Sunday, February 26, 2012

Another oldie from days of whiskey and denver past

Found these typed in the middle of some scraps of muskrat, looked like the typewriter in was running as low as my patience had been.  I Hope to have a new poem and a letter to mink in the coming days, until then this is all I got. Two short untitled poems.  I promise to give them titles and a proper existence soon.

These days trickle by
Like poems off a typewriter
threats of an afternoon drizzle
            spent in frantic moments
            and relaxed cooking hashbrowns over a gas stove
eyeing green chili’s in the back recesses of the freezer
and tossed around like history books

Denver monsoons brought
Four in the afternoon cloud cover
Rumors of a small trickle
            Enough shade to watch the sun
            Set below the clouds.
It’s threatening rain and Albuquerque
a cold cup of coffee in Denver
 and a glass of canned apple juice
brought down in showers from the attic.

God speed little animals, solidarity forever, ride free, live free, don't give up... I'm trying not to.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

an old poem from denver life and a little muskrat

Over the past few days I've started transcribing old typewritten poems from when I lived in Denver. It was an period in my writing that reflected that stage in my drinking and living at the time. I've been working on putting together more and more old poems and muskrat ramblings from that era.  Slowly working on hopefully a collection of both old and new works and am hoping to be shopping it around by the end of the summer to mid fall.  Fingers crossed.  I hope you enjoy my lil animals.

1236 Corona

The moon was hanging heavy like a cinderblock dangling from one arm
And the hole in the blanket cut out like a broken thumbnail
The queen of spades dyed her hair red, while blue contacts give a false sunrise
Cigarette smoke off a second story balcony, a 747 comet tail heading for the coast.

There are two olives left in a shallow bowl next to the ranch dressing
There is no drama in the situation, just orange juice and cold coffee.
All the phone numbers she left on bar napkins turn out to be wrong numbers
Drinking soda at the bar makes for long nights and longer walks through downtown.

If my breath is as hard as ashtrays and my elbows face down in bed,
Wake me after two in the afternoon with black cat paws running across wood floors
Let the queen of hearts have her breakfast behind our shower curtains
Say hello to the folks and drive over fifty through the Wisconsin Dells for me.

Japanese literature in the morning, tequila after coffee and French fries at the diner
A punch drunk Qwest neon horizon forces its way through morning smog
Second story wood plank porches make for excellent cigarette litter boxes
There is snow on blank branches, garlic powder crusted hash browns in the kitchen,

Black tea bags collect mold on the dining room table
and orange juice wants more drama than the morning newspaper promises
the only head on his pillow is his own half bald and ink stained

I hope you enjoy mis amigos, as always solidarity forever, live free, ride free, be safe
god speed lil animals,

Monday, February 20, 2012

a new poem written while transcribing old poems

we write poems about other things than poverty and whiskey, just not this one

There are new poems to be written
Without references to evening glasses of whiskey
Or memories of rusted train cars
And the dirt that cakes underneath untrimmed toenails

Clean new poems about doing laundry
Watering gardenings and hammering nails
into cold frames for spinach in February.
The neighbor’s pitched roof
Instead of flat roofed shotgun row houses
and a tree growing up through the basement.

We won’t mention in these poems
Frozen fingertips and ice frozen on brown tarps
Sleeping through a railroad crew change in Havre, Montana.
Wanting nothing more than a hot shot of whiskey
and a juniper twig of a cigarette rolled without the cover of cotton gloves.

Bright poems about house plants
Walking their way around hallway corners
prayer flags getting tossed in forty mile an hour gusts
A new used pickup truck in the driveway
Silver like the tracks of the Burlington Northern through Abo Canyon
East of Belen and south of Albuquerque and a quiet sobriety

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Mink, a letter to...

well this is no poetry and no work of fine literature but these letters to mink are an extension of the on going muskrat theme and methodology of my madness and exploration of the fine line between autobiography and fiction.  As the line between fiction and life blur, details and emotions give way to the story.  As one of my favorite ethnographer's Kathleen Stewart observed in her book A Space By the Side of the Road, its the telling or rather the act of re-telling that creates our truths.  Truth lies within the story and within the teller/re-teller.  Maybe i will further elaborate on this at a later date.  Here is my latest letter.  god speed lil animals...

Dear Mink-
Night has settled in nicely and a cold front is blowing in. They say rain turning to snow over night.  That’s just fine with this old Muskrat.  The edges of the gardeners plastic is weighed down well with cinder blocks and the spinach is well watered and almost a weeks worth of nights in the ground.  The cold frame is a well supported contraption of two by fours, pvc piping and rebar forming the skeleton.  Pansies and Violas are nestled in their pots for the hardy re-visitation of New Mexico February weather.  Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings are crackling over the record player, old 45’s I found at Charley’s Records.  It is quiet this year for Valentine’s and I am oddly content.  I have a Tupperware container full of buttermilk biscuits for the morning and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies for dipping in tea as I settle in for the night.

God speed lil animals, solidarity forever, ride free, live free and for the love of sanity fall in love with someone and tell them....

Sunday, February 12, 2012

new poems and it tried snowing early this morning

I know I am not faithful to you dear friends... I forget to write, or scribble things down and lose them.  But I have a few small short new poems for you.  Its not much this close to valentine's day but its better than roses I assure you.  Watching A Charlie Brown Valentine's last night by myself, sipping a grapefruit soda, I remembered our own theatrical version we performed in Denver a few years and a life time ago.  Those were good times.  I have the flier somewhere in a shoe box tucked in storage.  But enough is enough.

I- Valentines present for me from a sunday morning

Waking up to a brief Sunday snow
Pulling back the light blue sheets
a bathrobe and a wool blanket mingle
and curl like a pit bull at my feet
Small flakes line the cinderblock wall
A baking flour coating over red paving stones
Leading towards raised beds and pansies
Brush off the dusting and accept February’s attempt at weather
With a shrug and yellow and blue blossoms.

 II- backyard scenery in black and white

In stark black ink lines
Cottonwoods and aspen branches in winter
A yellow breasted finch
stands out like a morning dove
the blackbirds eating breakfast
in the Governor Bent Elementary school
parking lot and dirt playground
under the swing sets and along the chain link fence
we along stood twenty six years ago

 I know its nothing much but its what i have right now.  I have another letter to mink in the works for early next week. Until then love the people close to you, take care of your feet, touch your fingers to the pages of a book.  Ride free, live free, tell someone who doesn't already know it that you love them. God speed lil animals and solidarity forever.