This is going to be a poetry blog, where I revisit my entire poetic output since about freshmen year of high school.
You might ask why I'm doing this, but it's simple: I don't wanna lose this stuff to decay and I've needed to put this in a digital form for quite some time. Nobody else is gonna do this for me, and so, it falls to me.
I know there's plenty of poetry blogs out there, probably as many as there are cooking blogs, but I think the way I'm doing it will be just a little different. That being said, I don't care if nobody ever reads this aside from myself.
So... here's the deal:
• Each entry will contain 1 poem. Originally, I'd said 1 to 5, but I want to know, by quick sorting of tags in future times, how many poems I've actually written. If there are multiple pieces on one piece of misc paper, though, it'll be entered as one post.
• Each entry will have several tags, indicating the origins of the poem. If it's from a different source, it goes in a different entry. No two sources will be in any given entry!
• The tags are: year in number format (ie, "1996"), notebook from which the poem originates (ie "Red Woodstock II", "Roomonfire", "misc paper" for things scribbled on... miscellaneous papers), a keyword like "self" or "music" or "comedy" and About The Book.
• Anything with the About The Book tag will feature some info on the notebook listed, including images of the front and back covers, information on when I might have bought it, what is contained inside and any related tangents I might make regarding the book. also, for the misc paper entries, i think i'll just put whatever musings directly under the poem, set off with brackets [ ].
• When appropriate, I'll post pictures of the notebooks (or scrap paper or napkins) from which these pieces come, to see what I've scribbled my words out on over the years.
Hopefully, this will be at the very least, interesting for me. I might even comment on my writing, especially the ones from which I'm most removed. Honestly, I don't care if this blog is "successful" by any stretch. At the very least, I can almost guarantee my "constant reader" Lark will check in on this from time to time.
And hey, if you're reading THIS entry, you might wanna come on back. No pressure. Besides... a lot of this is gonna be really ridiculous, overwrought poetry. At least in the early years.
See you in print soon!
- 12 poems in 7 days: a mix of syllabics
-
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
lydonslitreview- December 10th, 2008
i am a little planet
turning in the blackest space
solar winds don't chill my child
or chap my huge, ancient face
astronomical units
away, control sun damage
this soul is old and branded.
-12-03-08-
the baseboard heat shorts
plugging in the christmas tree
yuletide fire hazard.
-12-10-08-
i understand this
your reply is off-putting
but quite expected
please take all of your clothes with you
this door ain't yours anymore.
-12-10-08-
black storm clouds disperse
but not before soaking me
i hate warm winters.
-12-10-08-
Mom drunk on eggnog
sister's kids are yelling out
"Merry Christmas!"... geez!
-12-10-08-
the P.C. window
wishes "holiday spirit"
whatever that means.
-12-10-08-
last night on waking
you had punched me in the butt
then fell back asleep
you claim you don't remember
but I saw you smirk, my dear.
-12-10-08-
no jingling pockets
the holiday's looking lean
but i don't need gifts
if all i have is you and
love enough to warm the tea.
-12-10-08-
can a foreigner
expect to get the essence
of a local form
when he speaks not its beauty
not dreaming its words at night?
-12-10-08-
i often wonder
if poet master Basho
had a summer's tan?
-12-10-08-
there are words we speak
trickling like a winter stream
in nice company
with family, spring thaw speech
drowns loved ones with murder words.
-12-10-08-
i'm trying to fit this haiku onto
this remaining page of notes. (win!)
-12-10-08-
- About the Book: Orange Attitude
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 26th, 2008
I remember buying the book Orange Attitude at a Rite Aid, as I was in need of something to write on one day, and wherever this Rite Aid was allowed to go in, and snag a book to write in some pieces. It was bought sometime in 2006, and I can't really recall where. Downtown? Bristol? Something tells me I bought this at the Rite Aid on 22nd Street and Walnut, trying to break a $20 for parking lot change at "the cheap lot" around the corner, and down the block from the Adrienne on a night I was playing at ComedySportz.
