Sunday, April 30, 2006


still breath across the vastness of some sugar-moss coated green river running past the inner eye of a man. hanuches spanning the blank expressions his neglected reflect. she wonders where the advantage lies. while feet of bears pace the composition of euphony and tragedy remarkable. the reunion was sprinting. she understood better. like tree bark his lips curled as he bled. mother's rug. the silken skin of a man in winter.


the protest rests
at my finger tips;
dry, cracking skin
condition - spreading
across my grip.

making something
out of nothing;
the dry skin of
one finger.

Saturday, April 29, 2006

=^_^= kitty news alert =^_^=

shou tayyoub!!
dear readers and friends,
i would like to introduce you to the newest member of the acheson clan. his name is The Mighty Jagrafess of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxarodenfoe, but we call him Max. we've just returned home from meeting him; we can't bring him home for another 4 or 5 weeks, as he's still a wee little critter. nevertheless, i thought you might like to meet him and get to know him. he will no doubt start appearing in my poetry (as cats have a cunning way of manipulting the human mind).
kawaii no neko yo!!!
p.s. sorry the pics are a little dark and fuzzy, we didn't want to upset his mightyness with the flash. his itty bitty kitten like eyes might have been hurt. (he's mighty, but he's still a baby!)

Friday, April 28, 2006

the misguided ramblings of

am not one to go off on long tangential outbursts on my blog (i reserve that behavior for my emails to ashraf mostly). though, on occasion i feel the need (excuse me, the urge) to do so. so am.

in any case, this is my blog and i'll do whatever i please. this has never been a poetry-only blog and will never become one. in part because i don't *just* write poetry. i also write long-winded useless prose about doctor who (wherein i lose just about anyone i write to about it, except ryan who loses me instead).

for all of you who did not follow the doctor who link in my previous not-a-poem post probably never will. you defiantly won't if you read michelle's comment about having assigned months worth of reading. so here i present to you and as-short-as-you're-ever-gonna-get-it version of the answer to "what is doctor who?":

doctor who is a british tv show staring a time and space traveling time lord (alien) who refers to himself as "the doctor" (hence the show's name) whose space ship looks like a 1950's british police box known to the knowing as the TARDIS. he travels with one, two and sometimes even three 'companions' who help him on his journeys through time and space saving this world or the other from universal evils.

now, why is doctor who so important? because it's very first episode was meant to air on november 22nd 1963. recognize the date? it's the day jfk was assassinated. the show was postponed one week. yes, you heard me right. doctor who is 43 years old!! the longest running tv show in the history of all history.

how'd they manage that, then? actors get old and rot and die like normal people, don't they? yes, but here's the key element to the show... it's SCIENCE FICTION. meaning, the doctor is an alien who can be and is played by all of 10 different actors to date (william h, patrick t, john p, tom b, peter d, colin b, sly m, paul m, chris e, and now david t).

interested in catching up on all the doctor and friends have to offer? borders seem to have the biggest selection of dvds, but be warned, it'll take you approximately 43 years to catch up on the episodes/adventures aired on tv. then there are the radio-plays, novelizations and picture-adventures (like comics but with real slides of the characters from lost adventures)... and guess what? there's a spin-off show now too! [personal aside: (i can't believe the guy from shark attach 3 has his own tv show)]

since the new series of doctor who aired in the spring of 2005, ryan and i have been watching the new series like it's our religion (staying in saturday nights for 13 weeks in a row in hopes that our diety (the internet) will be all giving and moving in order for us to watch the show as soon as electronically possible) meanwhile watching countless episodes/adventures of the old series. as of yet, i have only seen all the adventures of only 3 of the 10 doctors (including paul who played the doctor in the bbc american made-for-tv movie).

all that, just in case you were wondering, is what i am doing with my life at the moment. in very exciting news that you won't give two hoots about; I GET TO MEET SARGENT BENTON!!!!! and if i get the nerve up enough, am totally going to ask him to dance with me at the ball ^_^ (that's right, doctor who convention and a ball. because doctor who fans know how to do it up, mo fo.

