Please Write A Poem Today

Please write us a poem today. Anything you want to get out of your system? Any thoughts you want to send into the public stream, either about election day 2012 or whatever else is on your mind?

The new integrated version of Litkicks Action Poetry is still not ready (it’ll be here soon), but here’s a simple thread for anybody with a verse or a rhyme or a message to share.

95 Responses

    November 6, 2012

    slow the rise of the ocean
    heal the planet
    a promise
    a promise to slow
    rise the slow of the ocean
    promise to rise the ocean
    promise to planet the heal
    rise to promise the slow planet
    i promise to help your family
    to help your family in the ocean
    to rise your family in the ploanet
    to promise your family to be slow
    to promise your family to the ocean
    i rise
    i promise
    i rise
    i promise
    i heal the planet
    i heal your family
    i help your ocean
    your family is help
    your family is as slow as the ocean
    your family is as slow as the planet
    you promise to help me rise
    your help is the promise
    i family to promise the rise
    i rise to slow the promise
    i promise to rise the slow
    your family is the ocean
    heal your ocean
    i rise
    i rise
    i rise

  2. We need a funeral procession
    We need a funeral procession as of old
    Wailers and mourners and solemn faces all in tow
    Birds will sing sweetly as they are known to do
    And silent men will shut themselves away hiding from the morning dew
    Follow now join the song and believe all is made new
    I sit in the shadows and watch and wonder, it is hard to be hopeful.

  3. My Boy
    My Boy
    Turns Ten
    Shun Day
    Some How
    It Seems
    that by some quirk of fate and national magic he will be declared president when all the counting and lawyering is done
    Hail to the Chief

  4. i dig what you did there,
    i dig what you did there, Levi. i’ll share one.

    this is not what i look like
    when i am beautiful,
    this is not what i would say
    when you need words
    encouragement, inspiration
    just keep moving,
    just keep moving,

    i walk these streets with
    children who never learned
    how to swing a fist, but
    they certainly know the
    weight pressed upon a trigger
    could clear a block,
    could make a man or a woman
    strip to their under wear,
    could make mothers weep,
    could make men move pens
    could put flesh behind bars

    only if you get caught

    there’s a machine somewhere
    in Pennsylvania counting votes
    intended for Obama as a vote
    for Romney, somewhere
    Ron Paul is getting drunk,
    Jesse Ventura is still asking why
    Bill Clinton’s dick won’t get
    sucked by Hilary, Lincoln
    turning over in his grave,
    Medgar Evers still holding
    his black fist in the air,
    Huey grabs a cloud and puffs
    on a menthol, Angela’s afro
    is still immaculate,

    if i had a choice, we
    wouldn’t have to vote,
    watch the banter on the television
    who’s winning where. why do
    we waste so many resources
    on vanity? why is
    anybody homeless? why are there
    any empty stomachs? why do
    children have no parents at home? why
    did the bomb ever get invented?

    the lungs fill with smoke,
    heart races, muscles relax,
    i look into the mirror

  5. Action up day
    Action up day
    Re election day
    Keeping them @ bay day
    My night last was fraught
    with anxiety
    Feeling that some pious fool
    just might rule the land of o say
    can u see
    It was only brief
    I woke up full of belief
    Freedom will reign
    Hell we got Action poetry once again
    My beatific friends

  6. Crucified lips
    Crucified lips
    Cracked and bleeding in the sun
    Tremble last words in defiance
    Once proud and exulting,
    Tonight they reverberate into the eternal canyon of lost voices
    Where the cyotes of democracy howl at the skeletal moon
    And the cranes of capitalism come with headlights beaming
    Lusting to bulldoze all hope

  7. the continental pole of
    the continental pole of inaccessibility

    You live near the continental pole of inaccessibility
    I’m all alone here in Sioux Falls
    Orlando says “I’ll vote for Obama, Josh.”
    The Nunpa Theater
    I had to to look the word up
    my lexicon no longer uncludes counting in Sioux
    Lando was a foster kid 2
    He has a hard time maintaining his own home
    I do not like being locked like a animal in a cage
    I hope you understand my solitary leanings
    analogical discussions
    I want to talk about Foucault and Kafka
    but I don’t those books could be found in Martin South Dakota
    I just hope you have internet
    I could reach out and touch
    with entrails and Enrons
    smoking haze
    as more Mexican brick gets consumed
    I worry about consumption
    and you
    I hear it is a terrible disease
    but you’ll be free out there in the movies
    near the continental pole of inaccessibility
    and I’ll shiver and shrink
    in Sioux Falls

  8. Chatter chatter chatter
    Chatter chatter chatter
    My guy my guy my guy
    Winner winner winner
    Chatter chatter chatter
    Historic and extremely important
    It’s all a game of dice
    God is indifferent
    The devil is a political junkie
    Hope they pick up all the signs
    Don’t mess with Texas
    Said Willie and LBJ.

  9. We brought it back with
    We brought it back with Barack, Jack
    We brought it back with Barack
    Four more years
    Have suppressed our fears
    We brought it back with Barack
    We brought it back with Barack
    Sunshine shines on our national mama
    We brought it back with Obama
    Liberty, Equality, Tranquility…
    No more Romney/Ryan trauma.

  10. I promise to rise the slow
    I promise to rise the slow too
    I am a pebble in your ocean
    Yeah, let’s avalanche
    Today and tomorrow.


    Shine bright orange

    Wind in the sail!

    Good to see it

    $5 dollar action tickets

    Anyone want to go inside?

