Notes (strung like white and black beads together)
pedals, dogwood trees with pink and white petals
bass fishing and tre(m)ble
(at the slimy, slippery catch)
clef and cliffs, oh the bluffs of a man in love!
Three-quarter time, quarter to next week
not again. Don’t repeat
Washington, D.C. is all codes and intrigue,
al coda, etc.
as we diminish, and diminuendo
to nylon cords and cotton strings
wrapped, and rapt attention
must be given to melody.
Cause and Effect
Lifeboats and iceberg
lettuce or let us rejoice
and make a joyful noise
all that goddamn noise
lawnmowers eat grass
like fish drink water
which is a point of reference
books in your Hallmark card
catalog models get thinner if you tilt
a whirl, a world in motion.
Call for Submissions
I’m feeling the will and want to read and promote
like an impressionist—
meaning I’ll take a line
and wrap it around my shoulders
or a phrase
and braid it into my hair…
(meaning if I like it enough, I might tumblr-share)
So send me poems, darlings…
if you dare? ;)
A new blog project! Since I prefer to use “Cyntax” for my own personal work…and since there are so many wonderful poets on tumblr who have work that deserves to be shared and shared again…I’ve decided to start a new blog to highlight poems I find that are (at least to this one reader in particular) extraordinary.
Feel free to submit (lanuitvenait.tumblr.com). If I like a poem enough, I’ll feature it on “Bittersweets” with some commentary.
Happy writing :)
Sudden Luck, Son
Curious is not my cup of tea
and Alice can keep
the Cheshire cat grins to herself
or save them for the teetotaling hatter—
it doesn’t matter.
I’ve got a deck full of cards
and they’re all coming up aces.
Such As It Is
Days will pass and nights will follow,
morning will spill over the breakwater
like beads of orange juice dripping off the rind
and evening will curl up comfy and fall asleep
where floating weeds and sea grass grow together
and I will see visions and hear songs,
taste sweet and bitter days both,
feel warmth and cold encompass my soul.
We will grow old!
Years will come and go and we will grow old,
this youthful bloom will fade and wither
until an old woman’s face replaces my own
and an old man’s quiver claims your lips.
Yes, we will grow old—
you in one place,
and me in another.
Tom Phillips - A Humument (1966-73)
“In 1966 Phillips set himself a task: to find a second-hand book for threepence and alter every page by painting, collage and cut-up techniques to create an entirely new version. He found his threepenny novel in a junkshop on Peckham Rye, South London. This was an 1892 Victorian obscurity titled A Human Document by W.H Mallock and he titled his altered book A Humument.
The first version of all 367 treated pages was published in 1973 since when there have been four revised editions. A Humument is now one of the best known and loved of all 20th Century artist’s books and is regarded as a seminal classic of postmodern art.”
Those rule books of yours
are such a ponderous weight
link by link
makes chain by chain
and you can try to explain
an extraordinary value
with charts and graphs and color-coded packets
that insist that social benefits take precedence
over the truly enigmatic
but I’m not buying it
too much my fickle father’s daughter
and not nearly ambitious enough to bother
I prefer novels without dust jackets,
not constricted or laced, whether straight
or as crooked as the subterfuge on your face.
Mimicry cries foul over foul
deeds like beach houses
built with sticks and twine
and penthouse bird cages, gaudy and golden,
locked and tethered,
tarred and feathered—
there’s only one story to tell:
the sun also sets,
the sun also rises.