Thursday, January 31, 2008

Not a Poem Is, by Amy Hollowell

after AD's Help: not a poem, etc.

Not a poem is not a poem is not a poem
by many other names
a poem

its licks from the impossible real
aligned without a seam
to know.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Box of Sky: skeleton poem by Amanda Deutch

After "Drowsing" by Sean S and "Not" by JKD

light comes and goes brush to blanks pre–coital drowsing in the
clatter trap door last body flirtation smack of windows winking
lovers spent as slipping though snow clouding and flutters
down below Skeletal imprints lured to only shut eyes
an indication of space traces the body a few steps
towards red lights and holding bees
how to index the days

Tactile Light by AD

after JKD's response to my own, "Help: not a poem"

an indication of space
traces her
tactile maneuvering

lured to red lights
touching bees
indexing the days

Postcard from the State of Luddition
by Sue Chenette after Amanda Deutch's "Help: not a poem" and attendant comments

We were Spaced out in the amber sand
not keeping tabs as to risk
when Non-Breaking waves rolled in, dense

........& nbsp <> ITTK


Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Drowsing by Sean S

after Waking by JKD

starlings start from your banks by the seine
clouding and down again.

grass flutters
spring winds satellites winking like spent lovers
now that the snow is gone.

your drowsing steps over images of clattering
crisp october leaves slipping through with a trap-door
jolt pinprick back in your May(fly) body
a last flirtatious smack of wakefulness

before palms and fingers
the post-coital motion of that streamered flock
only a few shut-eye steps from Williamson, from K's house
brush you to blanks.

ps. you know: lovers come and go
going still so more hopeful than a drawing-room michelangelo.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Not by JKD

After Amanda's "Help, not a poem" (tee-hee-hee:)
FYI: the answer to her question has been provided by others in the comments section off her post, in case that can help you, too!

Help, not a poem
Not an index, space, asterisk
No indication of text
To tactile manoeuvrings
Red lights
A bee or anteater
How in her lugging
Heaps of her

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Help: not a poem

How do I put spaces/indents/tabs into the text?! George and Jen you seem to know how to do this. Thanks. Excuse my luddition.

Over My Side Walk by Amanda D, After “New” by Sean S. , “Waking” by JKD and “Piece” by Jill Darling

over my sidewalk

another rash half asleep
old bones
curtain of body
****reveal and re-member

*********after**** burning**** through**** tunnels**** of days
self sinks
****** into skin self
re- rooted and
bright as eyes

bones re-membered
no longer di skeletal or hanging limp
mildew flicked off
new ground uncovered
skeleton inside skin
perennially with seasons—thick and continual, dirty
reach deeper into ground

Friday, January 25, 2008


After Barbara Beck’s “Drive-By”, “Roppongi” by « Maitresse », & “On She Sells” by Sean S

Only wishing lonely lodgers would write poems on caryatids, or construct conveyor belts for the archdiocese's overabundance of romantic poetry terms no longer allotted to speech-givers. Sign of the times, snap-up, step-up to modernism, post, post, pre next something or other, each scene bathing another in sale stock Bed, Bath & Beyond essential oils, carrying to the following place, following on, a follow-up question to stop itself from going, there, in, no, No, Mr Frost, I have not been—and would rather—well, you know the rest. Cher Dracula, cher Peter (keep your keys), counted in a cantique or canteen onstage musicality of, last night in Lyon, ce soir, leaning close to the stage, the audience, the after aftermath of, as a tourniquet signalled in the charade of lights, action, freighted words, fretted, as in a groove, a dip, a well-oiled machine would seize a man’s tongue, a gaze glazed or packed in snow, glacial, where linguists ice-pick picked a way forth. Slip (of the tongue, a tooth) or slide down, chip-chipped chickadee then glide up, azure air as in, fair-weather friend, a tail feather, a cap in your… Then tea, coffee—with cream, please, no sugar—No syrupy sweet serenades in this decade, this decadence of new start twenty-first end last century evol/devolution. Quiet quips as in a shape-shifter, a drifter in delirium tremens-dreams too scenic, too obscene (Romeo and Juliette? Julio and Ramiro? Othello meets Medea?) to pass the passage along into a maze, offer a sifter, sniff, er, uh—would you care for a drink, a manifesto? Overshoulder, tinned coils hinged fishily to the eye socket, says, sails, sales. It’s all in a homonym, a can-opener, a set of worms in a bocal, a mason jar, rather this official official stamps an O.K.!, this censor’s cantankerous about what constitutes a 'canton', a 'coven', a curious 'castration of canticles'. Between one language and the rest, what strings’ endless needles threading thinly back are broken over, up? Over this and that, this and this space, just a, or as, purgatorio, oratorio, Babylonian orange in the tinny tangy sauce of lips, spittle, tongue, larynx linked or lately to seal up moldy books, lead-painted vocabularies moulded into, onto the clay of timelike many lines, skinny lines or time travel trader traipsers along the shoals, shores, brine. Couplets. Tercets. Quintuplets. Such a barbarian in rhyme, out of, the lodgers crypt, (e-) quipped, gripped poetry atop the highrise, the heelwise, scampering squeak of mouseketeers (a crises of overpopulation) like musket-carrying card-carrying NRGers, NPRers, Nything goers. All have the right to bare, constitutionally bound into the thicket of the spa, verses barely able to cover (for) themselves. Order out, instead.