    Okay, 2 for $5

    He might make
    A good manager someday

    Ball four

    You earn your day
    In the sunshine

    Good swings, that’s all

    Giant’s baseball

    He’s going to be one of the guys
    Who comes up big in the playoffs

    [marco scutaro]

    He likes to hit long drives
    In late innings
    In close games

    I like that swing!

  12. Hey Levi,
    Hey Levi,

    Cassady here. I’m currently reading “Beats in Time,” well done! I especially enjoyed the piece on page 47 called “A Note from Los Gatos!”

    Please keep in touch, thanks. All best, John

  13. Hey John!! Great to hear
    Hey John!! Great to hear from you. Yes, I could never have left that interview out of the book — one of my favorite moments since starting the site …

  14. balmy night in oklahoma
    balmy night in oklahoma
    on the whole, i’d rather be in colorado
    or el coronado even for that matter
    but it’s okay
    any quiet night anywhere is okay
    a blessing even

    cheers to john for his presence
    in the textual flesh
    bringing the reality of life
    to this world of words

    “It’s fucking great to be alive.” -Frank Zappa

  15. Littlewood’s law sez a
    Littlewood’s law sez a miracle happens
    every 35 days because by then a million have happened..
    synchronicity is only noticed at the places where all the veins
    I’m not sure
    if its a more of miracle that you found
    a job
    or if Obama got another shot
    but I think I’ll thank for both…

    I really shouldn’t but I worry so much about you

  16. Cold air blows
    Cold air blows
    Hot smoke flows
    Young babes grow
    Old man knows
    Where shall I go?

  17. Good vibes abound
    Good vibes abound
    Maryland my Maryland
    Been back to stay since ’97
    Walked them Poe streets
    from Hampden to Federal Hill
    Wrote my guts out beneath
    that domino sugar sign
    many was the time
    Met the love of my life
    on old Hollins St. where
    Mencken once ruled
    I was schooled at Funk’s Democratic
    as we moved into the new millennium
    Spent the past 6 years at the crossroads
    of American history beneath the Catoctin’s
    Still performing
    Still wired
    Still willing to hop on board and ride!

  18. ..teachings

    the folds, each wave–
    they formed,
    these imaginings,
    teachings bright each day
    ..(C)2012 Spiros Zafiris
    ..channeled; spirit Harmony; reaching
    into the poet’s mind

  19. harmonica tones and blabber
    harmonica tones and blabber mouths.
    two times the tears as yesterday.
    and it’s only noon.
    left brain maniacs and hopers.
    silly dances and wails.
    lunged for a slice of muffin.
    cobwebs and crazy faces.
    our globe turns and speeds through space.
    the territorial games.
    huffing and puffing.
    plenty of h2o.
    plenty of love to go around.

  20. The Truth About Lies
    The Truth About Lies

    I was a liar before the truth came
    I was a poet before the poems came
    I was a liar but the other lovers had no name
    I was a poet but the words were all the same
    I was a drinker before the smoking came
    so when you asked me I told you what you wanted me to say and you sprang me from the tomato pyscho ward that is the supermarket of my brain
    and we crept up from the basement to the top of your tenement soul
    and then we danced all night on the rooftops lit by ten foot candles in the street
    we did the shimmy and the koko bop
    and pistol finger shot the dancing ghosts and neon signs
    and we sat like indians face to face and fought a duel over art and space and time
    riches? screw all that Kerouacky fame, you said
    who needs this crap, staring deep into my sockets pulling out the energy of my spine,
    like some dinosaur in heat
    my god, you could have lit all of Manhatten like that

    instead you lit up the Jersey shore and I howled in delight

    and like the King Kong of my wet dreams you stamped the bus of my lips to smithereens and sent the little people running for their lives

    look out for that monster!


    and then when the wobbly moon went away, you hid your face in shame to be seen with me when the sun came up again

    you were so radiant in your retreat

    Still I will wait for you up here on this rooftop of yours looking down for any broken parts of you in pieces lying there on the ground

    I throw rocks over the ledge and they go splat like the eggs that are all that is left of my virgin eyes


    I was your lover before the lovers came
    I was your friend before the others came
    I was your favorite before the end came

    Now I am nothing more than a liar in love

  21. Do bop sounds
    Do bop sounds
    Ring on fresh
    20 years later
    Wake up late for work
    Realizing, it’s midnight
    28 hours to go…..relief
    Action up
    The trumpet always works
    So does the harmonica
    …….my story line breaks loose and I think back on the past, one continuous flow, call it prose, call it out in the night, on currents of fresh air, all beyond compare, a long breath into the abyss of u never can win, beneath the rockets red glare, for now we have peace of mind, liberals with knowing giggles in charge of the sanitarium, for now, for until, for the best, for the test, action up, traction in the rain, coping with the big kapow, we be slipping into darkness…….

  22. Remember
    womb-warm days at the farm,
    puppy dog care and eating oysters;
    we were our world.

    quick shot-in-the-dark glances,
    catching each other
    and stuffing into trunks?

    John? Stoked and headed
    on unknown missions
    and Hollywood deeds,
    womb hero – waning heat
    and love burning out
    like sopped candle wicks.
    Never young again,
    carefree no more.

  23. Thinking on JAZZ
    Thinking on JAZZ
    Read an article in the illustrious D.C. city paper last week saying that it was time to put a fork in jazz, because it was way past done……..

