Http asphodelmadness.blogspot

Asphodel Madness Page 1 of 59

Дели Пријави злоупотребу Следећи блог» Направи блог Пријавите се

Asphodel
Madness
POETRY! POETRY! POETRY! POETRY! POETRY! POETRY!
POETRY!

Submissions Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Ross Vassilev,
Editor. Paste up to 3
To-uncaring
poems in the body by Tatjana Debeljacki
of your email, title it
"submission" and Lost in the grey loneliness.
submit to
rvassilev@mail.com. Cognition intruder – rustling from the mind.
Simultaneous and Unclear thread, passionate, cruel, is awaken.
reprints OK. No pay The fruit is not conspiracy.
and you keep all The lunatic, genius of silence!
rights. Response Get closer to the unspoken.
time is a week or The analysis of reason- slavery!
less. Check out my During walking, visible shame!
other zine Opium Exciting autonomy,
Poetry 2.0 and my Opened door, the windows,
own poetry at my Draft!
homepage.
In the mist the stairways
Leading to heaven.
*An Asphodel -- poem
Paralyzed conscience,
by Allen Ginsberg
Portable mirror.
*Lost Battles of The In the plural against the fluency,
Vietnam War Conducting, behavior,

And admit the guilt.
The line connecting,
The road to the spacecraft.

http://asphodelmadness.blogspot.com/ 7/28/2010


We walk on by in dishonor.
poets Bronze woman,
A. A. Veitch (1) Brass man!!!
A. J. Kaufmann (4)
Adam Moorad (3)
Alan Catlin (2)
*www.poetabg.com/
Alishya Almeida (1)
*http://debeljacki.mojblog.rs/
Andrew Rihn (1)
Anthony Liccione (1) *http://twitter.com/debeljacki
Posted by Opium Poetry 0 comments
April A. (1)
Labels: Tatjana Debeljacki
Arlen J. Levy (1)
Ben Nardolilli (1)
Ben Smith (3)
Black Kitty (1) On Religion
Brian Le Lay (1) Those who love God/god will always love
Brian Rosenberger (2) Those who do not believe in God will never believe
Carol Lynn Grellas (3) Why are we inducing our insights on common
Catfish McDaris (2) people?
Charles C Brooks III (1) If you are intellectually fulfilled then it does not
Chris Butler (5) necessarily
Chris Middleman (1) Means that you should make fool of your
Christine Bruness (1) intelligence.
Craig Sernotti (1) Religion will never be dead and be dead.
Damien Toman (1) What is not dead is spiritualism. We are bunch of
spirits
Dan Flore III (1)
Or soul and we are here for short periods of time.
Daniel Ames (1)
This is our standard existence. If we follow moral,
Daniel Porder (1)
ethical, social
Danielle Searby (1) and humanistic principals. We will be blessed
David Brannan (1) among ourselves.
David Chorlton (2) There is no need to worry and doubt other’s
David Tomaloff (1) intelligence, we
Demeter Race (1) Are here and we will be here in one form or
Derek Richards (4) another.
DJ Romo (1) The philosophy of life is not life of philosophy rather
Donal Mahoney (12) journey
Doug Draime (9) towards sustainable peace and prosperity.
Eric Harris (1) Remember, the more
Eric J. Brinovec (1) Differences you will create, the more difference you
Erin Cole (1) will have
Farida Samerkhanova to solve. We are the problems and we have the
(1) solutions.
G David Schwartz (1)
George Anderson (2) by Santosh Kalwar
Hugh Fox (5)
Labels: Santosh Kalwar
Isabel Kestner (1)
Ivan P. (1)