Drive-by by Barbara Beck

Mostly after untitled by Sean S

Glance over my shoulder
at roadside charades --
man seized by paralysis
child squeezed between
banks of packed snow.
Quiet starts as shape-holder
too freighted for words.
Each scene bathing
in its light, each question
a tourniquet to stop itself.


by Maitresse
after "Sheltered Lengths" by Jennifer K. Dick

what am I doing here in this cement garden? what am I doing with my nose-blowing and head-bobbing, offending?

such a well brought-up girl, such a barbarian

what am I doing here where the rent's high and money's low? what am I doing with him paying and me looking, away?

such a strong girl, such a wet rag

what am I doing writing poetry in a high rise, with a maid service, with a spa?

poetry's done in the street
it's done in the thick of it

seems it's also done in the thin, atop a duvet thick with money.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

On She Sells by Sean S

After "Pertinacious" by J K Dick

into wishing lonely lodgers shove stopgaps
bicycles to wince and crease across flawed avenues

thickets swallowing towers sails weighted
misting up quiet waves frayed wind drizzling muggy hours

seastars piss a rhyme right over a hanging tongue of shadow
oh many lights brine the shoals of our handbones' promenade

muffling our eyes the taste of split in the mouths shouts of
ALLELUIA ALLELUIA YOU FUCKER of berry iambic captively opaque

pop and hiss tin fish pressed to oil thinly hinged coils on she sells
sea shells she sells

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Waking by JKD

After "Envelope" by Sean S

Over my shoulder startling bright as snow
tight as blue corpuscles, starlings for eyes
bank hard against the squeezed rash of
ice shambles or pinpricks mistaken for a body
half asleep still in the envelope of K’s house
gum and slip, cars and trucks after cocoa
hot coals or codas, we signal one or another
through mail slots, down cables, along underwater
valleys over streamered satellites I lick
curtains of sleep from your body to let sunlight
through, a few steps from Williamson, gently
as blanks fired into the night sky spark
fuchsia silken dahlia petals in you taste of
rose as burning day smacked through us
already broken

New: untitled (envelope?)

by sean s

Over my shoulder the hard banks of snow squeeze
the rush of cars and trucks as tight as blue corpuscles.
The sidewalks are ice shambles.

The envelope of Jenifer quiet starts only
a few steps from Williamson.
I lick the gum and slip myself through
the mail slot of K's house.
After hot cocoa she smacks her lips deliciously.
Pulls the curtains open to let the sunlight in
starting bright off the snow.