    Way past the way past
    No new standards for
    how many decades?
    Forget the years
    Sometimes ya got to hit bottom
    before you rise back up
    Remembering Jaco
    Thinking about Trane
    Miles gone
    Mahavishnu John remains
    What wrong turn did you take
    Road that winds leads all things
    back around
    Jazz you were
    Jazz you still are
    Jazz your past illuminates
    Jazz your future is deep
    Like the Blues
    Like the Grand Canyon
    Like the sunrise of the coming day
    Long may you live
    We await your return

  24. So Im on a quest for answers
    So Im on a quest for answers…
    wherever it takes me and however it changes me
    dropped my anchor in the east, but still Im driftin to the west
    and with these words like a bird, I’ll fly away from the nest
    ..facing straight into the sunsets, and still pacing when the sun rests..
    but yall.. Its not that im lost.. I just don’t progress upon request

    Ever since my adolescense, I Been askin unanswered questions
    i look up for some directions, but instead I get a checklist
    ..on how to live my life, but I cant hide behind a necklace
    lucifer had to lie, you crucified me with deceptions/
    so if I need understanding.. explain all these exeptions
    cuz ive thought this thru a lot its not all thoughtless misconceptions
    my thoughts were misdirected, now im distraught in my confessions
    n its not what I expected that I cant learn from others lessons/

    You may not be impressed-with, these solemn thoughts im tellin
    you but check it..

    I wanna run free from what they want me to be – n achieve freedom
    from not writin to please, but please believe
    I write to set my expressions free
    .. From the narrowmindeds and their righteous squeeze
    Free from the guilty feelings that are riding me
    n from the constant wallows of my my pride n greed..
    .. my god, I gotta put my mind at ease
    Guess that’s why I gotta try n speak
    But nothings settling down inside of me
    Id better be ready now or I will die you see
    I can feel it building up as I write n think about
    the butterflies in my spine, when I tried to sing
    like im paralyzed by the lives that have lied to me
    no turnin back now and they can finally see
    what blind eyes might find when they mind is free..
    a silent sigh’s my reply when-I-hear “whyd you leave”
    ..ive been neglected now im tryin to live a life of peace
    you can see all my imperfections..
    cuz aint runnin for elections Im runnin until im breatheless…

    ..I never hide behind my lines
    n one could say my lifes been wreckless
    guess I shoulda learned my lesson the first time I got arrested
    and advice can be a blessin, that ill always be ingestin
    But I make my own mistakes.. and not out of rebellion
    zonin out while their yellin, about him bein a felon
    ..he was told “ caton, wait you should know better”
    ..But they better let him go, or they’ll watch him drift forever
    Cuz he’ll take his own road, no matter what they tell him.
    , and he never raised his tone, when he spoke back he wasn’t yellin
    “look, I know your words are worth more than gold,
    …but somehow you didn’t listen, when I spoke up and responded.
    Or maybe you just missed it, when I said I wasnt flawless.”

    ..Im sorry if its scarring but im just being honest
    And I made a promise, to let him talk to my conscience
    ..But the problem is, Im not a saint like my father
    I was blessed with the best, but im the black sheep that wanders
    And strays away from the rest, no matter where the flock is
    …guess i gotta learn my own lessons…. Im sorry

  25. I caught a glimpse of her
    I caught a glimpse of her precious angel face
    The sight still warms my cold heart
    Moments past they can never be ceased
    Moments present can never be seized
    We rushed off into the night with wild music and burning ideas
    We longed to live but left life behind
    We danced we gorged all went black
    It never comes back

  26. hey geronimo
    hey geronimo

    in this theme-park
    future is and already gone
    I wish i could run
    thick bitch youngster blues tones
    swallowed up soon by steady air-plane-flows
    motor motives and light thought groves
    tobacco brief looks of interrupted eyes
    some love at least, dog sniffs at me
    cat scratches my cheek

    the chunks jump
    crazy busy drunk
    rushing marching on
    hick hack stomping
    heels click clack
    flip flap picking
    panic-stricken cackle-cluck
    just like headless chicken

    one step back
    away from the flock
    where’s your head?
    observer of scenes
    on sunlit roads and offside
    dally with dreams
    more tiger-like

  27. I went down
    I went down
    And I tasted lightening
    But I slipped the noose
    just as it was tightening.

    I swept my Soul
    Out of that valley

    The only song the rifle sings
    Is blacker than a Ravens wings.

    In the Shadows of Death.

    I got high
    Yeah, I climbed that Mountain
    Fell down so many times
    Learned to stop counting

    I swept my Soul
    Through the Valley of Death.

    Planted seeds and watched ’em bleed
    I plead.
    I Beg and Borrow
    I stole and schemed.
    I dreamt of Death and Sorrow.

    And the only song I heard was the ravens wings
    And the lonely song the rifle sings.
    I went down
    then I tasted lightening

  28. Action
    Psychotic reaction
    1st thought/best thought bliss
    Threads rambling down the page
    Awesome visual display
    These things remembered
    Feelings sender
    Give and take
    Shake and bake
    Just don’t call me late
    You know I won’t answer

  29. good morning, my name is
    good morning, my name is general punk.
    all day and night i salute the flag.
    don’t you dare question my patriotism.
    all the risk taking i do for you.
    that’s right, the late night dates.
    the winking and grab-ass games.
    it’s all very dangerous.
    i’m an american, by golly.
    and i deserve a second chance.
    if my wife don’t care, why should you?
    remember, i’m a hero.
    the finest in the nation.
    i fight all the boogiemen.
    a leader of the highest order.
    a man has needs, ya know.
    all the pressure i’m under.
    washington think tanks and hearings.
    sending kids home in body bags.
    boobytrapped streets and voodoo people.
    hold on a minute.
    gotta email my honeybun.
    she has a nice butt.
    even my wife says so.
    some tell me i’m a disgrace.
    bur her rack! her rack!
    i mean iraq! iraq!
    she asked me the other night.
    general punk, who’s your sweetest tart?
    lordy, lordy girl, you know you are.
    and she finished the job good.

