Friday, August 28, 2015

In defense of really bad poetry

I once knew a girl whose father was filthy rich.
He built row upon row of tacky boxes 
that mar the views on the outskirts of San Francisco,
a wilderness that chokes out coffee houses and bars and brothels,
all the places where freedom and language get down.

He passed his declining years trying to rhyme
2 x 4, pencil and Uncle Sam,
verse that would make Ogden Nash blush.

Once she asked me and some friends to her hot tub.
We all had big dicks that she tried to rhyme with fun.
We were naked and she wore a bathing suit.
I was thankful her father had trained her well
in the art of really bad poetry.

Ken Ireland

Friday, September 26, 2014

ring of bone

I saw myself
a ring of bone
in the clear stream
of all of it

and vowed,
always to be open to it
that all of it
might flow through

and then heard
“ring of bone” where
ring is what a
bell does.

—Lew Welch

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

By Leonard Cohen





















I saw you this morning.
You were moving so fast.
Can’t seem to loosen my grip
On the past.

And I miss you so much.
There’s no one in sight.
And we’re still making love
In my secret life.


Leonard Cohen

Tuesday, January 01, 2013

A New Year’s Blessing

by Larry Robinson

Unhurried mornings, greeted with gratitude;
good work for the hand, the heart and the mind;
the smile of a friend, the laughter of children;
kind words from a neighbor, a home dry and warm.

Food on the table, with a place for the stranger;
a glimpse of the mystery behind every breath;
some time of ease in the arms of your lover;
then sleep with a prayer of thanks on your lips;

May all this and more be yours this year
and every year after to the end of your days.