onto my next topic. the other thing i am doing with my life is eating ice cream. no, not like, excessively. with the spring on cape cod, with the daffodils blossoming on the edge of every windy road, also comes the opening of ice cream parlors. ryan and my favorite place to stop in and get a scoop is called the polar cave. why it is our favorite: 1. the ice cream is from bliss dairy which use lots and lots of cream in their ice cream which makes it extra delicious 2. they make waffle cones to order 3. mark, the owner and patron, is a brit 4. his daughter kelsey is like 8 and runs the register 5. it's overall just an adorable and pink happy place. am secretly (it's not a secret any more is it?) hoping that we'll be going there this weekend at some point (ryan?).

and in order to work off all that ice cream, i have started running/jogging/walkingwithalimbbecausethere'sastitchinmysidefrom-tryinglikeafooltorunupareallysteephill again. have been hauling buns for 30 to 45 minutes the past two days, hopefully i can keep it up. while hauling (let's just call it that, because it sounds like a lot of work, which it is when you've been a doctor who flavored coach potato for the past 8 months) i've been listening to ryan's psp which hosts an array of david bowie, blonie, andrew w.k., and other misc music. have discovered today that my absolute favorite david bowie song is miracle goodnight (which i would link here but don't have the energy or know-how, as in, i am not that clever so ask me and i will email it to you or something). this is the epitomy of david bowie as a sex god. he oozes sensual maturity, wisdom, provocative playfulness, oh, how i could go on and on...

but think that, actually, i have gone on way too much as it is.

consider this though, i haven't even told you about animal crossing, the tulips blooming in my front yard, roco loco... maybe next time ^_-

Thursday, April 27, 2006

the 21st apocalypse

all the department stores have shut
on account of the emergency

the trash collectors are on strike

residents are fleeing their homes
like mice from sinking cruise liners

the clouds are turning black in the dim sky

ants are scurrying in mobs without order
and birds are flying in odd letter formations
(i saw a flock of sparrows flying in a G)

the chaos and tumult of a modern-day apocalypse
the end of the world

because someone has mistreated
their toaster for the last time

brought to you by machines with feelings

the life of tammy

tammy started wearing nail polish when she was 4. her mom bought her a bottle of revlon at the local pharmacy; the one on belmont and river. she painted her own toes, let her mom do her fingers. she used the entire bottle by her 5th birthday. she asked for more colors, asked for glitter, asked for cotton balls and remover. a beautician was born.

tammy got her first purse when she was 7. she saw it at toys'r'us in the barbie isle. pink with a bright blue-and-yellow flower; glittery plastic. every girl's dream. she'd gone there herself, to get out of the rain, waiting until her mom go off work from the ihop across the lot. without any money, but with enough motivation. a thief was born. the bag stayed in her locker at school until school got out for the year. she told her mom a friend lent it to her for the summer.

more on the life of tammy later.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

am hoping to, one day, be the proud owner of this stupidly cool watch. i will keep you updated on the progress of this goal as it unfolds.

in the mean time, am going to go watch more dr who. want to know what the heck i'm taking about? start here.

one year ago today

i started this blog. happy birthday blog.


bad mana

the lovely michelle creeture has posted lots and lots of happy pictures of easter wonderment with daleks on her diary. go have a looksee!

Q & A results

a special thanks to everyone who sent me questions and answers for this project:


as it turns out, i didn't use everything single question and answer (and a spare few of them have been slightly doctored, but i didn't think you'd mind); though, i did use a lot of them. now, without any further muttering and yappy, i give you a what some might call a poem what other's might call a list; but both schools agree, it is all rather enjoyable.

what are three ways to fall down?
they are all the ways we get to the store.

what is cold to an eskimo?
it is love.

what are butterflies?
they are canned food donors seeking revenge.

what is the meaning of life?
it is splendid for the turkeys!

what are those mirrors doing there?
they are burning down.

what is her favorite ice cream today?
it is going to implode if we leave it alone.

what is the secret of soy and how do i master it?
it is filled with candy.

what are computers going to be like in the year 2100?
they are not going to get the message.

what is the answer?
it is part pekinese, part great dane.

what are those earrings doing in your car?
they are going to shoot the canary.

what is is?
it is what you do when you come home late at night.

what are you burying them for?
they are trying to make rope from gizzards.

what is the tapestry hanging just left of your mother?
it is made of people.

what is my shadow?
it is not really there.

what is the big deal with chthulhu anyway?
the purpose of his existence is to endure.

what are those holes for?
they are my stars and they burn.

what are we going to tell the piggies now?
they are unforgiving when it comes to the sea.

what is a dog for?
it is important when avoiding dodge ball.