  30. Flee…take flight
    Flee…take flight

    I remember how I used to come from school
    How I used to dance instead of walking
    How I threw things in the air
    Maybe a cigarette box
    My schoolbooks
    Sometimes my shoes…

    Everything flew
    Everyone around stood still

    And before those things could fall and reach the ground
    I ran
    But never found my home
    And I never went to school again

    Those things may still fly somewhere in the air
    Never saw them again
    I got far away since then
    I still dance instead of walking
    Tossing things
    And run before they drop

  31. Mid November
    Mid November
    ~~~~<~~<<~~~~ The cool broke loose with the first spoonful of the pumpkin soup Always regretted paying for it after Halloween night All those restaurant chefs On the prowl, up that profit margin, "them pumpkins be free!" I was originally saying it's mid November, Thanksgiving is coming fast. Action poetry's on the 1st page and from all indications it's active to say the least. Interaction would make it really active I feel. There's no substitute for Action Poetry, it's damn near my religion.

  32. Irreverant me,
    Irreverant me,
    tonight the sky has no face.
    Ink and stars whisper
    time has no space within you.
    Non-linear life matters.

  33. Home Is Coming
    Home Is Coming

    It’s seemed like
    an eternity
    in the coming,

    Gay marriage
    Marijuana legalized
    all in my home state

    and best of all
    Action Poetry is coming back.

  34. Just found out Jimi was God
    Moby Tall Tail
    Just found out Jimi was God
    Jack was Moses
    We all burned under the same treel
    Polyrhythmic mass confunctions
    Just found out ’bout Jean Harlow
    and Billy the Kid’s affair
    How they were set to adopt
    Ravi, only he was a dancer
    not the sitar master that we’ve
    grown to love
    I swam with the 20 foot Anaconda
    tonight we was dancing down old
    Hollins street, wired
    He woulda let me touch himi
    but then I blinked
    Jimi was God and
    Jack was Moses
    A tale to be or not to be told
    Bigger than a white whale

  35. Teething

    or tether coil on grumby tooth,
    backtrack beat slipping
    stacatto, beneath wires,

    or a tooth grows between teeth,
    like weed on aching ground
    of bumpy gums.

    or that unrefined pain
    experienced during brushing —
    spit to exorcise. Spit.

  36. GREEN

    when you are jealous
    i can see it crawl out from your pores
    this green icky goo
    your envy cannot contain
    you struggle to detain it
    but it engulfs you still
    and when you want to pretend
    to be nice to me and comprehend
    all the nice things people say to me (but not to you)
    this green slime from your body
    slams itself in bits and blobs
    all over me and saps the cells i thought were mine

    and then you smile while i am trapped
    in this green viscous bubble of your resentment and fury
    and you ask me what was it they said about you
    that they couldn’t possible say about me?

  37. Saving you
    Saving you
    Saving me
    In the land of
    O say can u see?
    The beyond belief
    and the ever so brief
    It ran down the hole
    I was never so bold
    as when I jumped in
    and began to swim

  38. Poem:
    My mind is hell
    I fell so quick
    trapped by it
    lost in a maze
    a haze of thoughts
    I try to sort
    Nowhere I get
    So I cry and fret
    Over lost regrets.

  39. And if I did have a point, I
    And if I did have a point, I think it’s that we citizens of the world have been trapped in a cycle of brinksmanship, winding ever tighter, at least since VJ day. There is only so much tension or pressure that any system, whether a simple one like a spring, or a complex one like global military and economic alliances, can bear before the system dramatically and quite suddenly finds a mechanism of release from it’s high-energy state. I’m reminded of an incident that occurred when I was in the 5th grade. I was assigned to learn to play the viola that year in music class, and to be honest I resented the shit out of that assignment. At any rate, I was fiddling around with the tuning pegs, playing with the tension and exploring how it affected the sound the instrument produced, and really enjoying how direct and obvious the connection was between high pressure and high pitch. But I pushed it just a smidgeon too far, and when I put the bow down on the then ridiculously tight string -mind you I simply rested the bow-hairs on the string without even drawing the bow to produce a pitch- the string snapped and whipped apart in both directions, one end lashing my face and the other my fingers draped across the neck. Let me tell you, THAT. SHIT. HURT. Now, if this anecdote has a point in this context, I suppose the point is that it’s fun to play with tensions in “closed” systems, as the Israelis appear to enjoy playing with tensions in Gaza and the West Bank, but the “closed’ nature of the system is in fact illusory, and when the tension gets beyond a certain threshold the system is liable to open up in a fairly chaotic way, and anyone or anything near to it is pretty sure to get a lashing from the energies thereby released. Now, obviously, systems can reside within systems, and sometimes when a tense system is unbound it propagates a pressure wave which may loose further tensions in the encapsulating system or systems, if they too are already wound fairly tightly. This point now brings us back around to the bomb. It illustrates both the internal physicochemical mechanism of the bomb, and the sociopolitical mechanism of the employment of the bomb. So, yeah, have fun with that.

