in Just-

i feel like “in Just-” by e.e. cummings perfectly suits the weather right now; the start of spring.

in Just-
spring       when the world is mud-
luscious the little lame baloonman 

whistles       far       and wee 

and eddyandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring 

when the world is puddle-wonderful 

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far       and       wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing 

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and 

it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed 

baloonMan       whistles
far
and
wee
c. e.e. cummings

my father

elephants walk along the trail
holding hands by holding tails

c. david schwartz

i miss him so much.

new hobby: poetrybombing

i found a new hobby, and it is called poetrybombing.

i find poems, i make poem “bookmarks”, and then i go to watson library and insert these poems into books, any books!
documented was my very first poetrybombing.

i love old books.

dust of snow

i was going to read this little gem for class yesterday:

Dust of Snow

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

c. Robert Frost

her presence was a roomful of flowers,
her absence is an empty bed.

c. li bai

Steps

How funny you are today New York
like Ginger Rogers in Swingtime
and St. Bridget’s steeple leaning a little to the left

here I have just jumped out of a bed full of V-days
(I got tired of D-days) and blue you there still
accepts me foolish and free
all I want is a room up there
and you in it
and even the traffic halt so thick is a way
for people to rub up against each other
and when their surgical appliances lock
they stay together
for the rest of the day (what a day)
I go by to check a slide and I say
that painting’s not so blue

where’s Lana Turner
she’s out eating
and Garbo’s backstage at the Met
everyone’s taking their coat off
so they can show a rib-cage to the rib-watchers
and the park’s full of dancers with their tights and shoes
in little bags
who are often mistaken for worker-outers at the West Side Y
why not
the Pittsburgh Pirates shout because they won
and in a sense we’re all winning
we’re alive

the apartment was vacated by a gay couple
who moved to the country for fun
they moved a day too soon
even the stabbings are helping the population explosion
though in the wrong country
and all those liars have left the UN
the Seagram Building’s no longer rivalled in interest
not that we need liquor (we just like it)

and the little box is out on the sidewalk
next to the delicatessen
so the old man can sit on it and drink beer
and get knocked off it by his wife later in the day
while the sun is still shining

oh god it’s wonderful
to get out of bed
and drink too much coffee
and smoke too many cigarettes
and love you so much

c. frank o’hara

steven jesse bernstein

my poetry teacher made us listen to a few poems by this guy… i was thoroughly blown away.
i have never cringed at the spiteful content of a poem (aside from this one reading i went to where a woman in a pikachu shirt totally killed what would have been a beautiful poem). he committed suicide a long time ago. here is a poem of his, set to music:

cut-out skull sweater

my newest project:

cut-out skull sweater. i am not a huge crafty person but with enough dedication and diligence my sweater(s) are going to look amazing.

these are earrings i just bought. i’ve wanted them for some time now and finally let myself have them. i love (sugar) skulls!

i will conclude this post by posting one of my favorite richard brautigan poems. i was upset to find that my schools’ bookstore does not sell any brautigan. a damn shame!

Boo, Forever

Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
top,
I’m haunted by all
the space that I
will live without
you.

c. richard brautigan

deer tracks

beautiful, sobbing
high-geared fucking
and then to lie silently
like deer tracks in the
freshly-fallen snow beside
the one you love.
that’s all.

c. richard brautigan