what is the square route of fuzzy divided by yen and then multiplied by that bee's knee?
it is exactly like a bendy straw.

what are you pajamas doing on my sofa?
they are stinky.

what are the last things you see when you die?
they are all that remains from the all-consuming fire.

what is falling from the sky?
it is a simple flick of the wrist.

what is your worst fault?
it is the door behind the door.

what is with the price of eggs?
it is the window that is always open?

what are the magic words?
they are irony in a bottle.

what are yyour shoes for?
they are the things that make it work.

what is the motto of the mini eggs appreciation society?
it is what happens because of cows.

what, precisely, is the function of a man's nipple?
it is meant to be a mystery and in point of fact, not actually your business anyway.

what is the meaning of your wit-less expression?
it is, ya that's it, just is.

what are you parents going to say?
they are the finest nipples i have ever ignored.

what is love?
it is a bad attempt at mining minerals.

what are the fish doing in my pants?
they are unable to understand.

what is the gift you gave?
it is forever.

what are revolving eyes?
they are an entirely repulsive race of legumes not well-liked by the natives of the only area they grow, utah.

what is the leeward side?
it is the thing that oinks!

what are imaginary numbers?
they are what you get for being good.

what is it with the scarf on a snowman's neck; if he's cold shouldn't he be given a jacket as well?
it is quixotic.

what is the sound i hear under the covers at night?
it is moving things to a less crowded place.

what are the little black dots all over my car?
they are a very special way of making you feel good.

what is the color of an angry moon?
it is brainless and confusing.

what is at the end of this hallway?
it is a snow drop that alighted gently on my face, knowing the fate that my warmth would bring.

what are they doing in sheffield?
they are a musical group known for their whirls and twirls.

what is pain in the surrounding?
it is a tangerine-colored sweater-set, but only when purchased in new orleans at marti gras.

what are the dolphins planning?
they are full of themselves.

what are my toes doing?
they are running, running, running, running...

what is a rapscallion?
it is deliciously sordid.

what is the light taking up room?
is it called the green flower.

what are the sounds of all the words at once?
they are the keys to the fridge.

what is the big empty circle doing here?
it is much bigger than your ambition.

what is a hot heart?
it is time we did something about this.

what is the endpoint of a whalesong?
it is an ecumenical question.

what is inside that beautiful house?
it is the last thing you'd ever do.

what is with soap these days?
it is silly but necessary.

what are dreams for?
they are 3D-tastic.

what is the color of greenishpink?
it is a punishment for shoplifting in kazakhstan.

what is that thing and why is it bristling?
it is made of tuna.

what is your objective?
it isn't the floor that counts, it is the fall.

what are purple and bouncy?
they are mine, my demons, mine!!

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

the bay-state agenda

orientation towards the atlantic recovered coast
erratically misplaced glacial wash off
(aka all the rocks in your back yard)
we're better than you because we pay higher taxes
on everything; standard automobile insurance

even our trash is most expensive, more closet millionaires
per capita and we're dunkies' country with one krispy
and no cream but for the milk in our hard serve
who gave birth to the chaos of ben&jerry's,
the new food pyramid and cars run on flax seed oil

a university on every corner releases 'wicked cool'
to the notoriously bad drivers bred by conditions
designed by herds of witty cows licking oyster shells
the hills have their own seasons, but you
haven't seen this much excitement since your bar mitzvah

and the cape disguises it's hokey dozen behind
property you only dream about, the bog is red
the cove is green and your wallet is empty
before you step out of your car because the price of ketchup
has an 80% increase as soon as the daffodils bloom

is not exactly a tribut to massachusetts.

Sunday, April 23, 2006


i know, anyone can do this and call it poetry... but then again, everyone can read it and appreciate it. i'm not boasting or proclaiming any profundity or superiority here. take it at face.

sample 4

refrigerators never lie:
carrots are better when they're cold.

sample 5

there's nothing to do but agree
talk about the daffodils
and swallow your hot tea turned cold
the milk lasting on your teeth

sample 6

i am getting better at lying
i am getting worse at believing

the stay awake

do i portray myself as another cup
of leaves steeped in temperate water
milked but with half the sugar
or write another poem about it?

judging by the viscosity of my stomach
i choose both.