  40. eat when you eat
    eat when you eat
    shit when you shit
    listen when you listen
    talk when you talk
    see when you see
    walk when you walk
    sit when you sit

    the head is filled with doubt and fear
    the heart is filled with light

    chasing my shadow

  41. Poetry in action
    Poetry in action
    Ever ready and willing
    when enabled
    Waiting on Jack
    Wondering the reaction
    Have the times changed?
    Yet the folk remain
    Same shells
    Same wishing wells
    With cellular technology
    by our side
    I remember pre Kennedy time
    How did we survive
    Waiting on Jack
    Wondering if there’s still
    a connection
    60 years & the worlds
    still beat

  42. The Extinquishment
    The Extinquishment

    life as a biological flame
    down to embers
    and radioactive plastic

    blind and angry, armed and insane, we will end as we began, painting on cavern walls…

  43. Sober Girls
    Sober Girls

    .all the sober girls tell lies.
    .how happy they are.
    .and blessed.
    .the unaltered mind is full of melancholy.
    .the decline of years and days.
    .drink life.
    .smoke it too.
    .stack the cans high.
    .laugh out loud as the spirit shines.
    .all you toasters.
    .all you dirty minds.
    .yes, the sober ones are sad.
    .drink the wine that is true blood.
    .line ’em up on the bar.
    .shots of tequila and salt.
    .make the bottle last.
    .throw it in the river at the end of the night.
    .damn devil liquid.

  44. I knew where I was,
    I knew where I was,
    in some other place dreaming.
    My reality
    was tender and quite fragile.
    I did not surrender it.

  45. wind cries
    wind cries
    sun bleaches and dries
    a plane sounds from another far away sky
    here falls a leaf
    there breaks a drop of I don’t know what
    the reflecting face of a shallow slough
    revealing its ground of sea moss and mud

  46. In this place I breathe
    In this place I breathe
    all of life and bright color.
    With arms full of hope
    reaching towards my horizon,
    I’m anxious beneath the dream.

  47. Texican hands were rough.
    Texican hands were rough. Full of earth spots, sun spots, and nicks. From the fertile dark soils of the northeast to the dust left over from the dust bowl of the previous century, there was a purpose for all the dirt. Sands of Galveston, Padre Island, and the Yucatan Rivera met the Sea of the Gulf. Baja and Acapulco bid farewell to the Pacific. It does always go east to west it seems. Follow the sun.

    The family farm was a thriving industry in Texico. Robust local economies supported direct trade. Producer to consumer was the normal exchange. Only manufacturers of large or specialized items used middle men. Mostly, it was direct and modestly priced. America’s corrupt institutions included its economy, where several deals were contracted and negotiated before the buyer got to decide. Persuasions to fool the masses represented the largest industry in America. Advertising and media. Billboards were not existent in Texico, where anything to burden the evening views and morning sunrises was scorned by the population. Money was a means to end, not the end of the rainbow. Many American farmers migrated to Texico to live the life they knew. The estado of Trinity, with its spring rains and rich soil largely supplied the nation’s food and textiles needs, allowing economies of other areas to focus on other industries. There was cooperation and strategy, not competition and sabotage, among the estados of Texico. Oil energy in Delta, sugarcane in Veracruz, wind energy in Ogallala, technology in Pecos, automobiles in Chihuahua, media and tourism in Yucatan, telecommunications in Mexico, financial services in Brazos, sports in Tabasco, music in Galveston, beer and wine in Louisiana, foreign exporting in Baja, and the farming and ranching of Trinity. Never had the world seen a well coordinated and executed strategy applied to an entire economy. The results were spectacular for all Texicans.

    The term limits written into the Texico Papers ensured innovation and evolution of thought. Creative solutions to problems and, more importantly, the avoidance of creating new problems motivated the politicians and their actions. Like the economy, middle men were cut out of government. Politics was not an industry like the still-greasy Washington D.C. of America. The lobbying profession barely existed and went underground. Offenders would rightly be brought up on bribery charges, usually convicted, and sent to an Ogallala tent prison.


    By Steve Plonk

    Stories of cosmic flowers
    Coming alive for dull eyes
    Breathe of hallucination—
    A poised question
    Gathers before time freezes it over—
    Better that we realize (goes the answer)
    A few manifestations
    Than be self-deluded
    By holding back our fancy…
    Night is a friend to all who dream
    Even though ended by the
    Crimson courage of the day—
    Sometimes there is hope in brute despair
    Hope is the beginning of a new tale…
    Wayward children are we
    Shown our great destiny—
    Or is destiny just a poised question,
    With a lame paradoxical answer?
    Gamble on the flipped coin—
    Is life more like a gamble,
    Than a paved road to certainty?
    This question is poised much too often—
    Better not to ask it &
    React to the flow—
    What is now arriving on our thoughts,
    Was dreamed before we know,
    Like east & west, above & below,
    We are caught in between like a feather
    Floating down,
    Like potential heat in an unstruck match,
    Poised for action,
    Like an agreeable answer—
    Which takes away our breath…

    Written Circa 1986, Revised slightly, November 2012.

  49. Writing feeling night.
    Writing feeling night. Reading Richard Brautigan revenging the lawn. Inspired by Rumi words and Coleman Barks comments. Future music at the bar, and it is electronic. Wound tight and wired as as I should be. Head up to mi casa to get a dose of Joni, refuge of the road. All about these mountains today. Small they might be, but o how they loom above all the hullabaloo below.

