JOHN MARTONE ant ant ant ant ant eight

October 4, 2011 § Leave a comment

Longer Arms After Picking Tomatoes

:

:

in that blue shirt

fallen scarecrow

could be me

:

some pebbles

& some knotted cord

to show for these days

:

rained on

just like

white pines

:

snail shell left

a thumbprint

in mud

:

snow brought

a lot

of light

:

his room

a shoebox

diorama

:

in time

you’ll fit in

snail shell

:

there’s no one else

to gather

these walnuts

:

footbridge

where there’s

no one

:

white roses

falling

apart

:

the white rosebush

doesn’t

need me

:

in pine shade

my front steps

collapsing

:

cucumbers

climbing

sunflowers

:

chicken wire

encircling pink

lady’s slippers

:

door frame

fallen

in mint

:

sparrow

watching me

drink

:

watering pines

brings robins

& wasps

:

gourd vine

sharing this line

with laundry

:

every starling

in that tree

faces west

:

seed packet’s

lunar white

inside

:

my face

towel’s

frayed

:

my neighbor’s

two chimneys

don’t fall

:

green shack

sinking into

weeds

:

longer arms

after picking

tomatoes

:

every seed

in seed packet’s

fold

:

all this time

carrots’ve been

hiding

:

a stranger

where garden’s

overgrown

:

suddenly

he sees it’s

a slum

:

come home

to 3 fireflies

at my door

:

tomato bush

tall enough

to hide me

:

:

PAUL M. ant ant ant ant ant eight

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

A Fox Who Knows Too Many Tricks

:

:

Indian Summer

a stick twisted to keep

the spider upright

:

rehearsing a lie

the orange brilliance

of a poppy field

:

explaining again

our two homes

snow drifts

:

gray salamander

a childhood creek

through my fingers

:

orange blossoms

years since I’ve been

bare-chested under the sun

:

crunch of dried leaves

I am a fox who knows

too many tricks

:

old steel town

snow heaped

beside the road

:

pebbled beach

she turns away

to breastfeed

:

snow begins to fall

the inappropriate things

she says sometimes

:

paper white bulbs

the faint moon

in my thumbnail

:

red oak leaves

a couple married late in life

holding hands

:

moon just full

who drives

my old car now?

:

snow-covered garden

a mental note

to wire money

:

weekend alone

I lift the ficus

into a larger pot

:

hoar frost

the old corner

with unmarked graves

:

stairs down to the sea

a dandelion

with seeds intact

:

tidal silt

the airport’s wind sock

blowing the other way

:

long week’s end

a hint of red

in the pickleweed

:

too late to pull it out

the white rump

of a clapper rail

:

billion year old moon

an outgoing wave

reveals sand crab holes

:

beads of pond water

on a lily pad

the impossibility of sunup

:

called home

first crinkled leaves

on the maple tree

:

commuter station

a bee lingers

in the tickweed

:

rain to the north

a loose rung

on the lookout tower

:

office window

they say no two snowflakes

are the same

:

all these years later

the same pine bough

wet with rain

:

irregular frame

of a tree fort

chimney smoke

:

returning geese

her ashes still

in the plain tin

:

our old field

each step

releases cabbage whites

:

spring morning

flies return

to a crab carcass

:

:

GUY R. BEINING ant ant ant ant ant six

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

The Back Streets Of A Snail

:

:

billboards

pinned to the sleeve

of the highway

:

we of one market

one leaf one fruit bin

await flies & rot

:

washes whiter

in quiet of evening

dark creak of table

:

bring me

the room of

a swollen number

:

in mock soup

& fan of turtle shell

sore-kneed Buddha

:

offer pictures of mecca

while playing a dangerous

game of marbles

:

bubbles that

hear flat skin of

sunfish

:

heavy black glove

nearsighted & brusque a bee

breasts pressing mirror

:

hand on

soiled number 9

paper off the roll

:

order of night

a hyphenated thought

left in onion patch

:

inhabit this

the back streets

of a snail

:

gets you no further

from nature to circle

the tree in spanish

:

white lips powders

space left by stars

fixer

:

in glass rooms air

listens to itself covers

of light fall & fold

:

a yellow ball from

the women in chairs opens

the crematory steps

:

draw space as maximum

silverware in her hair

& shells to eat with

:

words burn

a cut above the spine

sitting on divan

:

rush hours middays other

times black band around

the sky bright eyes

:

the membrane falls

from a table of ferns

stock multi-bodied

:

another charred

boat has left

the dock of dreams

:

open blossom or

bloom of voice

in insect light

:

and invention

nefarious angles in

bitter snow drifts

:

and long white wings

the estuary on

its dark toes

:

a circle of mirrors

shut out the stars

people don’t know

:

breath

the pin as ice pick

buying the night face

:

colored sharpness

of wild card in

stenciled parlor car

:

go toward

the buried side

of vision

:

dire briefness of

lot pocket it even if

it blackens the soul

:

the moon is not

a number it is a landfill

a gap in the eye

:

on head of mountain

grievous we have maintained

a private clasp

:

:

