Underground Poets, I don't remember when I became a member, but recently I have been enjoying reading blogs, including the poetry here. I wanted to let you all know about Guerrilla Poetics Project, http://mjp.us/, and if anyone here would be interested in spreading the word. Be well, Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal.

granny


granny's kitchen always
smelled of tea cakes
the little flat golden
sugar cookies she made
like no one else

my cousin wendell was
six months older than i
and we'd have eating contests
at one family reunion i
drank 29 sodas and ate
two pecan pies but wendell
always beat me by a pie
and several sodas

we could eat pounds of
those golden cakes
topped off with a
platter of homemade fudge
and a gallon of ice cream
after coming in from
hoppy and roy at
the park theater

but old granny just
kept rolling the dough
and restocking the cokes
and making the fudge
and smiling like she always did
old faded blue eyes twinkling
like stylized pictures of santa

granny has been gone
20 years now but I still miss her
every day

when passing her house
on paris avenue i almost expect
to see her waving from the swing
on her front porch

her eyes sparkling like
old blue stones
polished by the
river of years

sitting here tonight
minding my
own business
there's a crashing
at the front door

it's crazy doobie
with pictures
of ghosts
he says
handing
them to me
"put them in
the newspaper!"

he's all excited
I knew he'd
been here
hunting me
earlier
today while
i was gone

had the
pictures of ghosts
with him then too

after he left
i looked
at them
under light

a couple of
simple pictures
with a light
leak on
the film
at the same
end of
both frames
same basic
shape

no ghosts these
just a
fucked camera

and it
dawned on me
that if doobie
became parvenu
he would
rush out
buy a
hasselblad
break it
within 2 days
and be making
ghost pictures
with it

that is if
the ufo's that
swarm
his house
didn't get him
first

There is some sort of problem afoot here, as the newer poems have disappeared. I did not delete them as someone suggested. The system wasn't working properly today but I finally managed to republish the entire blog, however the newer poems (by Duke I believe) are still gone. Sorry about that, it wasn't my doings.

Guys, try to properly format your material before you put it on. Don't double-space and such unless it's a poem meant to be double space. There are tools available to change fonts, justify, etc.

I have no idea what possessed me to write this poem, but it's the first one I've written in months, so I decided to post it. It ain't good by any means, but at least I'm compelled to do something after all this time. (Update 7-15: For some reason the comment link hasn't been working on this, can't find URL. I'll see what I can do about that.)

I want to die on a cold day

the smoke of my bones
sullying a leaden sky
my soul clinging fast

to the wheels
of heaven

groaning over stars
seen from the
backside
light reversed

black holes
whirring like saucers
in a b-movie

riding the tunnel
of light through
a prism bent in
shades of gray

diffused melodic
dispersal of
protons

shotgun approach
to universal nothing

boom scatter
boom scatter scatter

a silent rock band
of negative matter
windmill on strings
of rays

solar wind tooting
the horn of
silence

it's like jazz in
the void

yeah jazz in the void

all that noise
and nothing

much

I enjoy browsing
those critique forums
where one
pretentious ass
tries to
tell another
how to write
what is in
his or her
own head

poets bleed their
own words
right or wrong
good or bad
in lines on paper
or black globs
of electronic
space

while dilettantes
and pedants
pull one another's
plumbing by
parsing the poetic
poesy that flourishes

like bad mushrooms
in cow

shit

I wonder if God
is lurking around this board
& if so why he doesn't chose
to post a simply howyadoin

or maybe a death threat
something about fire & brimstone
a reference to fiery arrows
flying & the world becoming
a smutty furnace filled with
the yells & cries of
the unholy & the great unwashed

all those who put wiggle in
this dead black vacuum
the weight that pushes against
the dark to hold
the blue skies back

one day soon in the plains
between here & there I shall
pose that question & watch
godlips smile wider than Texas
& hear godvoice boom like
a downtown ghetto blaster
tuned full hip-hop rattle

Why should I worry about your
nonexistent spot in nothing space
I had kids to kill in Kosovo
fruit loops to boot beat by
the big rock on the bay
poets to pulverize
pagans to placate
bitches to burn &
heroes to humble

Stagger away blind boy
& let me breath free air
fresh around warped trees
& rocks bent by time

I wrung your days out of
blue moonlight & gold contrails
painted sunsets that burned
your retinas & all you did
was sit in dark corners &
question the wisdom
of it all

Back away to hell & warm
the crease in your jeans
on flames that lick the
bones of civilization

I have new worlds
to build & kill
new dreams to make
& crumble

new voices to
still

forever