just another something

just another something morning
writing poetry on white ceramic mugs
with his mother's pinkest lipstick

the cup empties onto his front
circuits buzz and hum and steam up
in his lap like a forest fire

he tries to cry but the voice box
is the first to go this time

he decides he should learn to cry
about things that don't break him

he cries when he leaves the repair shop,
says he'll miss eddy the repair guy
too much to stand it in the end

he cries until they take him back
because he's overclocked his battery

he gives up crying,

but perfects the art of sulking.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

dirty laundry money

rummaging through her coach knock-off
searching for the kit;
a tube of strawberry lip gloss,
drosophila and lonely sequin
beside her g-string footwear -

and i watched this from the bathroom stall
beside her -

pushing aside the dirty laundry money
she made waiting tables

the voting has begun!! (& other news)

to cast your vote for poet laureate of the blogsphere, visit here. our friend ashraf is way in the lead at the moment; the man who thought he was finished with poetry >_<

go cast your votes, my darling poet friends, and be responsible for the someone who represents you.

and in other news, i dreamt all night that i was protecting ryan from nightmares about silent hill (we just saw the movie, which was !!!). you see, i wasn't even brave enough to have my own nightmares, i displaced them on my husband.

also, i have recieved about 10 replies to the q&a's already, so will probably put together the list wednesday or not long after that. how very exciting, no?

and lastly, time for katy to geek out... new dr who tonight!{*^$►&*@*&*░#^&#^δ%^@%%%%^&!!!!!

Friday, April 21, 2006


a set of full lips
and my somewhatdefined cheek bones
will never be or do
enough to show
just how much love it takes

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Questions & Answers

bla bla bla commemorating national poetry month bla bla bla

dear friends (poets and non), i have been scratching my head the past few days as to what would be a good poetry-like project in which everyone could get involved with, would have fun contributing to and be proud to have been a part of based on the quality of the final project.

i resorted to the trusty experiments list care of UPenn (inspired by the glorious and magnific bernadette mayer) and have found this:

#23 Collaborative Surrealist Language Event (I) (for two or more people): One person writes down a question without showing it to anyone else; simultaneously, another person writes down an answer; poem is formed by a series of these questions and answers. Alternate form: One question: multiple answers; vice versa. For example: "What is the pink elephant? The reason why it is so cold this week.// Is the door locked? / I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion." (Cf: Robert Desnos's ":Language Events.")

i have participated in this exercise/experiment with other groups in the past and have not yet been let down by the result. overall, it is a simple game with fabulous results (how’s that for a sale’s pitch).

how i recommend we, as a group, approach this project is simple, here it goes…

step 1: write a series of questions starting with “what is”/”what are” (between 5 and 10 questions would be ideal)
step 2: write a series of answers starting with “it is”/”they are” (again, 5 to 10 of these)
-please note, these questions and answers should be as random as you can manage. do not answer your own questions. be enigmatic and lop sided.
step 3: email to me katy acheson
step 4: wait
step 5: laugh and be amazed

what i intend to do is compile the questions and answers at random, then pick out some of the better random combinations and post them. everyone who sends me questions and answers will be credited as a contributor to the final product whether your questions are used or not.

i will compile the final product once i feel i have received enough questions and answers. i expect i should get at least 50 of each before calling a close to the fun for you. and remember, email them to me (this one no one else sees them, makes it all the more random and exciting!)

now, ask me something!

Tuesday, April 18, 2006



2 years

at times i feel i should let this be poetry and poetry only. other times i feel as though the people that read this blog are friends and are just as interested in what's going on in my head as they are in reading my poetry. i'm feeling the latter today and am feeling like a wordy post is needed right now (for my sake more than yours).

first and foremost, today is ryan and my two year wedding anniversary. last night we celebrated by going out to plymouth where we had a lovely little walk around, got some english goodies at an import store and had a nice mexican dinner. it was a perfect date.

actually, it's been a perfect two years ^_^

i'm not sure what we'll do today, but one thing is for certain, we will not be having cake. reason being: the dining room still smells like cake from the dalek cupcakes we (my little bro, friend danielle, michelle & johnny, ryan and i) made on easter. which was all in celebration of the new season of dr who airing in england.

dr who is fabulous, no, fantastic. david tennant is proving an entirely different and wonderful doctor with some unmistakably colin baker esque characteristics (such as raising his voice, going a wee bit over-the-top on all accounts, as well as his smug 'i'm the doctor, i heel people' parade of glee and joy at the end of the first adventure of the season... all that, and he knows how to drive the TARDIS quiet well, we think).

