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The news would have you

Believe that shark attacks

Are devastating

The human race –

 

Shredding our limbs,

Bloodying the ocean waters

With their appetites

And pointy teeth, but

 

Statistical data

Proves otherwise.

The number two

Animal killer of

Humans is humans.

 

The savagery of a large dog,

The venomous bite of a snake,

Are threats, I suppose, but

 

Nothing compared

To the angry young

Man with a semi

 

Automatic rifle

And a great white

Ego to sooth.

 

This is Poem #49 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

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Image from Singular Fortean

A horrific spectre

Spreads his wings

In the night woods.

But their fragile

Fabric catches

On loose branches.

 

Who could know

What he suffers

Alone? Trying to

Avoid the flame,

And tearing his wings.

 

But we will cower

In terror at his

Tall shadow, rising

Out of mist behind rocks.

 

We set a trap

Of lanterns – giant

Lights to attract what

We fear most. Trying

To get that elusive

Photograph to post

On Instagram and

Prove he is real.

 

This is Poem #38 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

This particular poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine. Some days I’d just point to a location on the museum map above, and write from there.

Crypto Map

The front page of The International Cryptozoology Museum’s floor map.

Here’s a little more insight into the mystery at the  Mothman Museum .

It’s theoretical, really.

I mean, who carries

Around actual cash

 

Anymore? So, it’s all

On a computer somewhere,

This record of student

 

Loans, credit cards,

And mortgages. Waiting

To be hacked. Why

 

Doesn’t anyone steal

Debt the way

They reach into our

 

Bank accounts and purchase

Flat screen TVs at Walmart

Or Hawaiian vacations

 

And Charo? No, the tab

waits – the unclaimed

Date on Match.com,

 

The status update with no

Likes or shares. When

I logon to check,

 

The balance is always

There, blinking and

Reminding; a virtual

 

Anchor holding us back.

 

This is Poem #13 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to critique.

 

The computer’s virtual

Realm is a vacuum;

It’s sucked up

 

The Main Street video

Store and conversations

With clerks regarding

 

New films, and comics,

And war. Stacks of

VHS tapes lining walls

 

And piled on the floor

And the way he knew

Just where to locate

Any obscure B-film

Title no matter

 

How close to the ceiling

Its rank. One day

We bought 8-tracks,

 

Cassettes, records. Then

CD’s – but each groove

was recommended by

 

The man behind the counter.

Yesterday, we made

A concerted effort

 

To buy actual music

Pressed into vinyl

For a needle to

Scrape and scratch

Over – no digital

remastering. No

Transfer to MP3

 

Or virtual this or

Virtual that.

 

And bumper stickers

Crying out against

The World Wide Web

Adorned a pole

 

Near the register.

Buy me. Attach

Me to your actual

 

Reality.

 

 

This is Poem #4 from the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. These are second drafts of  pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. Feel free to give useful critique.

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