Jack Ohms (3)
Jake David (1) Monday, July 26, 2010
Jay Coral (2) Waste of Time.
Jessica Myers (2)
by Laura Whelton
Jessica Otto (1)
Jo Hutton (1)
Joel Solonche (1) You know there was a day once
John Grey (3) That stood out from time
John Swain (2)
Joseph Hargraves (1) Curled hair and tanned legs
Joseph M. Gant (2) A staple of a youthful past
Judi Brannan
Armbruster (1) Time was cruel and marks like blood
Justin Wade Thompson
Soak this skin
(6)
Karen Kelsay (1)
kenneth mulvey (1) Sun like butter now
Kenneth Radu (2) Thick and blinding
Kevin Coons (1)
KJ Hays (2) No longer the painted happiness
Kumari de Silva (3) Which held a hopeful thought
Lark Beltran (1) No longer the empty glasses
Laura Whelton (4) Held by a friend
Lee Lincecum (1)
Lisa Cole (1)
Today was long
Lyn Lifshin (53)
Mark Blaeuer (1) Cradled the sleeplessness
Melanie Browne (9) Worn out fatigue and promised nothing
Michael A. Flanagan (3)
Michael Grover (1) Was it all a waste of time?
Michael H. Brownstein
(2) Posted by Opium Poetry 0 comments
Mike Berger (2) Labels: Laura Whelton
Mikko Harvey (1)
Nicole Taylor (2)
Noemi 'Siren' Soto (1) 38 years of an alcoholic
P. A. Levy (1)
P. B. Lyons (2) brother.
paul harrison (4) by Laura Whelton
Paul Hellweg (5)
Phil Lane (3) How easy to be the drunk
Pris Campbell (1) Eking out each day with coins
R.G. Johnson (1) Shuffling towards another oblivion
Rachel Kalyna (1) With each waking stride.
Randall Rogers (4)
Ray Succre (1) How easy and forgotten



RC Miller (2) The long days of alcohol
Rebecca Schumejda (1) Drank like a dying man with water
Richard Godwin (1)
Richard Tillinghast (1) How easy the days
Rod Peckman (1) Spent doubled in pain
Ron Ahimsa Riekki (1) Vomiting nothing
Ross Runfola (1) But the pure torture
Ross Vassilev (4) Of your condition.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan
(3) How easy and sad
S. Brady Tucker (3) Begging at street corners
Sandy Benitez (3) For the same coins
Santosh Kalwar (3) That last only a second
Sayu Tera (1)
Seth Jani (1) The endless walk
Shannon Peil (5) Of the drunk
Stephanie Wytovich (1) As he staggers home
Stephen Jarrell Williams Night after lost night
(8) Muttering dissatisfactory
Suchoon Mo (1) Soliloquies
Tarik Linthicum (1)
Tatjana Debeljacki (1) To the sombre moon
Thomas Michael Diluted by spent eyes
McDade (2)
Tom Blessing (1) How easy
Tyanah August (2) To wake and have a conviction
W.B. Hurst (1) On how to spend your day
Wesley Francis (1) While we soldiers of discipline
Zach King-Smith (1) Work like animals for survival.
Zachary Whalen (1)
Zola Hjelm (2) How easy.
Labels: Laura Whelton

Links
Sunday, July 25, 2010
amphibi.us
Beatnik I ONCE GOT A GRANT TO
Black Lawrence Press
Blowback Magazine GO TO PRAGUE
archives and interview people about the homeless there,
Camel Saloon but the government representatives kept telling me
Carcinogenic Poetry they didn't have any homeless, even though I could
Catfish Gringo River see
Covert Poetics
them on the street. They said they weren't really
Driver's Side Airbag
homeless,
archives



Flutter Press that they were drunks who fell asleep on the way
Guerilla Poetics home,
Lesser Flamingo that there just isn't a problem. And then one of the
Lummox Journal
papers
archives
reported that a tram driver got sick of a homeless
Lummox Press
Megaera archives man
My Favorite Bullet who kept riding without ever getting off and so
New Polish Beat when
Opium Poetry 1.0 the man was sleeping the driver pulled over, took
paulette the angel out
Pemmican some gasoline, and lit the homeless man on fire.
Poets' Democracy I went to ask them about that, but they wouldn't
Red Fez return any of my calls.
Side of Grits archives
The
ULA archives by Ron Ahimsa Riekki

Labels: Ron Ahimsa Riekki

Saturday, July 24, 2010
A Real Man
by Suchoon Mo

a real man
writes poetry
plays flute
and he masturbates
upon mountain top

Labels: Suchoon Mo

Country Fair Weekend
by Nicole Taylor

I drank beer with strangers, coffees downtown,
teas with Mary, Mike's hard liquor with strangers
and neighbors. At camp I bought a corduroy hat
and sodalite earrings. At camp I watched
drummers, musicians and a fire show with nude
dancers. Later I watched another fire show from a



great band, a fun pantomime and large chess
board. At camp I ate Baklava and noodles. I also
ate granola and a sub, a muffin on the ride home.

