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Improvijazzation Nation poetry - Issue # 65 1/2

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CALL for SUBMISSIONS!!!

ALL artists!  I am very, VERY happy to announce that IMPROVIJAZZATION NATION is ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS again.  I have been granted a (possibly long-term) stay of execution for my trip to Iraq.  I will still  be traveling all over the U.S., so new issues may be a little less timely, but (as always), we will review your materials as soon as possible after we receive them.  Look at the guidelines for submission below, please:

 

MUSIC:  All formats accepted.  Snail mail to:  Zzaj Productions, c/o Dick Metcalf, 5308 65th Avenue, Lacey, WA 98513  The only criteria for music you submit is that it MUST HAVE high performance energy... if you submit lacklustre material, it will be reviewed accordingly

POETRY:  Poems are accepted for publication ONLY via e-mail.  Poems submitted in any other fashion will NOT be published.  Poetry that includes some reference to music is granted first priority for publication.

BOOKS:  We will review some books; books about music are PREFERRED.  We will NOT return any books submitted for review.  Snail them to the address listed above for MUSIC.

DIY Announcements:  We will post your (e-mailed) ad about DIY projects, regardless of genre or medium... HOWEVER, this is ONLY for INDEPENDENTS... if you are a corporation, don't even BOTHER sending stuff... it will be marked and reported as SPAM!

 

 

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Over on 33rd:

 

death (a bus) rushes by,

arm’s length away

 

stop and go and stop,

this insane commute,

a red-light tour

of East Baltimore

 

passing by the

gorgeous African queens,

sending prayers to them –

do they hear me?

 

glimpsing ghosts

cursing earth movers

over on 33rd

now a Memorial

stadium

 

curbside,

rose salespeople

sell happiness for five

bucks

 

drink my paper cup

of Guatemalan sun

bitter in my blood

 

plastic bag – the

color makes no difference –

sailing on western wind,

races cars

 

signs tease

without blinking

 

trying my hand at emptiness

still needing things too much

 

 

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O’HARA IN THE FOREST

 

Four o’clock in the a.m.

I am tired, but wired.

No time for rhymes.

 

Really.  Stomach screwed

Up like coffee on it empty.

Too much beer perhaps.

 

Reading O’Hara’s Poems Retrieved

(Thank you, Donald Allen)

And wondering how Frank died

And why.

 

Thinking about girls I kissed

Or wanted to kiss.

 

Thinking about wanting to love

So much it hurts.

 

If I wasn’t here, in this room

Below ground level, and only nature

Existed, so sitting alone,

Working at a pine desk

In a field or winter forest –

That would be real poetry. 

Je suis poétique.

 

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 The Myth of Eternal Return

 

Scouting for Truth

In the hollowed-out wound

    Of an oak Tree

 

Old, worn keepsakes

Tokens of love

 

You and I are

Staked to the earth

Feeling her weight

Waiting for sun’s light

 

Living in

    The shadows of ghosts

 

I re-invent myself – my self

An hourly chore

Learning who I was

Before

 

Learning to float

To the heavens

    Light as air

    Heavy as stone

 

- Timothy Jos. Nelson

 

e-mail: nelsonwriter@verizon.net

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'k, alla' you hardcore D.I.Y'er's!  We've added a D.I.Y. forum board!  Simply click on the lil' button below to TELL US wot' you think...

 

 

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