You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘poem almost everyday’ tag.

November 20, 2016

Morning fuel to get us through - 
A mug at home
Or from a barista.

A symbol all's well
With the world;
But it's not.

After the World Trade
Center fell, all I could
Think of was getting that cup -

Like some symbol of normalcy.
It wasn't normal anymore,
Emerging from Starbucks

As ashes floated into our
Hair. Creamer or lumps
Of sugar cannot take the bitterness

Out of this world.

This is Poem #203 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.

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November 19, 2016

You're supposed to write down
Everything your teacher puts
On the chalkboard. That means

It's important. No one does
That anymore. "I'll just take
a picture with my phone," but

Most are too lazy to look
At the image again. We do not remember,
And that's a warning

We should always heed.

This is Poem #202 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.

November 18, 2016

Be the tall island. Let
The rough waters swell,
Pound, beat around
And against you,

But, always stand
Taller. There is something,
In your belly, brewing

Heating rising. Now,
It is stirred up and you
Remember why it is

There. The brain
Had been able to rest,
A sleeping mountain,

And the village below
Got brave, built houses

At your base - but
Now, you will call
Them to action -

Make those homes
Float in a sea of lava
Born of this tragedy.



This is poem #201 from the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Originally, the poem ended with the following lines, which I have decided to cut in light of recent events. Those who know me, know that I am not a violent person. However, it is interesting for me to go back into my mindset on the days after the 2016 election. This was more a call to protect ourselves from misogynists, who had recently been granted license to grab us by the “pussy,” rather than a radical call to violent action.

No man is safe
When the feminist
Buys her Glock.

November 16, 2016

We all want to send out that rebel yell,
But which rebellion will you join?
They are not the same.

Chopping off the heads of your oppressors
Only gets you so far; remember,
Hercules
and Hydra.

Well, America, seems
You have made your
Choice, buried in the ignorance
Of the heartland.

Your middle finger
To the establishment
May very well get
Us all killed.

Those who are afraid
Of change, it is apparent,
Will stop at nothing
To hold it back.

This is Poem #200 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.

November 13, 2016

We always need to believe
In something. When we are
Facing turmoil like we have never
Known. Who does not want

A Sasquatch wondering the mountains
Of Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire?
Blurry photographs as evidence,

There is something
Out there.

Truth, elusive,
Hiding in a cave, living in the deepest depths
Of Lake Champagne or
Winnipesaukee. Will she

Leave a sample of blood -
Something never seen on
Earth before to baffle

Scientists and give us
Hope there is something
Bigger than ourselves
In the deep

With Mulder's flying saucer?

This is Poem #199 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.

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

November 12, 2016

An anonymous clan
Of slack-jawed troglodytes
Determined this election -

And we're left to wonder -
Where did we go wrong?
On The Simpson's in 1990

When Mr. Burns spit
Out that gelatinous
Chunk of three-eyed

Fish, his campaign
Was flushed along with it.
Fell to the ground like

A mutant fish.
But this time round,
Our own Mr. Burns

Ran and spit-up
Three-eyed fish daily.
Enough of us

Just did not care. Make fun
Of the disabled. Threaten
Those who disagree

As Hitler did. Say,
Women are nothing but pets
To be dragged around by our

Pussies. Those
Working-class, white boys,
Who've not had their

Needs met for a
Couple of years, will fuck
Over the whole,

Wide world and vote
For you anyway.

This is Poem #198 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.

The Simpson’s “Two Cars in Every Garage and Three Eyes on Every Fish” If you need to rewatch or haven’t see it yet, you should. You may notice eerie comparisons between the episode, which originally aired in November of 1990, and goings on during the 2016 election in which Trump actually stated in Iowa, “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.” Sadly, he was correct.

November 11, 2016

All you have fought for is
Threatened by this choice.
I just keep thinking
Of Rome burning

While Nero played;
The history of little men.
The classic Narcissists:
Hitler, Napoleon,

Could not understand public
Service means service
to others.

Vanity leads
His followers to doom
As those who know
The past
Watch in terror.
Our cities spark and boom,

Flare and crackle,
As he throws on gun powder
And lighter fluid.

Buildings lit with amber
Fall in on themselves -
Towers crumbling like we
Have seen before.

And the narcissist
Plays his trumpet
And strokes his ego
Like a pet.

This is Poem #197 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.

November 9, 2016

I am embarrassed - 
Like I have gone out
With no clothes.

We are all out
In the cold

now.

This is Poem #196 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. 

November 6, 2016

We pretend it is okay;
That every year is not hotter
Than the last, and that everyone
Within our borders has enough

To eat if they are willing
To work for it. Inside
The meta-cortex grey matter
Of our brains, however,

Everyone knows this is false.
We rant around a backyard
Fire, burning brush and bridges;
Wondering what Tuesday

Will mount - a hill to climb
Or a cavern to descend.

This is Poem #195 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. 

November 5, 2016

Always trying to guess the silhouettes 
Of the black buildings against
A moonlit sky. Which

City has such tall towers
Of that shape and size?
Below on the maze of streets,

People meet and walk through lights
And find their way to jobs
And homes and leaning sky scrapers.

If we really scraped the sky,
What would flake down
On us as we saunter, and

Where would we rake the mess?

This is Poem #194 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. 

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