| Poems by Men I've Kissed | Poems by Persons to Whom I Owe Money | |
| Poems by Guys I Run into at the Bagel Store | Poetry by People Who Avoid Me on the Street | |
| Poems by Those Who Can't Keep Secrets | Poems by Readers of Popular Mechanics | |
| Poems by Gentleman Thieves | Poems by Independent Contractors and Doctors I've Met in Bars | |
| Poetry by Girls with Perfect Skin and Contact Lenses | Poems by Boys to Whom Everything Comes Easy | |
| Poems by Spanish Diplomats | Poems by the Makers of Cereals and Power Bars | |
| Poems by the Angry and Dethroned | Poetry by Kids I've Been Mean To |
Coming Soon:
Poems by Women I Write to From Prison
Poems by Women Who Offered Me Their Cheek
Poems by My Next Door Neighbor's Sister Who Is Going Through a Rough Time Right Now
Poems by Phil
Poems by Ladies With Dark Hair
Poems by the Chairman of the Board
Poems by People I've Seen Naked Accidentally
Poems by Persons Whose Newspapers Were Stolen
Poems by Neighbors Who've Complained About the Noise
Poems by People Who Don't Know that I Know that They Avoid Me on the Street
Poems by Girls I've Gone to Second Base with and Back
Poems by Women I Write to From Prison
Poems by Women Who Offered Me Their Cheek
Poems by My Next Door Neighbor's Sister Who Is Going Through a Rough Time Right Now
Poems by Phil
Poems by Ladies With Dark Hair
Poems by the Chairman of the Board
Poems by People I've Seen Naked Accidentally
Poems by Persons Whose Newspapers Were Stolen
Poems by Neighbors Who've Complained About the Noise
Poems by People Who Don't Know that I Know that They Avoid Me on the Street
Poems by Girls I've Gone to Second Base with and Back
back to the menu
from You're What I Want Wrong with Me
by J. Reuben Appelman
My favorite color is Sodomy. It's what I get when my
roots are growing in. Here on the 45th parallel, my girl applies her Sodomy to my scalp with a squeeze-bottle, the kind I decorated cheesecake with when I was a cook.
I miss being a cook. I miss the long hours on foot: grill in my face, all of that steak. How I would come home flush with imaginary colors. Beautiful, which was like skin, and then later: Placenta, the color of alcohol in my glass -- Fetal, and like meat in the air: how it spun and spun!
"My girlfriend used to beat the crap out of me," I say. "One time she used a nail clippers to cut my earlobe in half." Brenda responds, "In China you can get a black market mp3 player for the cost of a Michelob."
I don't know what meat means anymore.
from You're What I Want Wrong with Me
by J. Reuben Appelman
My favorite color is Sodomy. It's what I get when my
roots are growing in. Here on the 45th parallel, my girl applies her Sodomy to my scalp with a squeeze-bottle, the kind I decorated cheesecake with when I was a cook.
I miss being a cook. I miss the long hours on foot: grill in my face, all of that steak. How I would come home flush with imaginary colors. Beautiful, which was like skin, and then later: Placenta, the color of alcohol in my glass -- Fetal, and like meat in the air: how it spun and spun!
"My girlfriend used to beat the crap out of me," I say. "One time she used a nail clippers to cut my earlobe in half." Brenda responds, "In China you can get a black market mp3 player for the cost of a Michelob."
I don't know what meat means anymore.
back to the menu
Found Poem
by Carlos Dews
Recoleta Cemetery
Buenos Aires, Argentina
12 August 2004
I've tried
so hard
to tell
myself
that you're
gone . . .
4/5/04
2 months
Dead
[Written in black marker on green wooden door
to the crypt of the Ayerza family. Written in English.
Door with hole in bottom allowing the entrance of cats.]
Found Poem
by Carlos Dews
Recoleta Cemetery
Buenos Aires, Argentina
12 August 2004
I've tried
so hard
to tell
myself
that you're
gone . . .
4/5/04
2 months
Dead
[Written in black marker on green wooden door
to the crypt of the Ayerza family. Written in English.