In fact, the very first piece in the book, "train scream", was written minutes after I got the book, as I sat in the lot, listening to the freight train screech by on the tracks that run parallel to the Schuykill River, just on the other side of the wall that hems in the parking lot there on 23rd street. I do remember that night being particularly cold, even though it was just September. I think the pieces from this book are actually sort of cold, emotionally. Maybe that's justification, rather than an honest observation. I don't know.
The rest of the book is mostly blank, except for notes for a musical project I never got off the ground. Maybe I will.
We shall see.
- "weeds"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 26th, 2008
weeds of dusky, light brown
dying in the sun
laying in the shoulderlands
backwash of the river
truck rusting to nothing
along an access road
forgotten
laying in the shadows
of high-tension wiretowers
iron bent, rust red in the sun
highway for the traveling man
lifting up steel wheels
for the pilgrims
thousands sailing overland
diferent destinations
all directions and
directionless
temple in a land
shining glass and steel
in the sun
holding the cool breath
of love
and hot fires of lust
simultaneous
it is to this temple
i travel.
5/9/2007
- "respice finem"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 25th, 2008
"respice finem"
look before you leap
too cautious a man
takes no risk at all
thereby
never living his life
no gulping, just sips of
the weak tea of camaraderie
the bridge game
is Saturday nights at 7pm
bring crackers
bring soda
5/9/2007
- "teaparty at the end of the universe"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 25th, 2008
i sit on a beach
in a house
drinking tea
waiting for the end of the world
i sit drinking tea
to pass the time
it seems to me
as i sit, drinking tea
that Armageddon
is a long time in coming
so while i wait for destruction
let me pose a question ------>
would you mind joining me?
it's dreadfully boring in
this house all alone
the bric-a-brac
can't talk back
and this sunny room
is built for two
so until the seas rise up
in furious, black anger
and the wind blows so
it cracks the sky in half
spilling fire from cracks
in the ceiling of the universe...
come, sit down with me
on the velvet settee
and let's drink to
beginning of a new forever.
11/19/2006
- "9/18/06"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 25th, 2008
Whisper
soft sound on a wind
wind winding thru a
hole inside you
Whisper Whispering
speaking to the dust inside
Whisper
soft sound on a wind
wind winding down
to the soul inside you
whisper, whisper and sing
this time you'll get it
RIGHT
you talk of demons
you talk of ghosts
they are nothing
to the spirits i know
you talk of limbo
you talk of death
you are nothing without words
9/18/2006
- "train scream"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 25th, 2008
train scream cold
caught under iron wheel
temperature dropping
cold killing beyond dark
no daylight
freighter dreams of
hobo men caught inside
whispering hobo lies
stay under cover, unseen
insane, crawl with
the bugs of shame
nobody knows or owns
a real name
nobody knows how he got
this way
cutting to bore to
keep the fire close
when the tide runs out
that's it
great steel beasts
screaming, rutting
strutting for
the paying customers
beyond a fence
in the uncertainty
of a blackened
parking lot
there is but one thing
to be done...
pray that screaming
heard
is merely the passing
of trains
there are monsters out
there
in the shadowlands
and the near at hand
torch for protection
prayer for destruction
walking in a halo of
orange arc-sodium heaven
9/18/2006
- -to the bird genus Paley Facsimilus-
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 25th, 2008
bird
spread your facsimile wings
pretend to fly
stuck in place, library window
the folks walk by and never notice
excepting those souls easily distracted
holding their fingers up
to trace your avian frame
behind glass
pressing their noses close
to discern your reality
temporarily forgetting their own
taken in by glass and plasticene
some remember
the first time they saw birds in flight
flapping against gravity
or sailing on updrafts
those once-were children recall
and even if they don't do it outwardly
inside
they spread their arms
to fly.