Friday, January 18, 2008

E-Flesh by Jill Darling

after skulture by george v. in dec 2007

contorted virtual performance
of parts
in color and dripping
like cyber images
melting my tongue
like crunchy words
linking worlds
moist love flickers fades
only one finger

piece by piece

after j. dick's pertinacious and s. chenette's shard

tin bones
shin boned
skeletal hanging glimpse
of bone dust
rusted thick and
a continual
perennial flowering
into the ground
of spring
and every season
by Sue Chenette after Barbara Beck's Travel 1

We were daredevil amateurs
scornful of plastic raincoats
eyes the area of beguilement and
our senses on the go
as we pantomimed
first-person together
in a pretrip kind of learn
the usual jobs, marriages
waving signs a little beyond

New: Travel 1 by Barbara Beck

they try out doors pretrip
for free spitting and searching
laugh at all the right places
remain amateurs waving signs
daredevil dull & experiential
eyeball the area beguilements
time-passing kind of learn
any unusual games jobs, marriages
plastic raincoats in pantomime
what to take along almost pure bonus
senses ongo same as home
is red are green
walk hard first-person together
and little beyond

Thursday, January 17, 2008

I.D.ed Nude by J K Dick, after G Vance's 'How it started'

I.D.ed nude

before a thousand certitudes

all wonder fixed

to stoned words

as if


an object comes in surrounded


to be so un-, so under-


gets shrouded in thinged vocabularies



The Objects
by Sue Chenette after gvance’s "How it Started" and JD’s "Pertinacious" and "Sheltered Lengths"

Wary of words
they stood naked in limning light,
brightly opaque, perennial.

It was the bangles tempted them,
half-scrawled with the glamour
of being named,

and so they acquiesced when
jibberish held out a braceleted arm
beginning the long dance.


New: how it started

by gvance


before......all wonder
a thousand certitudes

saidmarkedfixed asifstone

an object comes in surrounded

masked protected presented vehiculed shrouded

gets worded


flees its wonderwear: ID'd nude


Wednesday, January 16, 2008

by Sue Chenette after JD's Pertinacious

shin bone fished from a shuffle bag

I had a bone to pick with you

some femur or fever ((k)nee(d) bone) or fib-
ular shard

lim(b)(n)ed in the shadblow's overhang

....................(dem bones dem
dry bones)

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Pertinacious by J K Dick

After "Shine" by Sommer Browning

the tin fish bone dislodged a shopping bag
Inscribed sentences crossed half-scrawl bangles

thick with wallowing, what tours you ailed
Muzzled tourniquets weaved to freighters

sea pasted the limelight in the shadow’s hangover
How many might shine his coastal white sand serenade

muffled eyes glint pasted over mouth, someone’s shout
This Captains’ Alleluia a forecast of brightly opaque perennial

presidents a prescience of things to come on shore

Sunday, January 6, 2008


by gvance before JD's Pertinacious

I donno the beginning
the b-beginning
of the I donno
what beginning of
which inscribed shoppingbagsentence
muzzled by the freighted tourniquets
how they crampdown or
howmany m-mights
sh-sh-shone through the hangover-serenade
beginning of things-to-come, the opaque shore


Sheltered Lengths by Jennifer K Dick

After “Height” by Jill Darling posted Nov 17th, and after “After Art After Shadow” by L Mullen posted Nov 9th, 2007.

How many spaces can you take

a way
half-light \
growing overgrey
...............................say mislaid
among eucalyptus

cut at the root

body in pieces failing
to sum

flash / light
mixed up

breadth or width or, say,
take a face

a part
.......................under the bed

clouds (closetsfull)
of spiders
in body abruptly written

able bodied off
by the coverlet's
ledge in voice

somewhat gruffer

muffle memorabilia
reassembled in

that small glass gathering

a missing
cradled start

again with the eyes

a sort of jibberish

limp or limbs
as mists
or misses

targeted galaxies between this side and

Thursday, January 3, 2008


by gvance after A. Deut(s)ch’s ‘From atop a garbage heap...’

take a propergander wi’ yer brain raisin’:
bell pepper bone-to-bone wi' cornpops
ill-eagle-eyed po’try pasted to fit in
saliva, queen’s bodygas and cornered spy’s glasses
just what-the freedumbdoc scribed on ‘s splotchymussels mag
Tuh-ride & Tuh-roo
allez! loue-yaself ‘n empty machine – mystery-priced but overcostly

keep on trainin’:
’t’s the checkout line