Door with hole in bottom allowing the entrance of cats.]
back to the menu
Charles Gets the Dying Part
by Adrian Kien
I know
the birds in
their cages by the chicken
cluck or
the sound of them
like keys that fit
like kernels of corn
into the slots
where the wings go. Pieced
together like this.
They get fat. And I get
to crank them. Crank them once
and they speak.
"Quick, Quack. Two buck Chuck."
My name. Along with an accordion.
Crank twice and they finish
in a long wheeze. A prayer
from the feedlot and a "Moo!"
and a "Quack."
Pieced together like this. I relate
my knowledge of manure
or myself (or whatever that is).
I bend up and down. I Front. I Back. I squeeze lemon in them.
What is mine. Is mine. Is mine.
Because when you're a Chuck
you don’t get keys. You're already a prisoner
in every room you can think of.
And further down the barn
I hear the corndogs howl and the cuisses de poulets
rotating in my sound. The cluck cluck tears.
I say, birds! No, the swarm. Oh the owning of it.
A church pressed into each of their wing slots.
A crunch press jaws the marrow. The skeleton.
The me on the floor below
sprouting an RV dimension.
I go into a fit of yes. Yes.
A slot to come out from.
A cage crate. My horn! Mein Gott!
Charles Gets the Dying Part
by Adrian Kien
I know
the birds in
their cages by the chicken
cluck or
the sound of them
like keys that fit
like kernels of corn
into the slots
where the wings go. Pieced
together like this.
They get fat. And I get
to crank them. Crank them once
and they speak.
"Quick, Quack. Two buck Chuck."
My name. Along with an accordion.
Crank twice and they finish
in a long wheeze. A prayer
from the feedlot and a "Moo!"
and a "Quack."
Pieced together like this. I relate
my knowledge of manure
or myself (or whatever that is).
I bend up and down. I Front. I Back. I squeeze lemon in them.
What is mine. Is mine. Is mine.
Because when you're a Chuck
you don’t get keys. You're already a prisoner
in every room you can think of.
And further down the barn
I hear the corndogs howl and the cuisses de poulets
rotating in my sound. The cluck cluck tears.
I say, birds! No, the swarm. Oh the owning of it.
A church pressed into each of their wing slots.
A crunch press jaws the marrow. The skeleton.
The me on the floor below
sprouting an RV dimension.
I go into a fit of yes. Yes.
A slot to come out from.
A cage crate. My horn! Mein Gott!
back to the menu
Autobiography
by Danny Rivera
Danny Rivera lives in the Elmhurst neighborhood of Queens, New York, where he has his choice of three separate, distinct Chinese restaurants, all of which serve such authentic Oriental cuisine as "fried chicken wings and French fries," "fried plantains," and his personal favorite, "hot language on a platter."
Danny Rivera, who appears courtesy of his (illegal) immigrant parents, is a "writer" and part-time shoeshine boy. He is not working on a novel.
The following is a list of universities whose programs have rejected Danny Rivera, an aspiring actor and doorbell repairman from New York City: New School University, Columbia University, Brooklyn College, New York University, Hunter College and the City College of New York.
Danny Rivera is always looking for the hottest and latest fashion accessory. To this end, he is in the process of adopting an infant boy from sub-Saharan Africa. When the adoptee has outgrown his usefulness, he will be placed on the black market, which will allow Mr. Rivera ("the writer") to trade him for cases of Captain Morgan rum, back issues of Truckin' magazine, and a bowl filled to the brim with Communion wafers.
For his fifth grade class' production of the Broadway musical Oklahoma!, Danny Rivera was made to wear white tights. These tights most recently made an appearance during an impromptu performance of Big Black--Live!, held at the Chelsea Arms Motel, located on 33rd Street and 12th Avenue.
Danny Rivera was born, lives, and writes in New York City. His greatest achievement (and proudest moment) remains the at-bat in which he hit a searing inside-the-park home run in the first preseason game of 1994. Unfortunately, he has been hitless ever since.