1/31/2008
- "Old Man Winter Checks Back In"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 25th, 2008
the glacier broke and slid back down the mountain
re-chilling everything before we'd finished tanning
it's okay, i don't walk around with shirt off if I can help it
feels good to have January feel like January
no more temporal lobe distortion
bought on by temporary visit of Spring
i've always loved the cold
but sneak preview of the thaw is always welcome
a bridge, burned and broken, finally fell in
echoed as I yelled across it, reminding it
moaning and barking as it fell, shooting splinters up at me
last gaps of a structure deconstructed
collapsed under its own illusions
leaden dreams in a cold skin bag
the cold returned and i piled up the fire
lit, blazing like pyre
on which the only king abandoned to burn
is the KING-SIZE SAVINGS! ad
of the local grocery emporium
no lamps, just the heat and crackle of the fire
further shifting and exploding of slid glacier in the distance
it's almost Februarywelcome toHail the re-return
as Old Man Winter checks back in.
1/24/2008
- untitled pieces on a self-stapled book from my time at Walnut Street Theater
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 24th, 2008
-1-
" ... train came barrelling
thru the morning fog, kicking
up the snow and slicing the
cold winter air like a hot blade,
flakes hurling themselves toward
us on the platform, as though
landing on our skin would have
made their torturous lives of
ice and falling whole by
meling on our soft safe
skin."
-2-
[ the night divided us, as the dark will do
made quotients of our fears
and feelings,
wondering whether to terrify
or simply walk by.
pockets filled with the loose
change of rambling thoughts
and each time a shiny dime
slips out and away
it becomes another thought
I used to have that'll never
see the light of day ]
< Never saw him at all. Manny
the Shark ran right up behind
him, broken cue stick in hand,
swingin as hard as he could...
swingin like Ty Cobb.>
( "What you gonna do with THAT,
if you don't mind my askin?"
I had gotten nervous about the
cuffs, but the blindfold and
the nightstick had really started
to make me wonder. "Don't worry
Champ, " she purred, "If this goes
well, you'll love me forever."
Hell... I'd just wanted to
know the time, and now, here I was. )
* Once, there was a kid name Roland,
but everyone called him Chad. No
one knew WHY, they had just always
called him that. He didn't LOOK
like his name should be Chad, yet
Chad stuck to young Roland like
white sticks to processed rice.
He thought about changing his name
but that would make no difference.
It was the other kids who needed
to change, and they wouldn't.
Hell, they didn't even know
why they called him Chad.
They just always had. end *ә Killin' or chillin'
ә
grillin' or feelin'
reelin' or dealin'
it's all the same to me
crushin' or rushin'
dining or lunching
hit on the head
with the hunger truncheon
yeah
it's all the same to me.
end.▲ bacon fat sweet singin'
the morning light, down with
delight, and up before this dawn
showering wisdom and water on
the Lawn. creating and slating
the scene for production, pot-
luck luncheon, table set and
napkins at the ready. Forearms
armed and neck decked with
kerchief, mouth watering my
hotplate, chicken fried steak
gravy on my biscuit, buttermilk
silk and heaven-leavened
on the dough-ray-me. ▲@
producer... slant-6 engine...
big top tent pole tenterhooks...
... washout... bullpen... cocktail...
rubberband man... buffet-style...
... pornography... theatre... death...
abbreviation... comma... dent...
... jerk chicken pork chop salad...
jello soul... modus operandi...
... tool, die & machinery operator...
nothing worse, polka dot hearse...
... nevermore, never more,
nevermore @
3/?/2001
- "3 Poems from a Bar Napkin on St. Patrick's Day"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 24th, 2008
-1-
knackered on St. Patrick's Day
in a land far north and Broad
class awaits but before i'm late
i'll have another for country and for God!
the Irish runs in my blood
25% or all
it doesn't matter, when we all get knackered...liquor goeth before a fall.
-2-
"take it easy, be nice to my lover"
she said, with natural aplomb
"he's handsome & smart
he knows science and art
differentiates his RAM from his ROM"
"i flex my sexuality
to sell pieces of jewelry to the masses
it helps in a pinch
to show in a cinch
that i flash my fleshly assets"
-3-
it's nothing to everyone else
what thoughts in your mind you think
their lives move forward, irrespective of perspective
certainly without regard to how much you drink
in the cups in the mind in the time of your life
phone call in to check in withyour sweet wife
one day a year to shed a tear
for the possibilities gone by
don't cry, apple of my own, jaundiced eye
i'll be home to hold you by five.