Labels: Nicole Taylor

Thursday, July 22, 2010
THE SIGH
by Stephen Jarrell Williams

Middle of night music
soft in shadows
remembering you

breathing in my ear
wanting more

and I giving you more

and now

separate
we wonder what we did wrong

no tears
only a sadness
song
still penetrating a sigh
lasting for years.

Labels: Stephen Jarrell Williams

PAULETTE, LIVING IN HER
CAR
by Lyn Lifshin

I was a ballet dancer,
then I got divorced.



I tried to be a
secretary but
learned that tho
I’m healthy
I couldn’t get
any job. I fill
my car with things
that don’t let
you know there’s
a person in there,
a lot of bags and boxes
and I cover myself
with newspaper
and hunker down

*Lyn's website:
http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm

Labels: Lyn Lifshin

Wednesday, July 21, 2010
boston girl, well, I am
chinese firecracker lame
by kenneth mulvey

don’t go you fuck
don’t you dare
but it’s a busted
taillight drive
for a broken door handled
barroom and
a ponytailed joke
bowing, ejaculating
yessir yessir
alla the time
every time you look
at him,
asleep rumbling
throat after he
kicks you out



in a cold front
lawn till
the blistered moon
threatens the
mystics dreaded and
lovemakers
so I spend my
morning
peaking
into pieless windows,
wives shrugging their
pale shoulders at
empty tables,
husbands busy rubbing
one out in
hot showers
so they don’t
fuck this up,
whilst me down on
1st street
with bustop bums meagre
cuz the women stay
limber
with methamphetamine
sores volcano naked
all the praised day,
where somebody stole my
empty wallet,
acting out the futile
show yet
we still are all
afraid,
no, I don’t ask for
it all back since
the emaciated
boy .22’s bunny rabbits
howling like babies
on a cyanide trip
and that’s enough,
I think,
until the midafternoon
pederasting fat russian elite
rape bloody violent
shouting 12 year old girls
between the 14th
and 12th floors,



behind unseen windows
upon papercut carpet,
police guard says
you better leave
buddy boy,
I whip up the
chaise into
crazy motion,
leave
the jealous road
sniffing his own usefulness,
stride dejected
head down and
bent enough for to
load confidence
upon her freckled eyelids
enough to fold
her desolation knees,
it will be easy, this,
the army boys are out
of town
and she’ll forgive,
she’ll need somebody,
she’ll drop her synthetic nuclear vest
in the presence
of an evolutionarily doctored cock
and take me back
Labels: kenneth mulvey

Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Tense Darkness
by Farida Samerkhanova

I am waiting for you in the middle of the night

And there comes a moment when
My body turns boneless and indifferent
Like a soft cotton pad

Every cell of my brain is plugged with
disappointment and fatigue

I stop distinguishing between the sounds around
me



The drops of rain jingling against the unfriendly
surface of the roof
Your tires whispering something to the wet
pavement
A distant neighbour’s garbage bin being dragged
along the driveway
Your cautious steps on the telltale creaking kitchen
floor
The irritating ticking of the clock on the bedroom
wall
And my own miserable heart beating

Labels: Farida Samerkhanova

Monday, July 19, 2010
CRUDE
by Lyn Lifshin

the blackness

rising to the surface

oozing up to

the surface, slick

oozing in the back

yards. “No trespassing

Danger” signs. Oily

muck in the street.

“If they stay

they’re signing

their own death

warrant” on a sign

near a house



Candidates come

here days before

the election

to shake hands

***

it’s like a ghost

town, houses boarded

up. I’m afraid if

I leave the house

they’ll loot or burn

it. I have a child

with birth defects

of heart, pancreas.

Kidney. Chloroform

was so high it

wouldn’t be allowed

in any work place.

I was pregnant.

The state told me

nothing wasn’t

safe



*Lyn's website:

Labels: Lyn Lifshin

Sunday, July 18, 2010
Coastlines of My Dreams
by Jake David

The shadowy past,
vague. Vast. Lone as the walls
a barren mind resembling
ungripped realities
like the coastlines of my dreams,
laying secretly within hidden pages.
brushing naked against the burgundy sky
underneath a Halloween moon
during a saxophone wind,
the ghost of a yesterdaynight's kiss.
I remember on the coast lines of my dreams
with eyes like the seven seas after Earth's climax.

Labels: Jake David

Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Grandest Gestures
by David Tomaloff

I have been
to your cities

and seen
the Ducks

hiding coyly
among the lions
and thieves;



all huddled
together,

at once
defiant

and
terribly

alone.