Danny Rivera is from New York City, where the phrase "bitch better have my money" has a particular resonance, not unlike that of "I love you, but, really, what the hell is that stain?"
Autobiography
by Danny Rivera
Danny Rivera lives in the Elmhurst neighborhood of Queens, New York, where he has his choice of three separate, distinct Chinese restaurants, all of which serve such authentic Oriental cuisine as "fried chicken wings and French fries," "fried plantains," and his personal favorite, "hot language on a platter."
Danny Rivera, who appears courtesy of his (illegal) immigrant parents, is a "writer" and part-time shoeshine boy. He is not working on a novel.
The following is a list of universities whose programs have rejected Danny Rivera, an aspiring actor and doorbell repairman from New York City: New School University, Columbia University, Brooklyn College, New York University, Hunter College and the City College of New York.
Danny Rivera is always looking for the hottest and latest fashion accessory. To this end, he is in the process of adopting an infant boy from sub-Saharan Africa. When the adoptee has outgrown his usefulness, he will be placed on the black market, which will allow Mr. Rivera ("the writer") to trade him for cases of Captain Morgan rum, back issues of Truckin' magazine, and a bowl filled to the brim with Communion wafers.
For his fifth grade class' production of the Broadway musical Oklahoma!, Danny Rivera was made to wear white tights. These tights most recently made an appearance during an impromptu performance of Big Black--Live!, held at the Chelsea Arms Motel, located on 33rd Street and 12th Avenue.
Danny Rivera was born, lives, and writes in New York City. His greatest achievement (and proudest moment) remains the at-bat in which he hit a searing inside-the-park home run in the first preseason game of 1994. Unfortunately, he has been hitless ever since.
Danny Rivera is from New York City, where the phrase "bitch better have my money" has a particular resonance, not unlike that of "I love you, but, really, what the hell is that stain?"
back to the menu
Indigo-Purple Faces In The Last Stages Of Strangulation
by Christopher Barnes
It has been a numb tenure for him,
Exiguously six painting survive. Bickering
And argy-bargys with Lacy try and try.
Whitsun social whirls they wangled in England,
A B&B in St. Ives, a strand of painters
Rubbing shoulders with the delicious bosons of Devonport.
A dishevelling summer, we can't go on like this.
Patrick Procktor shadowed him through the muffling of nets,
Lit by a high seas sun.
His face was a black-hearted bruise
And the biffs of Lacy are furious
In such a lifeless tide.
Indigo-Purple Faces In The Last Stages Of Strangulation
by Christopher Barnes
It has been a numb tenure for him,
Exiguously six painting survive. Bickering
And argy-bargys with Lacy try and try.
Whitsun social whirls they wangled in England,
A B&B in St. Ives, a strand of painters
Rubbing shoulders with the delicious bosons of Devonport.
A dishevelling summer, we can't go on like this.
Patrick Procktor shadowed him through the muffling of nets,
Lit by a high seas sun.
His face was a black-hearted bruise
And the biffs of Lacy are furious
In such a lifeless tide.
back to the menu
Captain Ass-Gasket
by Ray Succre
Craig was a pop-in, sway,
and a massive whack to the ears -
he'd create long lists
of insults that were interchangeable.
"Yeah, well you're a damned [X - Y]."
X was something like
doggy, shitty, captain, masturbating,
and Y would be
fucktard, bandito, 69er, ass-gasket.
He was full of black water.
He hitched onto the forefrontal fads.
He left my acquaintanceship
as quickly as he had entered. A pop-in.
Then he moved off into a town that
mounted him and crackled.
Shortly after, a chain performed,
hanging him in a small apartment, sway,
Craig, where paramedics resolved him
interchanged and gone.
Captain Ass-Gasket
by Ray Succre
Craig was a pop-in, sway,
and a massive whack to the ears -
he'd create long lists
of insults that were interchangeable.
"Yeah, well you're a damned [X - Y]."
X was something like
doggy, shitty, captain, masturbating,
and Y would be
fucktard, bandito, 69er, ass-gasket.
He was full of black water.
