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June 24, 2016

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Eventually you get that call.

FernGully‘s been hiding

Under the TV cabinet

For a month and now

 

You owe the video store

Life’s savings. Netflix

Made that go away, I 

suppose. But it also buried

 

The conversation that led

 To the renting. People lose

Touch with each other

In a virtual world,

 

And no amount

Of overdue humanity

can get that back. 

 

 

 

 

 

This is Poem #102 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

 

This one’s for you, @cameronsparkyouellette – 102 ❤ 

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They say when the emperor

Is sick his whole

Kingdom shares in his

Symptoms. A grief

 

Spreads far and wide

Each time his ill body

Displays itself on parade.

 

That the crops

Will not sprout

Through the rich soil

Even when watered

Enough and the sun.

 

Enemies know to stay away

Until all opportunity

for contagion has passed.

 

And mothers use it as a chance

To explain the reality

Of death to their daughters.

 

When we walked past you

On Monday, your eye

was black from a fall,

And we wondered. Our

Suffering mirrors just

A shard of yours.

 

This is Poem #44 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.

What fuels our need

To know, to seek

Out the answers

Through myth,

 

Or through science?

Humans have always wanted

To know from where

They’ve come. Theories

 

Abound. 6,000 years

Placed by a God or

Bangs that were

Big. Millions of years

Of fossils not

Enough evidence to convince

(or convict) some

That an ancient text

Might be inaccurate.

 

We live in a time

When (morons) choose

Not to believe in

Science. Life,

Method, reason,

 

Data, even, are all biased

And to be disputed.

 

Whose power of denial

Is so strong that

They’ll watch the

Earth die

Outside their backdoors

While marking the wrong

Vote with black pen.

 

This is Poem #43 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 below, and write from there.

 

Crypto Map

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

The hourglass sand slows

like the last kernels

desperate in the bag of microwave

 

popcorn. Do you start something

new when the end is near?

Nana took up acrylics at 64,

and woman I read about,

 

became an expert

waterskier at 85. Why

believe that

 

life ends at 40 and

there is no need

to start something new

 

when half you life –

statistically –

still waits for you?

 

This second nine

filled with wisdom

and life under parr.

 

With 30 minutes

til closing time

run through the museum,

 

order a five-course meal,

take a class.

Live.

 

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It is hard to be

Invisible in a loud world.

Introducing yourself

To the same people,

 

Every time you meet.

They feign surprise

At your presence, then

Forget, somehow, that you

 

Exist. Like the Loch Ness

Monster – who rises every

Once in a while

As a reminder from the sea –

 

You show up at a party,

Dressed in your finest,

Only to be denied again.

 

There is no trinket to say,

“I saw her” or parties

Looking for that blurry

Photograph that neither

 

Proves nor disproves

Your existence in

Our world. Swim

Back to the depths

 

Of your underwater

Cave and hope

That someday you will appear

In focus.

 

This is Poem #41 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 below, and write from there.

 

Crypto Map

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

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At the end of everything,

every Disney ride,

every roadside attraction,

 

the tiny room of treasures

waits. A small black

bear on a red leash

 

at Clark’s Trading Post or

a teeshirt to prove you

were there. This car

 

climbed Mt. Washington or Visit 

the Strangest Farm on Earth

slapped on your bumper. Jewelry

 

crafted by the natives

hanging on a rotating stand or

polished rocks to be funneled

 

into small velvet pouches. Who

can leave a place

without touching a piece

 

of where you have been

and confiscating

evidence of life?

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This is Poem #40 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 below, and write from there.

Crypto Map

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

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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 .

easterncougar_960x400

 

She slank across

93 North – all hunches

And shadows in the dark.

 

No bear or dog

Boasts such shape

And movement on four paws.

 

Fish and Game won’t

Come clean

And admit she is here,

 

Guarding her kittens

In the White Mountains,

Feasting on deer

 

By the spring. She is too

Sly for security cameras.

Our own Big Foot in the midst

 

Of traffic jams and music

Festivals, beer tents,

and county fairs.

 

Someday, she will saunter

In, rollover to let us

Stroke her belly. Decide

If she wants us

For play

or for prey.

 

This is Poem #37 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.

Crypto Map

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

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.

 

I’m sure I’m not the only one who has seen a Mountain Lion roaming in New Hampshire. Have you seen her?

If only it were so easy.

Walk up to the ex-boy scout

Grown middle-aged

 

Behind the counter –

Or the sage librarian

At the typewriter –

 

For instruction on directions,

Career path, marriage prospects.

Someone to stop you

 

Swiping that credit card

At the check out

Every time you think of it.

 

“Don’t wrack up debt.”

 

And then, at 40, you’ve

Got a hefty savings. Yes,

Make peace with your

Finances and your soul.

 

Go to church, but don’t

Ever follow anyone’s rules

To the book and don’t

Judge others. “That’s what

We owe history: risk.”

 

This is Poem #35 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.

When you’re in between

And change is mud season,

Mucky, murky, and you

Are stuck at the side of the road,

 

Avoiding the ruts

Got you nowhere.

There is fear in the middle.

 

No one loves uncertainty,

And the risk to move forward

Seems grim. It requires

 

A shedding of the past –

The tire iron at the ready.

 

We have nothing to believe

In anymore. Science her very self

Is under the microscope,

 

And condemned a witch.

Burn her at the stake.

Her feet sway under a long, grey,

Flax dress. Tiny black

slippers pointed like a ballerina’s.

 

We should have listened

To her long ago. But denial

Is so easy to believe

When the world is dying.

 

This is Poem #34 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.

Crypto Map

This poem is part of a series inspired by my visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum in Portland, Maine.

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