3/17/2008
- About The Book: Pink Skeleton of Comedy
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 13th, 2008
[put picture here when uploaded]
I bought the notebook that became Pink Skeleton of Comedy sometime in 2004, probably in the summertime or thereabouts. Having checked the Holy Ghost Prep Drama Page, I can confirm this, as most of this book doesn't contain poems, but scene notes about the productions of "Godspell", "Grease", "Looks Like Rain" and "Best Friends Say I Love You" I directed in 2005 and 2006. The latter two I actually WROTE and directed, but the Holy Ghost Drama webmaster didn't give me that credit, nor my assistant director credit for "Grease", or the script punch-up credit for "Godspell". Whatever. I know what I did, and there's a program or two, saved from that time, that certainly indicates that. Also, I'm still friends with Father Chris McDermott who is the head dude of the program over there, if ever I need confirmation of said facts.
Also, a significant portion of the book is dedicated to notes for ComedySportz, as this was the notebook I brought with me to take notes on the 6 dozen ComedySportz games and how to play them. There is also notes on two-man improv shows, from a workshop I took with Jesster and Jokyr, a two-man improv group from Salt Lake City UT, from whom I was able to take a hugely entertaining, and informative workshop. Later that night, I also got to see them perform at the Philadelphia Improv Festival, run by my good friend Alexis Simpson, among many talented others (Matt Nelson, Greg Maughan, etc, etc).
The stickers on the books are largely my own work, from the robotic watercolor sticker spelling out my name to the yellow head, the duck, the "furball in a hoodie" and, of course, the Pink Skeleton which gives the book half it's name. These were done in pencil, pen, ink and marker on FedEx packing stickers lifted from the Post Office. The Comedy sticker I think comes from the Philadelphia Improv Festival, as a bunch of that stuff was lying around, and may have been leftovers from workshops presented by UCB members at the Philadelphia Ethical Society. The World Citizen sticker... must have come out of nowhere. I really can't recall where I got that, but I had this penchant over the years for collecting stickers for future use. You can't just put a sticker somewhere, it has to be the RIGHT place. Even until about a year ago, I had a huge backlog of said stickers, that I think I mostly threw away upon moving to our current home in Bensalem.
There are short blurbs in this book that remind me I was supposed to have a sketch writing group with two improv friends from years ago, named Janice McDuffy and Tabitha Dell'Angelo. We talked about it, but our disparate schedules were so hard to coordinate, it never got off the ground. I have no idea what Janice is up to now, but Tab is teaching at TCNJ, raising a fine young boy with her husband, and living in the Doylestown, PA.
This book also reminds me that I was supposed to have a group with my brotha in ComedySportz, Sean Curran. He and I were the ones attending the Jokyr and Jesster workshop, in hopes of creating a two man show. Our schedules, of course, never got together satisfactorily, and thus... no group.
That's okay. At this point, being back in school and continuing to work, I have very little time. Of course, Sean doesn't have time either. He's still in ComedySportz (as both ref and player), just joined The Sixth Borough sketch comedy group, was recently lumped into Bad Hair Sketch Comedy (a bunch of other CSzer's side project) and, his day job is head dude at Gamervision.com, sort of a MySpace for gamers.
***
I'm not sure which notebook comes next, but I have 4 directly next to me on the window shelf: Motorcycle Bunny Backlash, Light the Menorah, Orange Attitude, and Maps of the Gone World. The book with the oldest material is Maps of the Gone World, so I may dig into that, as I got that notebook as a present from my sister Christa for a birthday in high school. I remember this, as a poem I wrote in there was performed at an "Entertainment Night" at a long-defunct cd shop I used to go to called Disc/Connection in Bensalem. Must have been about 1994, and the band to whom I wrote the poem was called first Shallow, then Shallow Union Number 7. But, more on that when I start on that book.
***
Til next time!
- "I Joined A Cult" early version of lyrics
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 13th, 2008
[verse]
I went and joined a cult today
I liked the things they had to say
but I didn't want to
give my things away so...