He hitched onto the forefrontal fads.
He left my acquaintanceship
as quickly as he had entered. A pop-in.
Then he moved off into a town that
mounted him and crackled.
Shortly after, a chain performed,
hanging him in a small apartment, sway,
Craig, where paramedics resolved him
interchanged and gone.
back to the menu
Went to See Dan Bern
by Steven Dube
Went to see Dan Bern
The man in front of me
turned to me
and said it's like having God
in front of you
Later he yelled out
Dan your shirt is inside out
Dan replied
It is
It looks good either way
Went to see Dan Bern
play at Maxwells
in Hoboken
New Jersey
There was a restaurant
in front
In back
there was a stage
Dan pronounced Hoboken
incorrectly
Went to see Dan Bern
He said
Hoboken is plain
in his in-between-song
banter
He said this is as close
as I get to New York City
this year
He pronounced Hoboken
slow
two-worded
Went to see Dan Bern
I tipped the bartender
in gold coins
I received from the PATH
train
Went to see Dan Bern
My girlfriend turned to me
while Dan
sang the Beatles
and asked
Does he always wear that
referring to his barefoot feet
paint-stained shorts
inside-out polo shirt
No I said
he usually has shoes
the paint-stained shorts
but almost always wears
cut-off Ts
Went to see Dan Bern
He played songs about marrying
himself
getting married to go fishing
with grandpa
how man
must know his potential
a short political poem
in praise of the 22nd amendment
Went to see Dan Bern
A man with boils in his hair
yelled out
Dan did you write
a song about Deep Throat
yet
No did you
Dan responded
Later the man
left the show early
to get in line
for the late show
Went to See Dan Bern
by Steven Dube
Went to see Dan Bern
The man in front of me
turned to me
and said it's like having God
in front of you
Later he yelled out
Dan your shirt is inside out
Dan replied
It is
It looks good either way
Went to see Dan Bern
play at Maxwells
in Hoboken
New Jersey
There was a restaurant
in front
In back
there was a stage
Dan pronounced Hoboken
incorrectly
Went to see Dan Bern
He said
Hoboken is plain
in his in-between-song
banter
He said this is as close
as I get to New York City
this year
He pronounced Hoboken
slow
two-worded
Went to see Dan Bern
I tipped the bartender
in gold coins
I received from the PATH
train
Went to see Dan Bern
My girlfriend turned to me
while Dan
sang the Beatles
and asked
Does he always wear that
referring to his barefoot feet
paint-stained shorts
inside-out polo shirt
No I said
he usually has shoes
the paint-stained shorts
but almost always wears
cut-off Ts
Went to see Dan Bern
He played songs about marrying
himself
getting married to go fishing
with grandpa
how man
must know his potential
a short political poem
in praise of the 22nd amendment
Went to see Dan Bern
A man with boils in his hair
yelled out
Dan did you write
a song about Deep Throat
yet
No did you
Dan responded
Later the man
left the show early
to get in line
for the late show
back to the menu
dear juanita
by Neil Corl
in a car
driving through chicago in the hazy summer.
i remembered those yellow bicycles
in sacramento and milan.
where the wedding pictures were taken and
left in the bottom drawer of a desk under the window
you told me to jump out of one morning.
i wasn't awake.
pale yellow mercedes
one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour
falling asleep at the wheel
talking about abraham lincoln
explaining him to you
how fucking strange
that someone didn't know who he was
you disappeared
when i found you in a cafe
quietly flirting
with the entire room
you laughed at me
for worrying
i got you back
in the shower
before you moved in with the priest
and before you fucked shelby.
he told me one morning
in a sacramento dive bar
the last city in which i ever saw
either of you
unlikely sister cities
milan and sacramento
i was living in san francisco
stole a car one night
a convertible
1965 Buick Special
white with a red interior
needed somewhere to go
your mother told me, allesandra
she needa college
no marry my allesandra
she needa college
she said that over
and over
while you were upstairs
with your little sister.
it was seven am
hadn't seen him since milan
he called when he moved
back to the states
he called here the states
such the expatriate male model
that shelby.
