Posts Tagged ‘Poem-A-Day’

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#10)

Tuesday, January 7th, 2014

poem a day Jan 7th

poem a day january date and about

sean k

Sean Kilpatrick is currently writing an extended script for Out for Justice in which the villain, Richie, is not simply tossed at kitchen appliances with cheap judo, but has his bastardly say, including the following commercial stint

 

Ode to William Forsyth

 

              by Sean Kilpatrick

 

 


poem a day Jan 7th - copia

I asked my friend Gerard Breitenbeck to portraypoem a day january date and about - copia sublime crack-smoking mafia rampage screen icon Richie, who is brought down way too quick by Steven Segal in Out for Justice. From an ode in progress honoring actor William Forsythe.
 

poem a day Jan 7th - copia

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day Jan 7th - copia

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#9)

Tuesday, December 17th, 2013

poem a day Gary 1

poem a day dec 17 - copia

4 (1)

Gary J. Shipley was grown from man-seed using the very latest hydroponics


 
 

BE SKUNK

 
 

by Gary J. Shipley

 
 
 
poem a day sam pink strip

***

You got to be always skunk. There’s fuck all else to say – it’s the only stink there is. How else you gonna save yourself from the weak-assed perfume of just being okay, if you can’t stink it up more than them reekers too afraid to reek of anything?

What genus? Spotted, hog-nosed, hooded, any one’ll do. Just be that cunting skunk!

And if it happens, and it will, that you stink so good and proper people reckon you ambrosial, ask around for someone with a nose for anal air, death-row inmates, ambulance men, porn stars, plastic surgeons, any fuckwit with a voice, and ask them what it is they cannot smell, and the death-row inmate, the ambulance man, the porn star, the plastic surgeon will give it to you straight: “If you’re going to smell you might as well really stink like shit. Or else risk not being smelled at all, so go be skunk, skunk yourself the fuck up! And don’t stress the genus any, spotted, hog-nosed, hooded, malodour is where it’s at and always its own reward.”

***

poem a day sam pink strip - copia
 
poem a day about this poem dec 17I imagine ol’ raisin-nuts Baudelaire turning slowly yellow, his tits in a sack, his liver like a pockmarked turd, and I long to save him from all kinds of intoxication. I want to preserve him for unborn generations, who will recognise him not by sight but by the cut of his scent, a scent I’m proud to have initiated and prouder still to spread.
 
 
poem a day sam pink strip - copia

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

 
poem a day sam pink strip - copia
poem a day Gary 1 - copia (4)
poem a day sam pink strip - copia

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#8)

Saturday, December 7th, 2013

poem a day dying

poem a day dying dec 7th

Nina_Gagen-Torn_1900-1986

Nina Gagen-Torn (1900-1986) spent 1936-1942 in the Kolyma labor camps

 

The Dying

 

by Nina Gagen-Torn

 

What does it mean—exhaustion?
What does it mean—fatigue?
Every movement is terrifying,
Every movement of your painful arms and legs
Terrible hunger—Raving over bread
“Bread, bread,” the heart beats.
Far away in the gloomy sky,
The indifferent sun turns.
Your breath is a thin whistle
It’s minus fifty degrees
What does it mean—dying?
The mountains look on, and remain silent.

 
 
When I’m not drafting up posts about “positivity” (for poem a day dying about this poem- copiaand against) I like to read books like Gulag by Anne Applebaum. The 16th chapter of Gulag begins with this poem. (I am staring out now at the sky). Proximity to death, in Art or in life, fills my veins with a kind of icy fire.

 
 

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#7)

Monday, December 2nd, 2013

poem a day sam pink

poem a day dec 2 date - copia

IMG0031

Sam Pink’s looking for a rich ‘big beautiful woman’ to take him to AWP — (“i’m a mobstaaaaah”)


 

DOG STORY

 
 

by Sam Pink

 
 
 
 
poem a day sam pink strip

***

there’s this dog that lives a few blocks away from me. i always see him lying down in a fenced-in patio area out back. one time i saw a guy walking his dog by the fenced-in patio area and the guy stopped and stood there distracted–talking on his cellphone–as his dog pissed on the head of the dog lying down, who didn’t move.

***

 
poem a day sam pink strip - copia

poem a day sam pink about this poem
i wrote this poem after rauan asked me if i had any poems. the main inspiration is a dog i saw getting pissed on, and also, rauan asking me for a poem.
 
 
poem a day sam pink strip - copia

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day sam pink animal

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#6)

Saturday, November 23rd, 2013

poem a day danielle 2- copia

danille selfie

Danielle Pafunda resists the day’s terms even as she’s complicit in and bound to them, to carry them out. The children are calling that Playmobil cop Uncle Shootser, again. She’s taking unflattering pictures, no, she means just actual pictures of her navel while she reads Elisabeth Bronfen.

Your Conscript

by Danielle Pafunda

 

Get the fuck away from me. I’m sick and free.
I’ve puked my heart out and also my other organs.

My liver spills, my kidneys spilled, my blood
turns the color of a nuclear sunset and hums across

the spoiled garden path. I’ve been at these stones
with a shotgun. I’ve been nailing the doors shut.