i won't get into too much more on dr who as i'm sure far too many of you have NO IDEA what i'm talking about (read: no idea how effing cool it is to be a dr who geek).

what i will go on about is poetry. now that's something you can all get into, right? (that is, i suppose, if you've made it this far into reading this long winded and unnecessary post of mine). saturday and sunday i wrote a total of 9 poems. granted, they were short... but that's still a lot of poems. there isn't much to say about them, really, that isn't already apparent in the poetry itself. one thing i do want to make clear though, is not to expect that all the time. no, i know you wouldn't. however, i have come to enjoy writing my poem-a-day and have come, in some way, to expect myself to write at least one poem each day.

i took yesterday off. i spent the day, instead, doing my job. yeah. i actually kept myself busy enough the entire 8 hours at work as to not warrant getting bored or anxious enough to set myself up for writing a poem.

i might take today off too, on account of having written this massive post as well as having a few other tasks to do. oh yeah, and IT'S MY WEDDING ANNIVERSARY.

a last note: poetry month is into its second half now. i've got some catching up on my sumission mission, i know, but am more concerned with getting everyone together for a group project, what do you think? i will arrange a mass emial and post within the week to get everyone involved with something fun and exciting.

until then, thank you for reading through all my wittering.

Sunday, April 16, 2006


where i find myself is
slowly walking past
over red carpeted bridges

the mask i wear is
wearing me more
formal function than
the surface of the koi pond

before i lean at the sun
we recognize the trembling reunion
of our fingertips
around daffodil stems who
do not fear them

resurection day

a yerning for basic erosion
or my nails should be longer
to pick the scabs off your cheek

i am not okay today

because there is no state of rest here;
no time for my wounded knuckle to heal

hotel rendition of easter sermon

gather in the pool, followers of faith
let the fruit loops dissolve under your tongue
and listen closely as i lecture you on hotel etiquette

the woman stole my pen. i watched it unfold. she eyed it, clicked it closed and dropped it in her purse. i said nothing; just watched in awe as she zipped her bag shut and walked out the door. she was professionally absent minded.

happy _______ easter

i am okay today

ignoring the holiday i
send people to the wrong establishment.
the blood on my knuckle
is a homage to the box of light bulbs behind the counter
and you.

Saturday, April 15, 2006


_______set against me
are the words like butter
pouring fat deposits over
violated corn kernels

we suck to the point of
there is no where left
but right in the way
of the mirror escaping

rotting as though we
were figurative language
and this a love song
for a mysterious voice


let me break your milky skin
& rush your breakfast coffee/muffin combo

this is me, your favorite

with sugar on top

[...go mindless for a day]

let me go mindless for a day
cartoons in pink and blue
why i insist on putting two dominos
in my tea

when there is milk involved

computer simulate my drowning
at the age of xena

then grace me with my final wish

we all want our favorite poets
molded into action figures
with removable clothes

let me play barbie again
use my imagination for greater lessers
pieces of mind and paint my toes

was inspired by bryan and my cup of luke warm tea. i would highly recommend you go have a gander at some of bryan's work. have been reading his NOO collection.

oh, and the fact of the matter is: i don't care about your weather.

out of order

feeling plastic
eroding at joints

circuit broken spatula
palm carrying eggs
locked in styrofoam crates

opening trigger - a face
wrapped in paper

gold leafed

my thermostat is broken
the button is stuck

happy sequence -

growing more complicated

please standby for further instructions
a poem by robot girl

Friday, April 14, 2006

fruit spore

a grapefruit
& spoon will tango

the juices squirt in onlookers' eyes
from a table away

we look on, glaring over mocha

then robot boy will ask
if i were a duck what would i see
when i look up at the moon?

we had been discussing
the human ability to see faces
in rock formations
& colonies of pink mold spores


the remaining eleven residents of centralia PA are a bit ...

but what an amazing, and as ryan put it "prophetic", story: the fire that burned for 100 years.

tingles, doesn't it?