  50. Headspace

    somewhere in between brain centers it all becomes cinema
    and the cloying seductions of preoccupations of form
    finally gives up the ghost and shuffles off
    as content saunters ondesk
    and asks for it’s script
    and asks what is my motivation
    like some method actor
    and asks and asks and asks
    why over and over like a two year old
    threatening to topple the desk
    and just hit the stage and just do improv
    risking vacuity, boredom, waste
    and failure to connect
    in a miasma of meta

    no myth, no boon
    no story, no time
    but to stop time like lyric poetry
    and more
    a virtual heart
    on sleeve or not
    as a place, as a headspace
    or a home, a cave
    or the source itself, grace

    all to be threaded into this tiny ass window
    where it’s all different, like a late night quiet near-empty chatroom
    with just enough others
    of like minds
    and kind

    one hopes

  51. Girl With A Woman
    Girl With A Woman

    girl with a cat
    woman with books
    girl at a manual typewriter
    woman in a dream of a girl in a dream
    woman standing nude in a garage at night with no lights on
    girl with her head down reading notes and standing silent at a podium in a large mostly filled auditorium
    woman with disheveled hair and dressed in a bathrobe seated at a table with her knees up drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes
    girl on a park bench reading the New York Times Book Review while eating ham and cheese on rye with mustard and wearing a trench coat
    girl standing still in a garden with her hand up shading her eyes for an hour at midnight
    woman reading a novel in one hand and smoking a hash pipe in another
    girl at a table concentrating on the composition of a poem with a pencil in her hand and the eraser’s worn down to a nub
    woman at storefront window in NYC 1958
    woman and girl lowering a new 350 into a mat black ’58 Chevy Bel Air
    woman drawing on a wall a scene of a girl seated at a table
    woman with a cat
    girl with books
    girl with a woman

  52. blue lioness
    blue lioness

    m.bathing in dolphin’s tears a seaweed garden
    breathing their cry into your ears

    m.soaked through ceilings drips on your sheets
    m.jumped off your lashes
    warm gush at your feet

    m.snows down just to melt
    m.drunk ghost with teeth
    miss in wet shirt

    m.your narcotic thrill
    m.dwells in a twinkle of many eyes
    straight spine spinning wheel

    m.your xl-jacket soap to your skin
    m.munches hours like cherry chew
    morning dew drinks of guilt and gin liquid leaking
    m.girlman womanboy
    tide bleeding

    m.the ‘fuck me with toys’
    m.her own mother
    lovingly poised

    m.dreaming of octopus arms
    m.seeking tongue plants
    with radical hands

    m.sucking your thumb
    m.your baby
    your child your tomb tear dept
    m.close to the end

    m.sheepish rubber doll
    m.the deep water
    vest open heart full

    m.coming unglued blue blue
    old school tattooed midnight flag gown
    m.flying with still wings
    riding you home

    m.wet dog doggy style weeper
    m.almond breath catcher
    curious finger creeper

    m.spread knees shifted ass witch
    m.miles away
    milkjuice brewing bitch fuck me high heels
    m.splits stocks in stockings
    asking tied mouth how it feels

    m.centred more outside than ever
    m.dancing despite dumb ears
    floor flung face fever

    m.with lion locks
    m.pleads for keys codes or power saws
    eyes and fingers the box

    m.buzzes off
    earning applause

  53. creekbed day
    creekbed day

    she really works for her supper.
    all day long worry about the little ones.
    waking her deep sleeps.
    every day is its own.
    a sunrise and a sunset.
    dusk and dawn.
    the day makes sense.
    seasons too.
    changes are evident and recurring.
    a week and a month.
    all the days already named.
    named before they arrived.
    it is a tradgedy.
    i want to name my days.
    yesterday was creekbed day.
    the previous, follow the sun.
    today, maybe earning applause.
    but she does awake.
    and works.
    works to keep that spark.
    breathing in heavy.
    his enthusiatic row.
    sleep is easy now.
    her work is complete.
    hopefully he’s been tamed.

  54. this is no response poem just
    this is no response poem just a response:
    i liked this piece.
    i quite appreciated the viola string analogy. (your actual experience is scary to even imagine.)

  55. Action poetry thread
    Action poetry thread
    Almost forgot you
    were here
    57 strong posts
    toasting on the blog
    Waiting for some interaction
    For without it
    the Action can’t provide
    no satisfaction

  56. ..floppy shoes..
    ..floppy shoes..

    him who brought levity and grace.
    who told you about the mistakes.
    lighting the path all the way through.

    aware of each specific experience.
    aware of the thoughts of others even.
    but uncaring and resolved to fate.

    blend in with the marching band.
    waive flags and throw flaming batons.
    wind blown tangles and floppy shoes.

    all the days are owed your attention.
    attend to the particulars of your culture.
    make your written words count.

  57. Did I hear 60?
    Did I hear 60?
    Keep it going
    Growing w/the
    Still going down here
    at the bajo
    Secret spot that only
    the kicker homies know

  58. Beat

    old newspapers blowing down…
    …a bleaker street
    beat, man, just beat
    and when you look at all your books and stuff
    wondering just what you won’t sell to eat
    you know what they’re worth to you
    or not

    but for all the books you can’t sell
    that really bring a grin
    cause you haven’t
    written them yet
    is the most love

  59. The Man
    The Man

    kenneth goldsmith, m’man of the hour still
    headspace city, mama
    is all i can say
    the ubu man
    does it for me for all the others he rallies and gathers and proffers
    & i wanna celebrate him

    recently found his site’s twitter link held unheralded gems
    otherwise unproffered praps, or not
    eh, wot?
    who knows

    and so on
    and so on
    and so on

    from deep in the late night
    in oklahoma city of all places
    i’m drinking really really cheap coffee
    and missing all my very very old typewriters of yore
    and giving thanks to The Man

  60. I need time I need time I
    I need time I need time I need time I need some more time All I ask for is time I want more time I need some time I need so much time Please don’t take too much of my time I need time Give me more time I need some more time I want more time I need time Some more time I need so much time Please give me more time I need more time I need so much time I need time I need time I need time Slow slow Slow it down for me I need time

  61. Their misconeption.
    Their misconception.
    Scarlett wishes with blue dreams
    have taught me restraint.
    Language signed with unknown tongues
    often paint me with eyes closed.

