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Improvijazzation Nation - Issue # 49

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JAPANESE GIRL

Japanese girl with cat eyes,
laughing across the table.
Only two cigarettes are left,
burning I clutch her wrist.
Come home with me.

How the days pass
with fury of freedom let loose,
and myself only to snatch
the smallest details,
as last breaths of air.

Back in the apartment,
street noises distant.
She reads my stories,
lips moist, barely parted,
The bed is soft underneath us.

Devils I meet inside of you
make me forget who I am,
breasts of milk I choked on
parade my youth forever,
deliver me to you.



BEHOLD

Poetry
cries out
restore my ancient grace
viscously enervated and oppressed
slaves compel yourselves
wrought by inconsonance
defy crude means
and cumbersome limits
claim and worship
the ardor of freedom
my breaths of beauty
and life
behold



DEATH

Sad
fate alone
brought you here
on darkest of paths.

Use these wings of lead
to view the vast nigresence
with no sympathy of life about

Witness drab cloudy windows
where horrible drownings occur,
the remnants of these deaths
no longer lead to sticky births

Terrible spectator of loss
crash into a fresh grave
you dug so long ago

Bury yourself well
dirt on smarting
ugly wounds
final pain

 

Submitted by:  zoltangyurko@yahoo.com

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"The Mouse Ran Down the Clock"
Copyright 2001 Brent M. Parker


My sluggish soul slithers
Amongst
Perpetual pendulum people
Whose
Same strokes
Sometimes stroke
Sometimes strike

Perhaps I too
Practice
Pendulumism
With unperceived
Persistence

Sometimes swinging simultaneously
Periodically plowing partners.

-------------------------------

"The Modern Sonneteer's Lament"
Copyright 2001 Brent M. Parker


I don't know how to write a sonnet - help
Great poets, so I've heard, it's driven mad
Iambic feet can stomp my brain to kelp
You can't just cut a word, or add - to pad
See, Ginsberg's free-form liquefied my mind
It seems it will not soon solidify
In dreams of late, I've had an axe to grind
With modern poets such as Robert Bly
Poem forming formal-form-style can be fun
The wrestling with the frighteningly hard
The showing Robert Frost's old style some sun
The tangling with the strangling of The Bard
   While I would further gripe and recommend
   This poem of sonnet-type has reached - hey lend

me a hand, here, with this last line, would you?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In- sanity

 

the spit-flecked Ravings of a schizophrenic

Were once the pronouncements of an oracle

the muttered Delusions of disassociatives

Were once Cervanteís grand fantasies

 

Divine madness has lapsed into mere chemical stew

 

Shout on, you Tom O Bedlam

Tramp across the brighter boundaries

Of your interior world

 

We hound you for base jealousy

 

---------------------------------------------------

Steven Attewell

F-Block

5/4/99

 

Auld Lang Syne

 

The dust lies passively on an elephant graveyard of broken chairs

throtlling the air with damp, musty fingers

 

From each corner ledge and cranny the smell of yesterday

assaults my nostrils through the weak defense of a kitchen towel

 

There is very little room to live here

too much of the past reaching out to stub toes and trip up unwary feet

attempting to regain some scraps of vitae

A madman's cabinet of lost broken and defunct things invades my perception

too many faded colors and familiar shapes

I wonder at how the pieces have arrived here

drifting from lives that had meaning or revelancy

the comfortably intelligible outline of human presence

now they are the recorded babblings of a million lunatics

muttering strange fragments with sour musk voices

I feel their sweaty beings clustering an inch outside my skin

rude rush hour passengers

Excuse me, I murmur

and walk on into the now

--------------------------------------------------------

Haiku #1

A stolid pale mass

Hoists into infinity

A mortal coil shovels off

 

Haiku #2

Why canít Johnny read?

So many stars that fall unseen

Mindís fire dwindles- gone

 

Haiku #3

Summer yawns lazily

Wrinkled snow spatters dark earth

Gold-greening ascends

Haiku #4

Feet long for concrete

The heady thrill of polis

Leaves too brown for me

Haiku #5

My shoes carry no dust

The highway knows not my step

I await inner passport

Haiku #6

Horace ignites a smile

Sublime lover of wine and peace

Path worth a second trip?