Concrete
and Shoes,

sunglasses
and Stuff(!);

coldly
ablaze

like

science
fiction

just
w aiting

to
happen.

*www.davidtomaloff.com
*http://liontamersblues.tumblr.com/
Labels: David Tomaloff

Thursday, July 15, 2010
11:45



by Stephanie Wytovich

The phone refuses to ring
I wonder if it’s broken
Silenced
Or was quietly murdered
During the dead of night

It taunts me
Stares at me
Its numerical patterns
Circularly counting repetitively
Around the clock
While it ticks away seconds
And tocks away minutes
Relentlessly stealing hours from me
From my day
The carpet itches my thighs
And my nails dig into my arms
A nervous twitch
That draws blood
I try to distract myself
My spinning head is to full
To think otherwise

You’re probably busy
Wrapping yourself around her legs
Your tongue down her throat
Panting to the rhythm of her movements
Dancing in the crevices inside her
Or screaming to the beat of your heart

You’re probably occupied
Talking to your friends
Telling them about your night
You spent in a drunken stupor
Drowning in whiskey
Swimming in beer
Yelling at family

You’re probably lying
Telling them you’re in love



After you beat me in your room
Left me stained with tears
Dried blood on my lips
As you passed out in your bed
And I drove home
Battered
And broken.

You’re probably living your life
Going about your day
Like nothing is wrong
While I’m left
Sitting by the phone
Waiting…
Waiting…
For you to call,
Because I know if I leave
You’ll find me,
And I’ll be worse off
Then laying on this itchy carpet
In your run down apartment.

I’ll be dead.

Labels: Stephanie Wytovich

Wednesday, July 14, 2010
YOUNG GIRL’S DIARY
by Lyn Lifshin

There is nothing to eat.



We are going to die of hunger.



My teeth ache,



my left leg is frostbitten.



I almost finished the honey.



What have I done?



How selfish I am!



What are they going to say?



What will they



spread on their bread now?



Mother looks terrible–



a shadow of herself.



She works very hard.



Whenever I wake up



at twelve or one in the night



she is bent



over the sewing machine,



and she gets up at six.



I have no heart, no pity,



eat everything



I can lay my hands on.



Today I had an argument



with Father.



I insulted and even cursed him.



And this was because yesterday



I weighed the noodles



but this morning took



a spoonful for myself.



When father came back



he weighed them,



found there was less,



started yelling at me.



He was right, but I was



upset and cursed him.



Father just stood



at the window



and cried like a child.



No stranger ever



abused him like I did.



Everybody was home



I went to bed quickly



I thought I would die of hunger

*Lyn's website:

Labels: Lyn Lifshin

Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Let Us Play
by Santosh Kalwar

Dear Women,
come out and let us play,
reveal your secret and let’s swim
In a river of your pain
with enthusiasm and excitement

Let us swing with the melodies of birds
and let us be passionate
over our love

I know you are bothered,
by the mindless cults
The pursuit of your happiness

Lies beneath this earth
so, let us play
beautiful women

Labels: Santosh Kalwar

Home Older Posts

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

Blog Archive
▼ 2010 (185)
▼ July (28)



To-uncaring
On Religion
Waste of Time.
38 years of an alcoholic brother.
I ONCE GOT A GRANT TO GO TO PRAGUE
A Real Man
Country Fair Weekend
THE SIGH
PAULETTE, LIVING IN HER CAR
boston girl, well, I am chinese firecracker
lame
Tense Darkness
CRUDE
Coastlines of My Dreams
The Grandest Gestures
11:45
YOUNG GIRL’S DIARY
Let Us Play
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON BY
RAPHAEL
Searching for the anchor
Morning Breeze
AIR
In My Letter
WHAT PATHWAYS
poem
Document 13
Ripped From Us During Endless Harvest
For My Mother Who Gave It Her All
The Voice Of Despair
► June (34)
► May (26)
► April (20)
► March (18)
► February (25)



► January (34)
► 2009 (98)


Http asphodelmadness.blogspot

Empfohlen

Empfohlen

Weitere ähnliche Inhalte

Andere mochten auch

Andere mochten auch (20)

Ähnlich wie Http asphodelmadness.blogspot

Ähnlich wie Http asphodelmadness.blogspot (20)

Mehr von debeljackitatjana

Mehr von debeljackitatjana (20)

Kürzlich hochgeladen

Kürzlich hochgeladen (20)

Http asphodelmadness.blogspot