JOHN M. BENNETT ant ant ant ant ant four
June 8, 2014 § Leave a comment
sigh lens hair
(retentions)
hand around you faceless
daughter blue pond and
heaving
other clouds
“my name”
the dead parts of me
June 6, 2014 § 1 Comment
onion grass my son pukes in the sink
the moon who cares where it is
your feet they’re nicer than mine
bottle caps rattle among the spoons
the crow says something for the crows
asphalt heat and foreign policy
the dead parts of me pester the rest
stale crackers easy to put them back
your twat I never call it that
the cat’s meow what’s that really about
the penny not as old as it looks
the extra napkin always gets tossed
rain check nothing to do with the rain
your fingerprint a consistent prostitute
the place on you I know you can’t touch
box tops they usually tear anyways
nails one of them in my foot
sassafras people still actually say that
your panties entwined with my odd socks
toothpaste not sure what I’m supposed to think
all the knives clean I hit the lights
MICHAEL DYLAN WELCH ant ant ant ant ant 1995-1999
June 4, 2014 § 1 Comment
autumn rain
a leaf eddies
in the stream
bouncing on the grass
the whiteness
of hailstones
high tide
beach willow leaves
mingle with kelp
on the drive
there and back
a pine needle in the wiper
french graffiti I drop a coin in the phone booth
overdue my dead neighbor’s library book
my father on war
May 26, 2014 § Leave a comment
I don’t like camping
They made us do that when
I was in the army
SAM SAVAGE morning-glories
May 25, 2014 § Leave a comment
A bent street sign the insane man’s eyes
It could be the site for something a bare hill
Just beyond the prison wall a wall of trees
Dancing to sounds from the Big Band Era a pair of midgets
Out of the fog’s whiteness silence
Unslept, the cool breeze on my eyelids
Alone in a house with children the slowly falling dusk
Along the roadside
torn-up paper in the grass
is morning-glories
HAIKU FOR MARTIN LUCAS
May 7, 2014 § Leave a comment
a new
anthology I learn
of his passing
his brother
concerned
for days
on the page
before me in
the old anthology
went for a walk
left his keys his phone
his pills
said yes
once to one of
my poems
“Is that from your
technique or the toughness
of your mouth?”
your death
attributed to
bird-watching
a collection
of flowers that’s
all it means
his last photo
he looks younger
than me
1962-2014
M. KETTNER ant ant ant ant ant 1996-1999
April 22, 2014 § 1 Comment
#190
city limits bulrushes
#368
the cold
meat hook with your name
chess partner invisible
#478
cattle sleeping
moonlight on their backs
#524
year of the pancreas
sandwich for dessert
theatre seats upside down
#543
thief
hand on backwards
tunnel growing smaller
#654
breeze drying mooring lines fall slack
#677
stray dog window reflecting blue sky
#701
depressed echo in a stairwell
#745
a cold scream
narrowly occult
ridge draped in dusk
#752
down to roaches
piano on a railroad track
#767
boldly staccato
fissures singing along
maps set aside
#771
perineum
hallway between
bedroom & bathroom
#823
crevice dweller
meat truck parked by the curb
restroom no hand towels
CHRIS GORDON early haiku 1994-1996
March 27, 2014 § Leave a comment
my cold feet
step on her bra
still warm
fallen elm leaves
the plastic bag
remains
unlocking the door
the key she gave
back to me
I buy
another book about
non-attachment
Modern Haiku 25.2
a beautiful mouth
the postal clerk says
she likes my writing
Modern Haiku 25.3
fast-food containers
the weeds green from
the warm rain
Modern Haiku 26.1
the hot asphalt roof small white petals blow in circles
her hand covers my ear the sound blood makes
Modern Haiku 26.2
tea our silence and the hot still morning garden
light warm rain
mosquitos drift up
through wisteria and dusk
the full moon
coats the dark lake
boarding an empty bus
Frogpond 18.2
the orange glint of rush hour way up there a hawk circling
a train enters the distance empty sheets smooth and cool
imagining her with someone else behind the blinds the moon
weeks later her sweet voice it’s just a machine
the crosswalk whistles skimming the pavement an empty bag
Frogpond 18.3
in the dust splotches of rain half the billboard flaps in the wind
a gliding egret the clouds converge on themselves
Frogpond 19.3
ant5 