[verse]
I perpetrated a getaway
Drove my car real far away
They're still looking for me
To this day
[pre-chorus]
`cause everyone wants to belong
and everyone wants to be strong
[chorus]
and I belong
singing songs
righting wrongs
[verse]
i tried to find a job today
to get myself some extra pay
but things just don't
turn out my way
[verse]
so I sold off everything I had
borrowed money from my dad
and went in search of
the one thing that...
[repeat pre-chorus and chorus
7/?/2005
- "damage assessment, 2005"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 13th, 2008
looking down I realize how ratty I am
how out of shape, how threadbare, misshapen
it's not the years that have been unkind
it's me
i poked holes in myself, i paid for the needlework to stain my skin
waves of black and grey circles stripes
patterns characters building on a canvas
more and more reflecting the conflicted soul inside
haven't felt anyone's touch right in years
soft hands can't connect to me unless they're holding steel
no lips kiss me, unless the teeth behind them bite
drawing blood or drawing blank
it's all the same
one girl, one lady, or a thousand, it doesn't matter
i've got no heart to give them
no despair for a love's disrepair
numb is too easy a word and not descriptive enough
for the blank area inside
even in embrace, the wind whistles lonely
even in intercourse, the monologue never stops
she'll try to look in, seeing only herself
for she's as blank as I am and wants
something more, something different, something else...
s o m e t h i n g
can't hold it against her that she wants love
i eat too much to still the voices
i drink too much to quiet the screams
i sleep too much, don't wanna get up
don't feel like facing the day
far away, i look pregnant
-look mommy, the bearded lady escape from the circus again!
-it's not polite to point, Alex.
one day, that kid will grow up
painting freak show portraits
from his chidlhood
remembering me
the hair on my face gets longer
even as I shave my head for penance
somewhere inside this body gone to pot
there is an amazing potential
sitting inert, ugly and covered to the gills
in layers of fat, hair and self pity
deep inside of me, i am a genius
deep inside, I am the first instrument
deep inside of me sits a miracle worker
deep inside, I am a weapon
it all begins with the denial
it all proceeds from acceptance
all that's needed is discipline
and a few hundred thousand situps.
7/8/2005
- "Modern Christmas Carol"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 12th, 2008
train ride near Christmastime
people still shopping, still rushing, still riding
still working, still slaving, still trying, still crying
but most miss the meaning
and their coffers empty
and their hearts are ashen
Chritmas bonus already blown
what all these train riders and car drivers
workaday slobs and CEO types alike need
they need the train to breakdown
the car to seize up
the limo service to explode
give them a night out in the cold
listening to the quiet hum of holiday lights
a soft whispered breeze
and feel the approach of silent night
comin' on like a catburglar
except, instead of taking the ring you got Maude
or the scarf you got Grandma
this evening makes off with your heart
to the sound of carolers
in the middle distance
Angels you can hear on High Street
12/22/2004
- "these are the pieces left"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 12th, 2008
these are the pieces left
small spaces left unturned
what remains after the fire, the flood
anything here unburned
burn away life, one minute at a time
making a difference in the smallest way
giving back or giving up
evaporating before his usefulness
sifting thru rubble was expected
the crying was not
for years, they'd always sung about her
for years, he'd wonder
whether he'd done things right
4/11/2006
- "A Bench Away"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 12th, 2008
a bench away
in the warming morning
your horn, sweet, sings
outside the college
overdressed for the heat oncoming
you play cool melody
here i sit, a bench away
reading poetry 400 years in the grave
alto elegy floats thru
the cherry blossoms to me
at the blvd of Cecil B.
city plays counterpoint
to your long, melodious line
giving praise
on the concrete steps
of the Temple.
4/10/2008
- "Identity Theft"
-
- lydonslitreview
- June 12th, 2008
enlarge your male aggregate
if you have the time
sow the seed you reap
mash the liquor the lemon the lime
increase you will the cash
follow our program friend
i represent a failed state, will give you dollars
if you give us your SSN
robots are shills for
what gets through the filter...
give us your name
we want your identity
give us your name
we want your identity
you can fake your own death
you can disappear for good
you can cook up crystal meth
it's all in this book
you can get in for
everything and a whole lot more...
give us your name
we want your identity
give us your name
we want your identity
4/?/2008
