Late Night Haikus Edition II

Heart really knows what
They’re talking about, glorious and
True, aye, we all fall.

Twelve thirty, I sit.
Three calenders glaring mad
Mind a-rushing, die.

Until I can sleep,
I’ll beat myself up with words,
Wilbur had it right.

When your mind is full
And your stomach is empty
It’s always hard to sleep…

Late Night Haikus Edition I

Borders on midnight
Tiredness gnaws at my bones
MySpace is my drug.

AIM is dead
Msn is deserted
Yahoo is empty.

Friends are all asleep
I am sorely left alone
Bored out of my mind

The day has dragged on
Forced to clean out the garage
I moped wearily.

Untitled

Yesterday we had
No cars
No electricity
No freedom of the press, or dress, or rest
No ankles and ass
No call in sick
No John Lennon

Evolving, we revolve

Today we have
AIDS
Politicians
Rotten Reality Banality
Mass Media
Hustlebustleoopslostmykeys
Scientology

Still surviving

Tomorrow we’ll have
No fuel
No privacy
No escaping uniformity
No nature is in my heart
No great balls of fire the sun’s too hot
No life

But
Third era’s the charm

Ron Silliman’s Poetry Reading

[In October 2007, I attended a reading by the poet Ron Silliman, whose blog you can find here. This is a short paper I wrote in response to his talk and prior reading.]

Ron Silliman’s presentation following his poetry reading was a detailing of the evolution of published poets since the 1950’s. I found it an interesting topic for a poet to speak on. I expected something more along the lines of Silliman describing the reasons he writes the way he does (although he did answer that question at the very end, it was not a part of his actual speech), or maybe an in-depth analysis of one of his poems/excerpts. Instead he talked on the social aspects of poetry in relation to the steadily expanding network of publishing poets.

Ted Kooser Poetry Reading

When I walked into the auditorium at Ashland High School, I was rather surprised to see just how quaintly the stage was set up. The podium had an old-fashioned look to it, with intricate swirling carvings on the sides, there was a side table next to it covered in a piece of lace, of all things, and in front of the podium was a basket filled with a gaudy flower arrangement which did not match the presiding theme whatsoever. I was put off, and more so when Ted Kooser walked up to the stage and announced that he lives in rural Nebraska. I assumed that the evening would be filled with boring reminiscences of his childhood on “the farm,” or tedious, generic observations of prairie grass blowing in the wind.