(pricking)
support flooding drawn
blooded "the food
6pm, compliment that
general remember't" its
green mold the
main forward rest
stopped natural rest
(rested)
", stopped in
70," natural complicate
some shines below
the arms that
squatting above link'd
chain sun (circa)
babble firmly tongue=piece+(ing)
for outside tongue'd
paper
is commentary (d)
"is nobody," in't
sunk particular sack
(in sunk sack)
rank between birds
"approved" not diagonally
sung shout fuck
(ly) immense to
"this,
certifies" all
to these [question] "knows,
you yesterday" the breath
shining neglected sick continuum
indicated under the natural
cold clear elevator elbow
sings

if your poem is here or appears here in the next few weeks (click this link)

then you need to send me a recent bio (written in third person) and a new photograph.

cuz you is gonna be in the next issue of mipoesias.

how do you like dem apples?

d.

Fantasy Basketball for Blogging Poets

Check the league out here.

We'll be getting started soon--draft on Friday, games next Monday--and need a few more participants. If you're interested, send an e-mail my way or post a comment on my blog. (It's totally free!)

Thanks!

New miPOradio Show now available

two new articles are up on MiPOesias

With or without electricity at my house, I have managed from friend's computers and work to upload two new articles....

Welcome Marcus Slease's first review for MiPOesias:

http://www.mipoesias.com/2006/slease.html

David Need's second article on Rilke:
http://www.mipoesias.com/2006/need1.html

Stacey Harwood's and Michael Parker's second article will be coming soon.

If you have a book/chap/journal you would like to have considered for a review, please stop by our guidelines.

Jenni and I are looking for KICKASS poems for the next issue -- Send them.

If you are in Miami this week, see you at Books and Books on the 11th.


Thank you,
Didi Menendez
MiPOesias Magazine
Publisher/Editor/etc.
www.mipoesias.com

calendar'list

lean cloudy above
two to
the hands four
fingers foot
lopped is "hey,
back above,"
you (using this
(you)) the
mount above great
coil foot
arm (1) edges
paper toilet
(broken made) in
liliaceous "broke"
the sepulture
(however the definition,
for tent)
'dency that defines
involving "this
way never known,
not," language
clearer more opened
(sees) sliding
the needle (s)
"a short,
walks," syringes clamped
above (for
you) apprehension asked
for "alright" no
blue one
sermon (mayor's) left
us gamble
cuts desperation skirt
lies will't
skin fed "oh
look, dispair"
walked one stage
walked one
"ah,"

5 Hay(na)ku for Reyes Cardenas

5 for reyes cárdenas


Fríjolitos
No más.
¡Tortas de aire!

~~~

Rivers
Know it:
Poetry, sex, song.

~~~

Why
We don't
Try harder: Poem.

~~~

Reaching
Behind, you
Win, Shadow. ¡Luz!

~~~

You
Feel more.
Say less. ¡Escríbelo!