April they say, is the cruellest month–actually that’s what T.S. Eliot says, or wrote; he’s dead now, of course. But he probably didn’t know that at some point, his line would inspire someone somewhere to declare April as ourNational Poetry Month, which is onlycruel when you consider the poorsuckers who decide to write a poemeveryContinue reading “#512: 40 Poems Down”
Monthly Archives: April 2024
#511: The Missing Purse
I was out last night to see some friends play music and I was standingat a bar facing the stage for optimumviewing and listening and there was this couple standing next to mewho at one point asked me if I couldsave their places for them. They were only gone for about fouror five minutes butContinue reading “#511: The Missing Purse”
#510: This Poem Will Not Really Be Complete Until…
I love those videos wherea musician has taken a piece of oratory that is innocent of being musical, transcribes it, and thenplays along to it in a rhythmically and melodicallyprecise manner to create a new piece of music from the sourcematerial. Zappa did it first,but recently it’s become a thing on the video socials.I sawContinue reading “#510: This Poem Will Not Really Be Complete Until…”
#509: I am hunted by the notebook… (turn haunted into hunted)
I am hunted by the notebookI lost after sitting at my mother’s deathbed nearly seven years ago now; while I watched and I waited, I wroteabout the experience of being with her while she was dying. She wasnot aware I was even there. For somereason, days or weeks later, that bookwhere I had written allContinue reading “#509: I am hunted by the notebook… (turn haunted into hunted)”
#508: I watch my son play the snare drum…
At home here in Milwaukie, Oregon,I watch my son play the snare drum; he’s inDayton, Ohio for the Winter GuardInternational World Championshipand I’m watching on a tiny iPhone in the green back yard with the two tired dogs.His mother, my wife, has coached this young groupof musicians to regional championsand now she’s taken my sonContinue reading “#508: I watch my son play the snare drum…”
#507: Stump to Grind (a partially found poem)
“Hello friends and neighbors I’ll be in town stump grinding all day if you have any stumps you need taken care of feel free to reach out.” I’m reaching out. I’ve got a stump to grind. Please come by at yourearliest convenienceto grind this stump. I’ve tried with all mannerof utensils to remove itmyself, butContinue reading “#507: Stump to Grind (a partially found poem)”
#506: The Seldom Seen Kid (a song by Elbow)
The Seldom Seen Kid It’s a song that I love but every time I hear itI have difficulty keeping it together. For the longest time I couldn’t even tell you what the song was about, but I knew how it made me feel– on the verge of shattering, I’d say, especially when I tried toContinue reading “#506: The Seldom Seen Kid (a song by Elbow)”
#505: Ants in the Mailbox
I’ve been going to the mailbox lately and finding ants all over everything. The packages, envelopes, circulars, ants just everywhere. On a couple occasions it was dark so I didn’t knowuntil I got the mail into the houseand I freaked out a little bit, I did. I spent the entire evening chasing thesebastards all overContinue reading “#505: Ants in the Mailbox”
#504: A Sonnet for Taylor Swift
I listened to a story today on my news app about how some friendships areending over Taylor Swift and I laughed. It’s not a real friendship if, really, that’sthe only sticking point between the pals. I like her. I love her. I mean, I like her music (honestly, not always), but I love her humanity, I admire hergumption and humorContinue reading “#504: A Sonnet for Taylor Swift”
#503: A Honey Bee
I scoop a honey bee out of the dog’s water dishwith a stick. She’s still alive, but barely, it seems,and I place the stick on top of the fence frameand watch her for awhile. She can’t fly. Her wingsare water-logged. She uses those forelegs to workher mandibles somehow, as if cleaning herself,perhaps, in her littleContinue reading “#503: A Honey Bee”
michael jarmer 