In any event, I drowned your book in the river.
At the river, two large men grabbed my arms

and pinned me against a shipping container.
They tore your words out of my throat and held them

in the pink arc cast by a security light. Give him up
they told me, and I did. Over and over again

retching into their outstretched sack, retching
money and grief and the look of your hair

plastered down by an oily rain.

poem a day danielle strip
poem a day danielle about this poemWhen I first ate that rat after I first regurgitated that rat (see Johannes) and wouldn’t you know that rat was high on cocaine and babies (see Scientific American January 2006) I had the tongue of a songbird stitched into my tongue (see Chelsea Biondolillo, see Katrina Van Gouw, see Philomela). A blank spot on my tongue. A salt scar on my tongue. I only speak English. I make a high-pitched whinny at which babies coo (see babies). I can identify tone. You have your search terms.

poem a day danielle strip

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day danielle strip

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#5)

Monday, November 18th, 2013

poem a day lilly
poem a day nov 18

apple and i

Lillian Dylan lives alone. She dyes her hair every other week. All 300 of her facebook friends are gay. She likes it that way.

              Stink

by Lillian Dylan

I wake up and I miss you
I stink down there and I want to kill myself
but not for the same reasons I wanted to kill myself yesterday
when I stunk a lot more

My eyes burn from smoke you blew in my face
sometimes I need a reminder and you give it to me
there’s a mosquito
It’s 7:20am and I never get up this early but you’re not here
I smack myself over and over

that’s how I fall like a forgetful feminist
and forgetting and forgetting and forgetting I will cum the moment
I picture you standing against the wall so cool
you like the way I move and that’s strange
I’ve always felt my ass was too flat
I slap myself again
the mosquito in my ear is dead or I’m
bleeding I don’t know I hope I’m bleeding
(I think about you fucking me wherever you want)
it’s been over a month
There’s a ringing in my ear
the phone stopped ringing yesterday (it’s not the phone)
(and like a good feminist I feel like shit)
I’ve never had it in the ear before
and I am waking again
to the thought of coming on your cock
and the mosquitoes are back, fucker

poem a day lilly - strip

poem a day about this poem purpleThis poem is the result of a combination of two journal entries: one about my ex-boyfriend and another about my current boyfriend. The parts about loss refer to the former, the parts about sex, the latter. I write in my journal about sex and loss a lot because those are the two things I feel I have experienced most in my life. Although I don’t think of myself as a poet, I like the idea of taking things written in my journal and turning them into little crystal-like objects that I can observe, neatly, and throw away. I am currently in a loving 24/7 BDSM relationship.This is my first published poem.

poem a day lilly - strip

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day lilly - strip

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#4)

Wednesday, November 13th, 2013

poem a day sandra

poem a day nov 13

sandrinista

Sandra Simonds lives a pretty boring life in Tallahassee, Florida. She works as a professor in Thomasville, Georgia. She is always tired. Sometimes she parks her car in random parking lots and just sits there and listens to music.

Poem Composed Entirely Of Lines From My Stalker

by Sandra Simonds

He doesn’t love you It’s just a way for him
to feel less lonely in his love for me Hope you got some
money to take care of your AIDS and keep
your ignorant mouth shut Hope that you end up
committing suicide If you care
about your life at all you will SHUT THE
FUCK UP WHORE You greasy slimy jstinky
mentally Jewish nasty whore Kill yourself
cunt I will FIND YOU (Namaste) If you care about
your life at all (Namaste) you will SHUT THE
FUCK UP WHORE I am tall witty thin blonde Sorry
If I see one FUCKING THING about me anywhere I am coming
to your house Men of power and influence have been
and are attracted to me You’re writing is
GARBAGE Yes people in the world
Move They
Change You moron you can’t even pronounce “koan”
Sometimes even beautiful poets who come
from money such as myself fall in love
with poor white trash alcoholics and go the south
and live with them a few years Enjoy the charity people
who want their dicks sucked Women get
divorced It is
awful DOG don’t give your kids AIDS
You should commit suicide Believe it! I’m rooting
for you You only had them
so you could be a “mommy poet” (Namaste)

poem a day sandra strip

poem a day about this poemIn some sense, this is a conceptual piece of writing in that it takes verbatim language delivered in one context (the stalker to me) and subverts it by delivering it back (me to the world) in an entirely different context/ new audience. It moves from the private (email) to the public (website) and in this sense it moves from the relationship of abuse (me and the stalker) to the relationship of reality/ sympathy and understanding (me and my other social relations). I would have never dreamed that I would write this sort of poem a year ago, but after having been stalked and harassed by this person for so long, after having called the police, after having ignored the stalker and fought back, I felt like writing the poem was my last recourse.
 
poem a day sandra strip

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day sandra strip

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#3)

Friday, November 8th, 2013

poem a day behrle

poem a day nov 8

 