LEE GURGA ant ant ant ant ant six

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

Adjust The Dimmer

:

:

milkweed flowers as seen on national tv

:

dollar not quite as green as the katydid

:

an empty beach on the island spring

:

tax day outside the post office wild plum scent

:

leaves of grass something sticky on the cover

:

93 million miles past the adult book store spring sunset

:

spiderwort in bloom “i love you” note in the wrong envelope

:

phone ringing in the dead of night a cloud of skippers

:

white sand beach i fill my pockets then empty them

:

after lovemaking rhubarb tarts

:

just a piece of wing on the dusty road painted lady

:

empty thong where i wonder who

:

white chrysalis of salt on the kitchen table

:

scent from the letter i adjust the dimmer

:

after church a butterfly explodes on the windshield

:

night rain putting on my good underwear

:

forgotten today by the one true god autumn mosquito

:

hardware store smell of gun oil and donuts

:

the virgin mary floodwater up to her thighs

:

motionless in the wind galvanized sheets bent by the wind

:

brought an umbrella for once but didn’t need it

:

one yellow dandelion one autumn butterfly

:

day of the dead there goes my skirt

:

a red plastic whistle in the withered grass

:

drifting snow a pair of blue jays in the treetop

:

winter solstice careful not to touch my sleeping wife

:

farther than the amtrak whistle stubblefields

:

the man who never married doesn’t watch

:

powdered snow sifts across the county blacktop

:

from time to time the dog catches up

:

:

FUJIKI KIYOKO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant six

September 30, 2011 § 2 Comments

As If She Were Machinery

:

:

In deep autumn I go on traveling unenlightened

:

The scent of perfume so lively sudden loneliness

:

The quiet sound of a falling mosquito resounds in my body

:

Ears of wheat reveal the depth and shallows of the sea

:

The day my black hair’s heavy and cold we part

:

A spring evening I ride a car with an ordinary man

:

Katydids my perspective gradually narrows

:

A girl’s limbs are thin and wise air-conditioned

:

Having got used to the depth of war I love a dog

:

Summer deep I sleep the day with my own smell

:

Fingerprints of desolation everywhere clouds white

:

The trifoliate orange is sharp the lady’s elegant

:

Oppressed by the sea in twilight I await a train

:

Covered by the sounds of insects lies a brain

:

Lonely spring a wife lives as if she were machinery

:

The night I give up and sew the needle shines

:

A white moon turns to gold above the young leaves

:

Through my temples a locomotive dashes dark

:

Here’s life the fruit juice amber transparent

:

Early autumn’s good my veins transparent arteries pulse

:
Rainy season desolate I find myself with peanut shells

:

At a katydid I feel as if noon day were sinking

:

With dusk slow to fall gruel’s cooking at my feet

:

Knotweed growing thin falls into the typhoon zone

:

A spring evening is wound down toward the apple skin

:

Coming away from parting I drink hard cold water

:

White noon no white letter comes knocking

:

Only a horsefly’s voice annoying my ears I make unlined clothes

:

Having lived single-mindedly I’ve lost my goal

:

:

TOM CLAUSEN ant ant ant ant ant seven

September 30, 2011 § 1 Comment

After The Pleasant Part

:

:

from the soil

in the shovel

a beetle crawls

:

low cloud cover

early in the morning

her tight dress

:

in the tall stand

of evergreens

my cookie crumbs

:

reflections

under the bridge

a man fishes

:

without her friend

on the bus

her face

:

no one home

on the hard ground

a light snow

:

carried on

the flooded river

a beach ball

:

spring

removing the neighbors

from view

:

while they investigate

the accident outside

I order pizza

:

wild cherries in blossom

their land rough

with junk

:

all I know

she has a blue star

on her left breast

:

gray daybreak

her “to do” list

from yesterday

:

at 70mph

what I saw

wild turkeys

:

keeping quiet

last of the day’s light

on new grass

:

asleep

in the fallen scarecrow’s lap

a cat

:

the War

a woodchuck nibbles

beside the freeway

:

at the next urinal

he studies a tile

higher up

:

garden walk

she checks herself

in the pond

:

the crow

in me

gets a response

:

dentist chair

the sun comes and goes

from the window

:

cemetery

tracks in the snow

lead out to the road

:

the habit of looking

where it used to be

the mirror

:

on her cell phone

going into the building

“I love you too”

:

on time

the daily truck load

of pigs

:

after the pleasant part

of our walk

we hurry

:

warm spring day

a bra

in the bushes

:

the chain link fence

runs into

highwater

:

writing him

the second letter

without complaints

:

dinner over

he addresses

some crumbs

:

heavy overcast

between bench slats

a sprout

:

:

 

JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant seven

September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment

Yet She Tells You About Owls

:

:

I look for my ax sounds of distant trains

:

Horns swirling my ruined reeds

:

Cup your hands hold the iron water briefly

:

After the storm all morning gathering tree branches

:

Wondering about the unreadable billboard I boil an egg

:

Ropes and bags of sand even I remember the old garage

:

Plums in a plastic bag on the picnic table the fountain lights

:

