Untitled

and sometimes i write more
like Bukowski
when i'd really rather be writing
like Berryman
and sometimes i just want to be wanted
more than anything
like O'Hara
and i wrote a poem once on a blank page
in the back of
The Great Fires
and i found it two years later
and everything about it was still
true
and sometimes i'm still alone
at 12:52 a.m.
and you're in bed and everything
has changed
and nothing has changed and
i'm still writing these poems
and your still far away somewhere
one room over

Observations made while running on a treadmill at Fort Gordon

Pvts. not being very

private

about scratching

their privates

in front

of a mirrored wall

reflecting

their minds like

mirages

of who they want

to be

or be with

in

    private

(besides themselves)

maybe

just once?

On a June Day

I was cutting through the heat

on my Trek bike

Winding past the Barbee Hotel

stopping at the bridge

To admire the beastly carp creeping

near the mouth of a drainage pipe

Getting lost the way everybody should

on a June day

But not the same way you did

Misplacing your body parts in a dried up

river bed

Shattering yourself from the ground

up disconnecting         this

            limb

                        from that

                                                limb

Confusing hands for feet for flesh for bone

for dirt

I still find pieces of you everywhere

Disconnected at the Hips

"I accept the fact that as a ranger, my country expects me to move further, faster, and fight harder than any other soldier." 
     --Ranger Creed

Disconnected at the Hips

my days stop

for maybe twenty minutes

before the next one

begins

they call this droning

i quit wearing underwear

last week

you know? to save time

and i started chewing

tree bark

yesterday, i saw a black bear

but nobody believes me

and the day before

i split my pants

my nutsack just hung there

like a tree ornament

since i wasn’t wearing undies

and all

today, i sold my lunch for forty bucks

to a private from boston

he pronounces hooters

whoo-das

i could definitely go for some hot wings

and a beer

well, i’m getting ready to jump

into the everglades now

by the way

i really miss you

*****************

This is my Mary Ruefle imitation poem. I tried to create something that seemed disconnected and "fragmented" like the original title was. But I also wanted to create a world that seems outside of reality.  This poem was inspired by letters my husband wrote me during his time  at Army Ranger School. 

Jay Dee Lewis

Going through old pictures. This is my grandpa Jay. A man that has been the inspiration for several of my poems and my life in general. 

Donkey On by Mary Ruefle

(This poem can be found in Trances of the Blast. Published by Wave Books)

Donkey On

When I am alone I make a sound
the lord does not understand.
Then he makes the sound of a helicopter receding.
Then my sound goes after his sound.

My sound sounds like an ordinary bowl of oatmeal
that can sometimes be almost liquid
and sometimes effect a crust.

His sound is small and bitter,
capable of great strength
and universal flowering,
as if the world will never stop expanding
once helicopters are gone.

Of course, I can only make one sound a year
so sometimes it sounds like
Please guess what I want to tell you

And he says
Without a mother it would be good to know English?

And I press this question into a photograph album
without a comma,

which is severely inadequate to the task of
reconstructing a life.

So I say
Perhaps I am too handmade?

And he says
It is spring, I am the peppermint king!

And then he does something generous:
he drops me a private year
wrapped in plastic,
tied up with string.

The only question is how to spend it,
so I carry it on my back
like a mule bringing ice cream
to the sun.

****************************

This poem is odd and brilliant and I doubt I understand all that is going on here, but that doesn't  mean I can't enjoy how weirdly amazing it is. I like this idea of the helicopters, and that God sounds like a "helicopter receding." I'm not sure that she is playing with the idea of war and when she says the world will endlessly expand once helicopters are gone? But regardless, I like that very odd idea. I also enjoy the dialogue between her and God, because it's like they have their own understanding of one another. I love that he says, "It is spring, I am the peppermint king!" because that just seems very childish of God to say and I think that is funny. I also love that I'm left with the image of a mule carrying ice cream to the sun.

No One Would Be Home by Noelle Kocot

No One Would Be Home by Noelle Kocot (This poem can be found in The Bigger World. Published by Wave Books)


Ann finally let go of her
Dead husband. She wrote him
A letter, burned his name in
A candle on her stove,
She took his aftershave
And razor that were sitting
On her dresser and threw
Them away. She then took
His pictures that lined her
Computer desk and put them
All on the dresser. She felt
The need to tell the world,
But now the world looked
So big, and Ann was small,
Like her name. Would she ever
Find someone new? What
God wills. She wasn't at all
Concerned, but needed to be
Ready to obey. She took
The garbage out and had
Some iced tea. She called
Her best friend and left a short
Message. Dinner was imminent,
And tonight it would not be alone.
She quieted herself, she
Quieted herself, and realized that
When she left, no one would be home.

*****************************

The reason I really enjoy this poem is because it just reads very quietly, yet the realization that one's husband is dead and nobody will be home when she left is incredibly heartbreaking. I love how it says everything without saying anything overly emotional. "But now the world looked/So big, and Ann was small,/ Like her name." Instead of being dramatic and emotional she writes passages like this that sum her feeling up very simply and brilliantly. 

Old 15

And dry roads. 

Chapman

Ready for open water again.