  62. My blue dreams
    My blue dreams
    Especially on the weekends
    when the nights
    are longest
    In & out of blue dreams
    Sometimes catching the
    same dream again and again and again

  63. its best to slip in
    its best to slip in
    a few errant words…they become relevant.
    like a wish someone gave you.
    close to.
    fond glance
    memory and another place.

  64. “Not a Real Poem”
    “Not a Real Poem”

    Limitless perceptions,
    perhaps we are
    but one conciousness
    experiencing itself.

    The old ones of my family
    got up from the porch
    and then closed the doors.

    The older I get the less fused
    to reality I become.
    There are more holes in it now
    than there ever was.

  65. “G.O.P. Stinkin’ Penny Haiku”
    “G.O.P. Stinkin’ Penny Haiku”
    By Steve Plonk

    Party of Lincoln
    Be stinkin’,
    Be stinkin’,
    Time for them
    To get wise,
    Stop livin’
    With blinders
    On their eyes…

    Also posted on in Studio Eight, in my thread, Some Penny Haiku, Part 3, page one, on Dec. 7, 2012 in the Poetry Forum.

  66. Sit broken promise struck by
    Sit broken promise struck by too much of always a bad teacher no idea
    you perfume! you perfume! note any train take any train

    I take any train
    remote consoled by repetition again
    I need time I need time I need to spit spew spout out more time

    …what should I do?
    Get new-tattooed? Be impressed by you, your statements? Be in love? Talk? Talk too much? Get hysteric? Cold? Get old? Die young? Cook up some art? Fall (on someone) apart? Get drunk? Be cool? Be smart? Be fun? Be d dif diffe ferent? Mo mom no come on no mo mon no one no you know no none not one no mo moan no you no none. You don’t know. And stars don’t know. And cards don’t know. Maybe scars do know. But you don’t know. And I don’t know. And god doesn’t know. And mom doesn’t know. Some books could know. But the writer doesn’t know. And days don’t know. But nights do know. And pets don’t know. But cats may know. Blow doesn’t know. And wine doesn’t snow. But snow knows. Snow knows. Snow does know. What your love doesn’t know. Your child doesn’t know. Sadness knows nothing. And joy knows nothing. Walls don’t know much. But time. Time doesn’t know a thing. Music, in the sweetest way, doesn’t know. Hands know. Hands know. Feet know. Ways don’t. And signs don’t. But feet know. And wise wise hunger knows. No. Probably it has no idea. Pain is clueless. And so on. So…

  67. > by Wojciech on Sunday,
    > by Wojciech on Sunday, December 9, 2012 02:31 am

    …my god, that was a strong poem…
    that i never read those particular eight words before, and to do so now, is incredible to me. literally.
    breathtakingly original, powerful, and terse -my jaw is still dropped.
    i didn’t expect to be so blown away just now.

  68. @ Zuma – thank you for the
    @ Zuma – thank you for the kind words

    @ ms – I enjoyed your (response?) poem

    @ Duncan – welcome back, sir. We have missed your voice dearly.

  69. rage & wonder
    rage & wonder

    color trammel cluehouse
    clashing camel crawl
    dollar dremel drainpipe
    dashing dharma dolls
    where exactly is this?

  70. yes Wojciech, …my response
    yes Wojciech, …my response to your real good short-poem…happy you enjoyed it

  71. ..sipping from the dish..
    ..sipping from the dish..

    .part the sea again Lord.
    .free your people.
    .sing holy songs and blow trumpets.
    .those girls want a tree.
    .and a list.

    .hide your sneeze in your sleeve please.
    .we can do without you for a day.
    .or two.
    .renegade wranglers.
    .tophat chasers.

    .respectable reputations.
    .all dignified and trusted.
    .adversity absorbed.
    .sponge of madness.
    .shaken loose by use.

    .proclaim your future.
    .set the scene.
    .watch her sip from the dish.
    .sipping like a cat.
    .and barking like a dog.

  72. The Sky Is A Magnificent
    The Sky Is A Magnificent Ceiling

    i taught Malcolm X how
    to aim a weapon,
    then he put his forehead
    to the ground,

    i taught Huey how
    to hold a gun
    then he gave lunch
    to school children,

    i’ll teach you how
    to love yourself
    if only you would step
    away from that mirror

    i taught the bear
    how to fish
    then it went climbing trees

    teacher is student
    lessons, leeway

    they call certain paintings abstract
    because they do not understand,
    they point their finger at you
    because they do not know

    you are an outcast, weird, different
    iconoclast, decenter, sooth sayer

    would you rather be thought of as normal?

  73. proud jurek dies
    proud jurek dies

    blind spy blank faced
    his best friend in shreds over the place
    red – red – red
    closed eyes
    now that they pay you
    inward wars last
    blank faced blind spy

  74. Where the shadows fall
    Where the shadows fall
    the softest words are whispered.
    Far too many thoughts
    will conclude that the sunrise
    always shows up late for me.

  75. ..spanish roots..
    ..spanish roots..

    a room full of wine drinkers.
    talking of the great grape harvest.
    texas roots and imported spanish vines.
    spanish roots can’t make it in the texas soil.
    some sort of hybrid was developed and nurtured.
    care was taken to allow for several years of oversight.
    the vines now robust and mighty in the large waves of rows.
    the explanations were magnificent and i understood the reasons.
    get it to the bottle and capture the liquids of the earth with a cork.
    finest grapes in the world grow on mitas hill in north collin county.