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

the complexities of being wife

i give names to each full basket of dirty laundry

_____of all that is blue

_____greenwich monster of brownin

_____lusty pants collected

i speak to an imaginary tv crew
while i dice four potatoes
imagining how rachel ray would do it

loving the sound of dried garlic in a glass bottle
rattling, trying to escape

i leave useless flyers in the mailbox
i leave it something to read
__________i consider this a generous gesture

i loose my breathe around the bog
then lie in the yard with my legs stretched skyward
for children in a passing bus to laugh about

i forget about the laundry until the last minute

but i have no problem with cleansing the bathrooms

touch my omlet

michael craig wants you to touch his omlet

so why don't you?

michael craig's short collection of poems is the second float in the bear parade and will only take you 15 minutes to read; perhaps even less time to fall in love with.

sharks and cranes
here is my michael craig source poem:

stolen from, inspired by, etc
michael craig was at a barbecue.
i want him relaxed fit. and wrinkle free.
michael craig spat lightly all over me.
i think i can eat him.
master chang opened the door to his cottage--
it was michael craig.
you can leave it to him to describe your world.
i could not stop this insane michael craig.

creeture feet-

discomforted she lies with time
________and again
spreading her heal into the crux
___of his back
her ball jointed gentle disposition
________is a stomach ache away
from spoiling.

gluing blue gems to every hello
her magic fingers stitch heart strings
________to fabricated
rolling in props and squibs

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

bad mana chic

as if i don't owe her enough thanks for my beautiful lucy-avatar [ah, and never mind the fact that i've totally ripped off her signature smiley ^_^], michelle has gone and flattered me to no end by attributing her regained appreciation for poetry to me and mine.

i would like to be able to, right now, write michelle a little dedication poem; however, am feeling rather restless at the moment (like i told a. 'spring is getting under my skin' and alls i want to do is 'go outside'). so, will have to do one of my public promises here. an iou with at least 3 witnesses.

Monday, April 10, 2006

four poems

my thunder fists:

this man was birthed by fire

a woman from water that falls from dark clouds
is it together that

they storm through


spider woman stole

and raised four corn children

under the purple canyon

our resolve, our journey:

ended at the foot of the red fox
an empty turtle shell
and the heart of a buffalo beating
in our naked hands


the hurt of a loon on clean water
echoing through our footsteps

the bear leaves no fish for us

on the shore is bird and fox
they linger together

the fox knows fire
the bird knows water

we are hungry

but we are not foolish

title to a perfect poem

am prone to forgetting
brilliant lines of poetry
when the phone rings.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

poetry sampler

was not able to concentrate enough today to write one cohesive poem out of the three parts that appear below. i was trying, but have had no luck. therefore, i present to you, katy's special poetry sampler:

in a bodiless act of faltered
the phone rang discrete as a subway track
through your backyard.

my ear hurts, she said.
this rampage of an angel effect
is wearing your socks again.

my low nickel lined stomach
swallowed your security pills
for a raven view of your innards

Saturday, April 08, 2006

on april 8th i...

i wrote a poem on piloteye

saw v for vendetta. think i will let it inspire me. tomorrow.

and in other news. brian posted two poems on the boarding house (would link it, but there's a button in need of some fondling).

Friday, April 07, 2006

what's Norther, then?

is it prince george / fort st john b.c. like it says on page three?

perhaps that's part. but from what i've just experienced Norther is a new kind of canadian hit. something leonard cohen could be proud of, for sure.

i was going to do a blown out review--which i may still do later--but i've decided that for the moment a plug will be jsut as effective. i have only read the journal once through (though i have read many of the poems on the contributors' blogs); therefore, don't feel like i've allowed the material to really seep in. i will say, though that it is a beautiful little e-jounral and am proud to boast about it here on my humble corner of the blogsphere.

Norther promo at the culture mill

so kiddies, to get your copy of the first ever edition of Norther please email either rob or hardy and request your copy.


my lips meditate over the rim of a cup
brimming with hot tea milk and sugar compounds

my solitude is in the voices
leaking through the unfinished ceiling

my heart is deep in his cheek
and my barrier is an invisible telephone line

my medicine is ill itself
with stomach aches and a sore throat

my medusa is winning me over
who will carry me on his back

when i am made of stone

*see sister poem at arch.memory

am needing your help

Octopus Magazine are accepting manuscript submissions. they're looking for 16-32 pages of poetry (which i totally have). the problem lies not in whether or not i have enough poems to put together a chapbook, the issues is with which ones... do i go for the domestics side of my poetry, the happy little wife; or do i unleash the poetess?

you'll have to excuse me for not hyper-linking everything here. but those of you who do read my blog (anyone who recognizes at least half of the titles listed below), which list do you think would work better in an octopus chapbook? which group of poems have i got a better chance of selling?