 

Haiku #7

 

Blood spills on fecund ground

An iron-red inundation

Greed can fertilize

 

Haiku #8

 

What do I require?

Eight reeds can make a basket

Burdens shrink with joss

 

Haiku #9

My back bears no load

I carry neither wheat nor wine

But all carry secrets

 

Haiku #10

Black-red foulness bubbles

Tempting me with stolen vigor

Three coins and my health

 

Haiku #11

Grey skies for five days

Ice-rain pours in through round hole

Fish the clouds for sun

Haiku #12

So much meat and bread

Excess piles upon mountains of souls

Ceresí face topped with horns

--------------------------------------------

A Matter of Faith and Foundations

 

Long, spidery crack winds across

The sagging altarpiece

Dusty-dark confessional stands vacant

The subtile attar of votive candles

Cloaked by flaking neglect

 

Eyes of Adamís kith turn once more upwards

At a more wondrous sky

The dominion of solitary El-Shaddai

Sinking into the sands of countless hourglasses

 

Now the lust for pain/shame/guilt slowly receding;

 

What new altar - for we still lust for altars - shall we raise?

 

a mirror

 

 

Submitted by:   brewst@mediaone.net

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Geometry In The Room"

lie alone in bed
    maybe
        listen to Puccini
eat   crackers

realize her smile
        like      her clothes
are   plastic

write  yourself       a
poem    like      "i shivered
in    my bed.     all night."



"People's Republic of Girls I've Known"

parents born in a church town / "watch that boy's wandering hands" / they wandered into hers
                              red hair and beautiful / smokes Parliaments, and only Parliaments / thick knuckles and freckles on her lips
               met in smoky party / never saw her eyes / hand was cold, think she was ODing / said a Prayer
                    tightBlondebraids and soft neck / my lips touched hers downstairs / in my Gramma's house
     Grandfather, with Marine fingers, much-worked / two hours before dying / called me his "little buddy" / breathed like a thick cough
     back of Church / a Jesus Mass / she had no Panties on


"Lubbock PD"

excellent
         the highway has cars which light up,
and the
         cops shine their lights
by the                         alcohol stores.

 

Submitted by:   willroby@poetic.com

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

baseless bards

 

the old songs figure through the canyons

partly and figure partly through the rooms

candling what shapes malinger there or

even though the lamp is altogether lowly

disgraced a real botch it lights the rooms

the forward motion of the passing guests and stilly seeks

the mandarining style of the pagoda or newel

laid down according to the rules of trade guild

and city code the faretheewell that gives a name

to all the singers in the avenue and thoroughfare

around the corner from the cul-de-sac and home

*******************************************

metropole power plant jig

 

winter mists derail all my expectations

but I catch on my fast-track bubble

bursts but it is altogether not lost this here

still wired ran the park now razor-wired

trash-dumped and ready for a makeover

*******************************************

to a Midas

 

what recompense for such a work is this

as I have done it is the work itself

must reap a profit for the reader

proofreader printer and bookseller

and maybe something else besides

lingers along the course of my work

to be considered as delightfully as once

before consideration became a problem

********************************************

art histories

 

what a shower is this with a spear of rinse

and a samba terry with diffuse sunlight

making more of real than the world-blur

********************************************

ham and examples

 

if you do it this way

like SoHo

bang aha I told you so

look here behold I have seen

a number of things

oh anything if I do please

and sneeze

ho hee

hum

 

ham-

bone on the blue plate special

I unwrap you

wither you

displace you

wrong you replace you!

 

I dub you prince of

amateur thieves

and hand you a sheepskin

OK you say win

you win

I say

 

win you say you win

when you win you say

I win

 

I imagine you havenít seen

a dandelion you have seen

I blew it

into the wind

 

Submitted by:  Christopher Mulrooney, 150 N. Catalina St., No. 2, Los Angeles, Calif. 90004 lospoesy@earthlink.net


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