he said he would look me up sometime
but i looked him up first
at seven am
in a stolen car
i went running in naples
after we drove down from milan
to meet your family
she needa college
she needa college
running through my brain
running through your filthy naples
the shower was great
until rebecca reached inside the curtain
and let go of
that bird
i took him downtown
and made him
drink wild turkey.
he told me he knew
about the bird in the shower
he asked me if i knew
about you two.
he said he was sorry
but that he couldn't
help himself
you were so
beautiful
birds make greek boys like me
panic
too many omens:
aunt catherine, athens 1974,
so many candles.
i got scared
her wrist i pulled
into the shower
the bird flying around
her clothes wet
they came undone
and i
and she
and the bird
i could tell
that you were the
absolute conquest
of his life.
we went swimming
in his pool later that morning
i asked him if he ever met
your little sister
he said no
then you don't know
about the bird in the shower
now do you?
it was so clever
the way you returned
my letter to me,
crossing out your name
at the top
replacing it with mine
alex
the name that you gave me
your father showed me what you
wrote in the margins of his
dictionary
when you were
a little girl
crossing out my name
at the bottom
and writing yours
juanita
the name you gave yourself
in its place
i especially admired
the lack of a post-script
neat and clean, no fuss
that was you
juanita:
god's gift to men.
just like it says
in your papa's
dizionario
dear juanita
by Neil Corl
in a car
driving through chicago in the hazy summer.
i remembered those yellow bicycles
in sacramento and milan.
where the wedding pictures were taken and
left in the bottom drawer of a desk under the window
you told me to jump out of one morning.
i wasn't awake.
pale yellow mercedes
one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour
falling asleep at the wheel
talking about abraham lincoln
explaining him to you
how fucking strange
that someone didn't know who he was
you disappeared
when i found you in a cafe
quietly flirting
with the entire room
you laughed at me
for worrying
i got you back
in the shower
before you moved in with the priest
and before you fucked shelby.
he told me one morning
in a sacramento dive bar
the last city in which i ever saw
either of you
unlikely sister cities
milan and sacramento
i was living in san francisco
stole a car one night
a convertible
1965 Buick Special
white with a red interior
needed somewhere to go
your mother told me, allesandra
she needa college
no marry my allesandra
she needa college
she said that over
and over
while you were upstairs
with your little sister.
it was seven am
hadn't seen him since milan
he called when he moved
back to the states
he called here the states
such the expatriate male model
that shelby.
he said he would look me up sometime
but i looked him up first
at seven am
in a stolen car
i went running in naples
after we drove down from milan
to meet your family
she needa college
she needa college
running through my brain
running through your filthy naples
the shower was great
until rebecca reached inside the curtain
and let go of
that bird
i took him downtown
and made him
drink wild turkey.
he told me he knew
about the bird in the shower
he asked me if i knew
about you two.
he said he was sorry
but that he couldn't
help himself
you were so
beautiful
birds make greek boys like me
panic
too many omens:
aunt catherine, athens 1974,
so many candles.
i got scared
her wrist i pulled
into the shower
the bird flying around
her clothes wet
they came undone
and i
and she
and the bird
i could tell
that you were the
absolute conquest
of his life.
we went swimming
in his pool later that morning
i asked him if he ever met
your little sister
he said no
then you don't know
about the bird in the shower
now do you?
it was so clever
the way you returned
my letter to me,
crossing out your name
at the top
replacing it with mine
alex
the name that you gave me
your father showed me what you
wrote in the margins of his
dictionary
when you were
a little girl
crossing out my name
at the bottom
and writing yours
juanita
the name you gave yourself
in its place
i especially admired
the lack of a post-script
neat and clean, no fuss
that was you
juanita:
god's gift to men.
just like it says
in your papa's
dizionario
back to the menu
by Mike Topp
WAR
In November 1915 Chief Secretary of
Ireland Augustine Birrell said, "I, for
one, would forbid the use, during the
war, of poetry."