note: these lists of poems are not in the order which i would arrange the poems in a chapbook.

domestic bliss
the puzzle bird
not a sex poem
the undoing
husband & wife (as edited by brian)
the hotel science series (as selected by brian)
room service
domestic bliss
pneumonia boy
the imaginary me
and i the poet
dear salamander
and then i wrote this poem
[i am the cat]
the laundry matt princes
[not writing poetry is not easy] (as in an introduction, perhaps)
what do you get for the fish who has everything?


poetess complex (am not sure i would actually call it this, though)
he & she
a different
[i know you]
fish into six [prose form]
halogen (as edited by brian)
playgrounds' romance
blasphemed (not sure about this one to be honest)
[my heavy eyelids shut the light out]
this is february
the giver
you thought as though
angels do (another one i'm not really sure about)
nice to meet you
graces (edited version)
without your sex
stage hand
the act of being fruit

almost all these poems are available on this blog. the few edited by brian are not here in the form in which they would be submitted but they are here.

so, what says you? or should i not bother with a chapbook and go back to my one-poem-at-a-time submission spree? if you like a particular group of poems are there any you would add or take out? let me know, even if i don't end up submitting, at least i'll have an idea for a collection brewing!

Thursday, April 06, 2006

he & she then

he eases towards
she speaks softly
they share
they want each other
and everyone knows
they want us to know
but it won't happen here
and no way for it to

it was perfect.

i love it (when you say my name)

a genuine - good morning katy
___hello sweetie
_____hello dearie
_______hello katy
_________hey katy

i love you too, katy
___my katy

katy did.
katy will.
katy has.

katy, have i ever told you...

this is for katy

katy says
___thank you

a different

my poem about oranges is this time:

i was trained, like all americans,
to eat oranges the right way;
two hands and a stack of napkins.

but mine come with predetermined
thumb nail prints in the peel.

and i
i break the case of each slice

squeeze the pulp with teeth
trained to break the flesh on men's backs.

thinner skin and half moon slices;
frank, give me your finger and suck.


temporary wife complete with doll avatar
at your doorstep; 8am with broom took & handle
her with your bare hands for a cup of something hot
or cut stems in pink socks and green all stars
fraught with an accident waiting to happen
lucky pinch of salt, for good luck after all
the robins have been fed cake and dried wheat meal

dinner is at 7

Wednesday, April 05, 2006


conducive when wet, a window shop dummy
modeled after me cup for cup, fold for fold,

she is wearing my lip gloss too.
but mine are fat from kisses.

_______________________________we linger at the brink
of cotton sheets dyed purple to thank the arabian genius
who invented it.

before he kisses the cut i let a canadian
slice my ring finger open with his poetry.

easily distracted by glossy finishes, we sift
our eagerness into powder, sprinkle it on

lightly. with raspberries and mint twigs as garnish.

your butter is sweeter then.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

On Birds for Example
(a chapbook by Jess Mynes)

I was going to start this with a disclaimer about how I’m not really qualified to do a chapbook review. Then I started drafting, started thinking and came to the conclusion that when it comes to poetry, the qualifications are hazy at best and should be altogether ignored in this instance. The reason I am doing a public review of Jess Mynes’ chapbook (available through Carve Press) is because a: I told Jess I would elaborate on my response to the chapbook in one form or another, b: I like Jess as an individual and c: I really dig the chapbook.

I found out about Birds for Example on Ron Silliman’s blog where “Orange” had been posted in full. I loved the poem and decided to splurge on the $5 chapbook. Now I have a confession: Birds for Example is the first chapbook I’ve ever bought and read. I honestly had no idea that there was such a huge market in chapbooks. So, thank you Mr. Silliman and thank you Jess both for opening me up to the idea after all my unintentional avoidance.

Upon receiving my copy of Birds for Example I had no idea who or what “Jess” was—old, young, boy, girl, liberal, academic, conservative, alien. All that I knew about Jess was that Jess was a poet. With this blissful ignorance as to who my speaker was, I prepared myself to sit down and learn. Upon finishing the lovely little book, I still had no idea who or what Jess was other than a damn fine poet.

I still wasn’t even sure of Jess’s gender. This feat was absolutely astounding to me. Anyone reading my poetry is, I’m sure, to figure out how much of a girl I am within a few poems. How could it be that a poet could so magnificently elude gender? To some advantage, the name “Jess” doesn’t give much away, does it? The only real clue is that the chapbook is dedicated to a one “Sarah”.