  76. Keeping action roots
    Keeping action roots
    In the 80’s
    Thread looking for
    a doggie bone
    We be growling
    the word
    Every poet needs
    a chance to be

  77. siren song
    siren song

    my love for you is deep
    to the pillars of the earth
    it would stand in the face of ruin
    it’s a haven
    shelter in your storms
    and it’s forever
    as it is
    and as it was
    so it shall always be
    I love you
    it is the way of things

    and should the darkness ever fall upon you
    I shall find you
    wherever you are
    and wielding a light
    bright as the sun
    cold as the moon
    sharp as the evening star
    shall put to flight the shadows
    that have broken your beautiful heart
    and take you away from this battlefield
    to a place we’ve only ever been
    when we dare to dream the dreams

    this is our place
    it’s where we belong
    it’s home
    and it’s so far away
    but I shall take you there my love
    and we shall never leave
    and I shall hold you in my arms
    and love you till I die
    and you
    the love of all my lives
    you shall be my princess
    and I shall be your knight
    in shining armour
    on a great white charger
    I shall be the wish you wish
    on all your shooting stars

    © peter stanford 2007

  78. …crumpled paper wings…
    …crumpled paper wings…

    the morning drifts into being
    under the strain of night —
    awakened words willfully wind up their syntax
    and the metered music begins.
    Black birds with crumpled paper wings eat paragraphs for breakfast….
    we seem to regurgitate more than we eat, we seem to write more than we read….
    Who is the Subterranean Soul who cut a path close to the weeded word?
    sometimes I wonder about the emptiness….
    We are all hurling through space brushing against the nothing trying to hold on to a poem.

  79. And you Were told,
    And you Were told,
    Before the somethings and can’t remembers,
    old of the slashing nibs and bleeding blues.
    There is no silent, rhyming scream.
    We scratch a century of lead into iPads.
    (And we don’t care)
    Consider yourself told off . X


  81. The Sea Shepherd
    The Sea Shepherd

    Waves are shushing mothers,
    soothing, mopping tears
    from the face of the bay.

    I sit high among the rocks,
    weed-strewn, and watch
    the sky for signs of day.

    Night drops her gown,
    a witch’s deeper blue;
    the indigo gives way

    to bright Phoebus’s rays,
    enlivening my flesh.
    Here I remain,

    Guard of the shallows,
    Where the frail fish swim
    and pale birds play.

  82. Derelict Hearts
    Derelict Hearts

    The pull of the things lost to us and those others, half revealed, but which remain curtained in mystery. Our streets were filled with the cadavers of domesticity; the bare bones of lives long lived, for good or ill. Amateur vandals, we roamed the ruins, tourists at Pompeii , in search of sacred relics – hearth tiles, windows miraculously unbroken, heartbreakingly withered strips of weathered wallpaper, floral and flock. Sometimes, a door would be forced on the wavering wreck of a house, half-submerged in its own demise, and we’d violate its space, climbing skeletal stairs to rooms where flesh and blood had once loved and fought; where babes were born and others perished. Careless of this history, we hurled our half-bricks through rotting floorboards and daubed empty slogans on walls that would once have been lovingly decorated to familial taste. If the ghosts of these Englishmen’s castles bore witness, how they must have wept as we trampled on their sweat and dreams. Something draws me back – the promise of the forbidden and so long hidden in those careless summer evenings of trespass and pillage; the glow of the sinking sun that made these broken pieces of our city a song in the heart of the wild-eyed and roving boy.

    By Steve Plonk

    Broken threads never die,
    They gain internet space,
    Then forever fly,
    In the beholder’s eye…
    If you first don’t appear,
    Forever try…


    By Steve Plonk

    Don’t worry about the showers
    Much noise & thunder
    Doesn’t always light up sky with lightning–

    The branch lightning threads
    Through the sky,
    Brings us a show by & by–

    Gullywashers come & go
    Splash & dash & run
    For Impromptu internet fun…
    As our keyboards go pitter patter
    Bringing out renewal of chatter…


    By Steve Plonk

    He took a trip to the end of the line
    He told the world that he was not fine
    He broke his neck & he cracked his spine
    He took a trip to the end of the line

    His life was hell in that morbid room
    Where he was discovered one afternoon
    There should be an inquest to light up the gloom
    End of the line….End of the line…
    The world found out that he was not fine.

    Robin lived a generous life, it’s true
    He was there for friends feeling blue,
    What happened in his mind, that last night?
    What happened to cause an unwind
    So that he couldn’t see the next light?

    They say he appeared to die by his hand,
    But I didn’t see that part of the plan,
    He boarded the ship at the end of the line
    He took that last trip at the end of the line.

    Oh Robin, I know your folks miss you so,
    Why is it you took this time to let go?
    They said too much, they didn’t say enough,
    What killed you, must make us tough…

    You were a hero to many & fought the good fight,
    Where were helping hands on that last night?
    You needed to take your own advice,
    Before you succeeded on giving your ice…

    The ice man came & took you away,
    You didn’t live to see that next day,
    You join some of your friends long passed away,
    It’s hard to find words to know what to say.

    Rest in peace is the best I can do…
    You’re a better man than me,
    I hope your soul flew…
    I hope your soul is rested in a quiet place…
    With no more demons giving you chase…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

What we're up to ...

Litkicks is 26 years old! This website has been on a long and wonderful journey since 1994. We’re relaunching the whole site on a new platform in June 2021, and will have more updates soon. We’ve also been busy producing a couple of podcasts – please check them out.

World BEYOND War: A New Podcast
Lost Music: Exploring Literary Opera

Explore related articles ...