PRONUNCIATION POEM
Change challenges
Connecticut.
AS IT TURNS OUT
As it turns out they have relaxed the
restrictions and I think your son
should reapply. Make sure he wears
protective clothing since he will most
likely appear before one with a bird
head, one with a rat head, and one
with the head of a snake.
by Mike Topp
WAR
In November 1915 Chief Secretary of
Ireland Augustine Birrell said, "I, for
one, would forbid the use, during the
war, of poetry."
PRONUNCIATION POEM
Change challenges
Connecticut.
AS IT TURNS OUT
As it turns out they have relaxed the
restrictions and I think your son
should reapply. Make sure he wears
protective clothing since he will most
likely appear before one with a bird
head, one with a rat head, and one
with the head of a snake.
back to the menu
by Mike Topp
Pleasurable
How pleasurable
it is to
have two moustaches.
Theory
Theoretically if you take all the blood vessels out of your body and laid them end to end you would die.
JUSTINE AND I
Justine and I were in the elevator when we heard an eerie sound from the ceiling. To me it sounded like a celestial choir but to Justine it sounded like a cat. We got off on the wrong floor and then we heard it again, only this time much louder. I was positive it was Mascagni's "Cavalleria Rusticana" but Justine stuck to her cat theory.
by Mike Topp
Pleasurable
How pleasurable
it is to
have two moustaches.
Theory
Theoretically if you take all the blood vessels out of your body and laid them end to end you would die.
JUSTINE AND I
Justine and I were in the elevator when we heard an eerie sound from the ceiling. To me it sounded like a celestial choir but to Justine it sounded like a cat. We got off on the wrong floor and then we heard it again, only this time much louder. I was positive it was Mascagni's "Cavalleria Rusticana" but Justine stuck to her cat theory.
back to the menu
Personal Belonging
by Andrew Sage
I have brought everything I need into this place.
There is nothing I need that is not here
And everything that is here I need. When I leave
I will take with me everything that is here
And none of it will be needed in the place I go to.
Personal Belonging
by Andrew Sage
I have brought everything I need into this place.
There is nothing I need that is not here
And everything that is here I need. When I leave
I will take with me everything that is here
And none of it will be needed in the place I go to.
back to the menu
Good Luck to You, Strangler!
by Gregory Crosby
What a terrible thing, to grow old
in a poem — to outlive Doctor Fun
(Who will prescribe our placeboes
now? Why is a raven like
a childproof cap?)... Fingers,
a cracked knuckle sandwich;
the garrote uncoiled, ends
a-frayed.
He draws his shawl & coughs
& rasps If only all language
had one throat.
Meanwhile...
outside [vault=azure]:
[un]seen stirring:
leaves [viridian = ∞]
[branches black not black
brackets black not brackish
branching not branching
for one bracket one branch
may hide another]
absolutely
everything
is swimming
by & by
Good Luck to You, Strangler!
by Gregory Crosby
What a terrible thing, to grow old
in a poem — to outlive Doctor Fun
(Who will prescribe our placeboes
now? Why is a raven like
a childproof cap?)... Fingers,
a cracked knuckle sandwich;
the garrote uncoiled, ends
a-frayed.
He draws his shawl & coughs
& rasps If only all language
had one throat.
Meanwhile...
outside [vault=azure]:
[un]seen stirring:
leaves [viridian = ∞]
[branches black not black
brackets black not brackish
branching not branching
for one bracket one branch
may hide another]
absolutely
everything
is swimming
by & by
back to the menu
by Mike Topp
UNTITLED
I got a great job last Friday
but the pay is too low and the
work I do is humiliating.
MY GIRLFRIEND
My girlfriend got a bottled waterbed.
A FJORD
In Norway
I never saw a Fjord
But one day
I saw a Chjevrolet.
by Mike Topp
UNTITLED
I got a great job last Friday
but the pay is too low and the
work I do is humiliating.
MY GIRLFRIEND
My girlfriend got a bottled waterbed.
A FJORD
In Norway
I never saw a Fjord
But one day
I saw a Chjevrolet.