I tracked Jess’s blog down via Carve. It wasn’t until visiting fewer & further that I learned the true nature of this elusive “Jess”. As it turns out, he is a friendly bald guy living in western mass, working as a librarian. Okay, so I’ve spoilt the experience for anyone else who didn’t know who or what “Jess” was and was thinking they might indulge in the chapbook (which you should anyway). It’s not an experience I think many people would have had, nor one that I think many people will have, and not just in reading Jess’s chapbook, but in reading any collection of poetry.

The experience of reading poetry and negating, not just the poet, but gender altogether, was something remarkably refreshing for me. I was left alone with the words and the words were amazing. Having had read Frank O’Hara and Marie Howe just prior to my exposure to Jess made the whole experience of unknowing that much more dynamic. Both O’Hara and Howe are poets motivated by sex (not exclusively), whereas Jess’s poetry seems to be driven by observation and admiration.

While his works are playful in tone and energy, there is a maturity about the content of Birds for Example which lingers just above the sex-line. The relationships are built in and do not warrant further exploring—it feels, to me, as though these characters have been living here for a very long time. You’d think, though, that such a characteristic in poetry might cause it to feel stagnate or stale. However, Jess manages the antiquity of his characters by placing them in a myriad of historical particulars such as in “no fly zone” where we are exposed to allusions to grandiose “port arrivals”—picture sailors in white caps rushing off a battle cruiser at a New York port in 1918—migrant workers, and has-been cowboy icons in dulled-down uniforms or playing Mexicans in made-for-TV-movies.

One might be wondering now, as I had wondered, if Jess was avoiding the matter of sex altogether. As Mr. Silliman has not-long-past brought to the proverbial table, there seems to be a lack of sexuality in academic poetry written by straight men. I can’t say either way what Jess’s sexual orientation is, and I wouldn’t go about trying to guess. It does seem, though, that there may be some suppression at work in his poetry.

The opening poem, “in West Virginia, in 1938”, is a fine example of everything Jess isn’t saying:

“O cherry tomato
kiss me full on the small of my back
____And all the quivers
of summers renew”

Whereas I may have written similar lines as similes, Jess has created an extended metaphor in which a tomato replaces a potential lover to the projected voice of the narrator/poet.

Fortunately, having had the rare opportunity to read the collection without any awareness as to who was speaking to me, such moments as the one above presented themselves to me not as suppressed love making but as genuine moments of care that supersede the need for male and female parts to be present at the moment of impact. I don’t think, within the reality of the collection, that Jess was trying to hide anything. Instead, I have come to understand and appreciate Birds for Example as a collection of moments in poetry worth aspiration.

[i know you]

resting your hand on my leg
just above the knee
as we sit in traffic
i know you
want to comfort me but don't
know exactly how to

the subject shifts to
which game should you trade

your hand tightens around
my leg as i start to cry

leaning down you try
to catch my line of sight
with yours
i want to kiss you but don't
know exactly how to

Monday, April 03, 2006

ode to a little blue skutter named bob

you are
in order to read
"ode to ... bob"
please hover your mouse over each picture
(left to right)

a three-pronged opposible wonder

with attitude

Sunday, April 02, 2006

defect in

he did not understand
why the birds did not sing
or why the sun rose later.

he did not understand
if the hands on the clock
read 8, then why
were they all acting
as if it were 7?

he did not understand.

his insides told him the time
but the birds were late.

he had learned the truth
that the birds are never wrong.

this contradiction worried him.

could he be wrong?
or was it the birds?
what defect was this?

a defect in time, perhaps?
he accepted this.

he was correct,
the birds were correct,
but time was all askew.

he let the birds wake him
for the rest of his warranty.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

it does not have a title.

the purple coat with a scarf
says hello, i am looking for coffee

her and he are best friends
this time of day. but what she
doesn't know about coffee...

... has got nothing to do with me.

[[eerrgg i had another something something going on in my head. it wasn't just about that woman, there was something... lost. those stupid people had to come interrupt me, didn't they? and just to make me talk lots about stuff they won't remember. my throat hurts, see this lump in my cheek, it's a cough drop. my throat hurts, so go away. i do not want to talk (to you). grrr and on top of that i lost the other half of the poem.]]