On the path to the water pump sky filled with stars

:

At a loss for words using bleach to clean your infected toe

:

Laundry on the line grasses move in the ditch

:

Stirring ashes with a stick crudely drawn phallus

:

The pond is frozen hard nipples beneath your shirt

:

Three pennies in a urinal full moon tonight

:

Before the universe not even nothing to piss you off

:

Toy truck rusts in the sandbox measureless grief

:

You don’t even like her yet she tells you about owls

:

The juniper is ill with mold I need new eyeglasses

:

Sprouting through plastic grass seed left in the rain

:

The hammer feels warm I wipe my face with a rag

:

Paperbacks my glasses a change tin decorated with pin-ups

:

Near the lonely summer telescope an outhouse steams

:

Thunder approaches at my desk writing a letter

:

Scanning the phone book you find your name

:

In the barn straw dust climbs a column of light

:

Summer already I catch flies with my bare hand

:

By this time next year you won’t even remember why

:

T-shirt wet with sweat working the lower register

:

The wasp you don’t really like begins a new nest

:

On the hill of flowers your ragged mouth gives me ideas

:

Black angel in need of repair it’s just me lousy with tools

:

:

 

JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant six

December 3, 2010 § 1 Comment

I OFFER YOU AN EYELASH

:

building a stone fence a scattering of feathers

:

smell of incense meat scraps in a plastic bin

:

mouthful of willow rain on the shed roof rain wherever

:

lifting up your dress from behind fire-scorched land

:

basket filled with stones the graveyard we wandered in

:

dreamed we lived in a corn maze what a curious word chthonic

:

axle grease on a rag blunt ruined fingers and eucalyptus mist

:

wasps by the pump only the four elements are real

:

the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer

:

the shade of a hemlock I offer you an eyelash

:


M. KETTNER ant ant ant ant ant five

May 18, 2010 § 1 Comment

WRENCH IN A COFFEE CAN

:

words

spent fuel

gum beneath counters

:

dawn / a can of spilled paint

:

after we part

a glove floats by

on the river

:

fast moving clouds / picket fence missing a slat

:

Secanol

Ping-Pong ball caught in a vacuum

parking tickets unpaid

:

your hair drawn back / the sharp taste of radishes

:

snow-covered fields

sound of a distant truck

changing gears

:

scratchy throat / wrapper caught in a fan

:

cavity

crow shadow

on snow

:

the back of your neck

through the rain

a car’s horn

:

autumn wind / sliding over empty table tops

:

no one home

dust ball

base of a chair leg

:

blocking the alley / a rusted water heater

:

list growing

waves eating away the shore

pull-chain worn

:

sitting on sandpaper

your hesitation

a hole in a plastic bag

:

teeth just cleaned / new bake-ware

:

Saturday rain

wrench in

a coffee can

:

through cattails / a refinery

:

one of those days

vacuum cleaner

in a vegetable garden

:

black of moonless waters

two front teeth

missing

:

biting her nails / coffee cold

:

old puddle

in the sediment

dead worms

:

winter’s endless rain / the scorched bottom of pans

:

wind

blowing through the house

fingerprints on the mirror

:

quiet afternoon

at home

full penny jar

:

spring thaw / tarp pulled back

:

overnight

in an unfamiliar city

slug in a vending machine

:

dusk / the spray-painted traffic sign

:

stark escarpment

heart a bag of rocks

ocean a distant pool table

:

JIM KACIAN ant ant ant ant ant five

January 11, 2010 § 1 Comment

The Slate Step Brightens

:

:

mating dragonflies

the slow folding

of her wings

:

:

out on strike

the uncomfortable hang

of his hands

:

:

winter morning

the scrape of a coat hanger

across its rod

:

:

cemetery

the sharp edges

of the new names

:

:

after rain

the blueness

of fireflies

:

:

20 stories below

the gestures of people

are meaningless

:

:

wittling

till there’s nothing left

of the light

:

:

cold snap

the automatic door

opens slowly

:

:

our goodbye

all the places

where we touch

:

:

party over

the long down

of the elevator

:

:

long slow curve

passing again

beneath the geese

:

:

after snow

a faint yellowness

to the white house

:

:

light rain

the slate step

brightens

:

:

visiting home

in my childhood bedroom

the same shadows

:

:

the mathematician’s wife

pregnant

again

:

:

the river

the river makes

of the moon

:

:

slant of light

the dialect

of the region

:

:

throwing away

the envelope marked

“simplify your life”

:

:

empty mailbox

she leans awhile

on her walker

:

:

new green leaves

a child I don’t know

waves to me

:

:

New Year’s Day

a message on

the answering machine

:

:

mosquito

I hit nothing

but myself

:

:

slow dance

feeling her smile

in my neck

:

:

TV store wall

every sky

a different blue

:

:

midnight thunder

the clock

starts over

:

:

morning dew

no hiding the way

we’ve come

:

:

first autumn wind

not feeling the knife

slice my finger

:

:

excavation site

the holes

living things leave behind

:

:

practicing

to make my signature

look natural

:

:

equinox party

returning home

the way I came

:

:

 

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