Wednesday, May 6, 2015

"On Returning to My Hometown in 2035," by Idra Novey


"Ascent," 2013, by Jeremy Geddes

On Returning to My Hometown in 2035
by Idra Novey

Even the gun shows are gone now, even
the scrapyards, the darkest, farthest barns.
The strip mall half empty since
my elementary years abides only
chemicals now, the lot sequestered
behind fences, its metal tanks checked
each September for leaks in the seals.
I lost my virginity in a basement here, lost
my balance on a backhoe, had to pick
the gravel out of my knees. For the prom,
my date was the tank man just vaporized
in the heat storm, his data screen open
to augmented porn. This morning
in my Honda pedi-plane, I flew over where
we used to sled, old hills oranged now
for warning, only the edges still brown.
I saw a denier sitting outside
in a lawn chair, her hair so long
it met the ground. There’s no idling in
the skyways now, which is why
I can’t tell you if she was dying.


[Image above by Jeremy Geddes]


***
I have had this poem bookmarked since I read it last year...I just love the concept. Wouldn't it make for a fun prompt...write a poem about returning to your hometown (even your house) in the future. I don't know how jet-pack-y (or "pedi-plane"-y) the year 2035 will be, and maybe that's an element of the poem I enjoy even more. And all those small, strange details (the gravel, "oranged," and the old lady with her Rapunzel/Rip van Winkle hair dragging on the grass). It's just wonderfully imaginative, isn't it?

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Clink

Today looks like cats sleeping in beach towel-shaped sun-patches.

Today, let's write something that we we are unsure of, and maybe we won't share it, and maybe we will. I'm trying to stretch my own process, and it's challenging. I just wrote a draft of a poem, and I'm going to work on it a little bit each day this week. It feels different, but maybe it will bring more to the poem and to me.

Across the little abyss of the internet, let's clink glasses.


Here's my current soundtrack (thanks for the inspiration, Lord Huron!).



Monday, May 4, 2015

Dark Day

"Defender Argo, expired September 1911, processed 2014," by Alison Rossiter

Dark Day

Dark afternoon in late spring you are
a reprieve A whole week of sunlight
and gentle air and baby lamb clouds
and we could use a good storm Every
night darkness feels like confirmation
of winding-down-ness but it isn’t that
simple If night had a message it might
be that we stagger toward sleep alone
to drift away from the self A buoy
being carried by water I close my
knowledge of the world for tonight
How little I know of the coming truth


[Image above by Alison Rossiter]

Friday, May 1, 2015

Recent Earworm: "Don't Leave Me Hanging," by Great Lake Swimmers




Here's one from the new Great Lake Swimmers album...I've been enjoying listening to it this week. Happy Friday, everyone!

Thursday, April 30, 2015

A List Is a Prayer for Control

from "Sleepy Town," by Lili des Bellons

A List Is a Prayer for Control

that humans are accounted for
that today you assemble your selves
and their abilities
that you will respond with appropriate
kindness to every voice pawing at you
that you will not fail
that the world will not become as large
as it is so you cannot hold any of its pieces
that you will not let who you were in the morning
be forgotten
that these few valuable hours enjoy full
and happy lives before expiring
that it will become night only gradually
that the body is a working vehicle
that the beings in your home continue to be
that scribbling over a word means you predicted
the future
that the curled up energy in almost born plants
is rooting for you



[Image above by Lili des Bellons]
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