The Penis List

Jim Dead

Jim Behrle was recently featured in “Kill List” as a comfortable poet. It’s possible that he is the least famous poet to earn such a distinction. He lives in Jersey City, NJ. By day he wears a green t-shirt and a nametag at a university bookstore, fetching textbooks for people with bright futures. He lives his broken dreams, a famous internet poetry troll, he’s probably better known for crap like “Best American Poetry: The Cartoon”, “Stone Cold Poetry Bitches” and “What the Hell is Up With Your Author Photo?” Behrle really has to get more of that Ruth Lilly money somehow.

by Jim Behrle

Jim Behrle has a half inch penis
The Kill List Kid has a three inch penis
Vanessa Place has a six inch penis
Billy Collins has a four inch penis

The Poetry Foundation has a $100 million penis
But Poetry Magazine has a two inch penis
Your iphone is a mile long penis that’s
Always secretly fucking you

When you look at your iphone think “penis”
Google is a huge penis sticking out of
Everything everywhere
And where ever you go you bump into them all

Poetry is a huge warm wonderful vagina
But everyone treats it like a narrow
Tight, unbreakable asshole that only
One penis at a time can fit in so

You’ve got to out-penis everyone else
Manhattan and Brooklyn take an inch off
America’s penis is old and gross
But we’re working on it now 

The internet takes a half
Inch off your penis, snip, snip
Let’s just cut off all penises
Or yank them all out by the root

What will survive is love
And penises usually fuck that up, too

 

poem a day behrle strip

poem a day about this poemKafka once wrote “We are incapable of loving, only fear excites us.” Behrle quotes this all the time, it is the only thing he’s ever read from Kafka. And he wants to sound smart. This poem began as a long list of poets and their perceived penis lengths but once he got to the line about Billy Collins penis he lost his stomach and turned it into something else. Vanessa Place’s penis on the other hand kills poetry every night, aw yeah. Behrle. . .

poem a day behrle strip

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day behrle strip

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#2)

Monday, November 4th, 2013

poem a day Seth2

poem a day Nov 4th

 "Seth Abramson" is a Google Alert.

“Seth Abramson” is a Google Alert.

What I Read When I Read “Monsters” By Dorothea Lasky (Which I Read)
 

by Seth Abramson

This is a world where there are poets
There are poets everywhere, neo-formalists and conceptualists
There are poets on Twitter, there are poets in my bed.
There is one poet. She is my little one.
I talk to my little poet.
I give my little poet some Stevia but that does not satisfy her.
I tell her, ssh ssh, don’t growl little poet!
And she growls, oh boy does she growl!
And she wants something from me,
She wants my soul.
And finally giving in, I give her my gleaming soul
And as she eats my gleaming soul, I am one with her
And stare out her eyepits [sic] and I see nothing but white
And then I see nothing but fog and the white I had seen before was nothing
but fog
And there is nothing but fog out the eyes of poets

poem a day Seth strip
 
poem a day about this poem When I was six or seven, I skinned my knee. It’s an experience that’s never really left me. This is a poem about that. And the magic of poetry. It’s called “Ars Poetica,” which means “small gift” in Latin. This poem owes a significant debt to Dottie Lasky and also to the magic of poetry. 
 
poem a day Seth strip
 

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day Seth strip

POEM-A-DAY from THE ACADEMY OF AMERICAN LUNATICS (#1)

Monday, October 28th, 2013

poem a day lunatics

poem a day oct 28th

 

A Good Titty Is Hard To Find

Reb with glove

Reb Livingston has amassed 2250 Facebook friends, 876 Twitter followers, 625 Google+ circle inclusions, 568 Goodreads friends, 309 Pinterest followers, 234 LInkedIn connections and has been awarded an impressive 60 Klout score. Upon turning 40, Ms. Livingston was unanimously declared the champion of the Male Series of Middle Aged Poets, the first woman to achieve this honor since the award’s inception in 1919. She resides in Northern Virginia with her husband, son, dog and a solitary fish named Wolverine who just won’t die.

by Reb Livingston

O if I had two titties to rub
together I would rub them
together until together they
created one good one

and I’d strut around with
my one good titty
that I’d push up with my firm palm
imagining that it was your firm palm

and I’d keep it in place with packing tape
imagining that it was your packing tape
and eventually my one good titty
would spill over

my custom one-tittied tape bra and
disappear into my scoop neck crop top
but before it did
I’d use my one good titty to pound your face

like my titty was some soap in a sock
participating in a retribution

my sweetness, please, give my one
good titty, a little more timepoem poets are special
to settle and

stretch into a lithe hand of delight.

 

poem a day strip
 
poem a day about this poemOne morning I woke up very sad. So I decided that since I was a poet, I would express my sadness in poem form. This poem explores the concepts of friction, combination, sexuality, gender, aging, gravity, fashion, metamorphosis, violence and love. The titty works as metaphor for a much larger idea. 

note: I’ve started this feature up as a kind of homage and alternative (a companion series, if you will) to the incredible work Alex Dimitrov and the rest of the team at the The Academy of American Poets are doing. I mean it’s astonishing how they are able to get masterpieces of such stature out to the masses on an almost daily basis. But, some poems, though formidable in their own right, aren’t quite right for that pantheon. And, so I’m planning on bridging the gap. A kind of complementary series. Enjoy!

poem a day strip