Monday, July 31, 2006


I live in the Southern Suburb, but I fled among 18,000 others from the areas being evacuated. Thank God we have a mountain house in a relatively calm area. Many people did not even have that luxury.
Where I am you can hear and see the bombings on the Southern Suburb, but not so loudly that it scares you, and so with binoculars you can survey where the missiles are going with relative accuracy.
I know that every night we sleep under the surveillance of Israeli planes. At night and at day, they take pictures of Lebanon from these planes. I know that they know what they do, everything.

pieces of a letter from ahmad - and what i had only just discovered

-ikhtak katy

issue 3

the onion union issue 3
featuring yours truly,
as well as the divine mandolina dora

the onion union issue 3

*click on the onion*

Sunday, July 30, 2006

tragic magic head (by s.m.e.)

...poem coming soon...

ringing: episode 6: cybernia

the ringing home base - image by shirley allard of housemouse

this week's ringing of the bards is brought cybernetic-ly to you care of bob, the not so average average poet! trek with bob through deserts, forests and over oceans as he visits new nooks of "cybernia" and bumps into a few familiar faces along the way ^__^

thanks for the trip, bob!

p.s. bob gets a special gold star for posting his ringing early saturday morning. record time, folks. record time.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

apple kiss

the wrestle
and me to the ground

when arms
from where shattered glass

for reaching
the right were the wrong

since catching
with new and phrasing

then taking
with care at the rebound

your lips
with dew do search mine out

Friday, July 28, 2006

flee market affair

the mildewed bottoms of folding tables
sagged with humidity and his figure shown
through the t shirt he wore.

i stepped on his toes by accident
on purpose and my sorry was served
with an unmistakable i'm not sorry.

slowly, but without hesitation he moved passed
nodded and smiled and excused himself.
without saying a word; rejected me.

watching the entire episode
from your lent-back flee market chair
and nurturing a smile...

did you just fall in love with me?
a flirt with venom (as if joking)

i think so. want a sno cone?

Thursday, July 27, 2006

max does kitchen remodeling (episode one)

max the cabinet inspector ryan and i have been putting cabinets together for our kitchen remodeling - due to take full swing in about a week and half. max has been very helpful throughout. he chews on the screws to make sure they're in tight and surveys our productivity. here, he is inspecting the final product.

max gives this cabinet 5 out of 5
sturdy enough?
high and mighty; he's just posing here, looking swish and cat like
actually, he's yawning ... and this is how max reacts when one of our cabinets fails any of his rigorous tests; the face of disapproval (or is he imitating a pinata?).

the ringing

bob, everyone's favorite not-so-average average poet, is in need of your submissions. poets of all shapes and sizes should send a link to a recent poem they would like highlighted to bobhazelton (AT) asap.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006


robot boy learns to tie his shoes
while calculating the ratio of
rational : to : the HEF

human. emotion. factor.


the trees,

like soldiers,
bank the green river
as she silks through their roots.


we took the kitten to the produce department
of the local grocery store to weigh him

in one of those aluminum fruit baskets
with scales hanging over head

if he were made of grapes
he'd have cost us nine dollars and eighty cents

he's worth much more than that though,
especially because he's not made of grapes.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

the ringing of the bards V

depiction of japanese puppet (not quite bunraku)*click the image to view this week's ringing*

this week we are all but puppets at the hands of a masteress of the play, cecilia. each poem is presented and preserved in a tribute poem, as an act in her dramatization.

thank you so much, cecilia my dear, for carrying the bards this week and for the most remarkable presentation!

image by shirley allard


i smoldered, left you cold.

dedicated to the history of our blue duvet
and the air conditioning unit in the window;

we bought them both from sears,
one year at a time.
like over-due wedding gifts.


yesterday i struggled to depart;
the warmth of your back - against my breasts
magnetically - held me to you.

though i could not stay to watch you breathing.
in the cold chill of the window unit
my bare skin prickled and quaked.

as much as i wanted to -

the heat seeped out.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006


of waiting, wondering
and waking up each morning
to another poet

hoping it's not too late.

i wish today could have been
too late.

call to arms, a poetic stance

my dear friends, unfortunately the people of lebanon continue to suffer under the rain of destruction and violence. therefore, and i am sorry to say, it is not too late to show your support to our dear friend ashraf - whose family are trapped in lebanon still. i would like to thank all of you who have already given your words to the favor of ashraf. we can never have too many poems, too many poets, or too many friends.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

dinner at glenn's tonight!

ringing of the bards; poetry carnival

celebrating each other's company and the beauty of words; glenn sits us all around the proverbial table for some tasty treats.

pot luck, of course.

special thanks, crunchy one, for hosting this week and for letting me say grace.

cheers ;)

with mrs waddle or the sea urchin

i stood in the puddle for eight hours
contumplating the past tense of Fat Trout*,

letting ice cream melt between my fingers
while watching the rafters heal themselves.

we chit chattered in fake laughters
about the ac in the hotel lobby;

how it wasn't working for all of six days.
she thought about putting her head

in the ice maker for temporary relief.
i told her snap dragons are my favorite flowers.

*Fat Trout Trailer Park of Deer Medow; Fire Walk With Me. Google it.

an ode to dangerous thoughts

Saturday, July 15, 2006

call to arms

word order

you can call me old fashioned,
i'd like an eagle on the back of my quarter.

{(read me)}


{(out loud)}

nosebleeds over the smell of coffee on a hot
saturday morning. the 9am alarmer.

bringing up the fastest;
on peaches and bananas
churned butter and fresh milk

or the stomach of curdled waves and grain

all the way from the americas.


)pacing yourself(
for the unacceptable;

relax, child. don't run unless told so.

))the outcome((
for predeterminancy

Friday, July 14, 2006

friends and citizens of

[i got given a copy of the bible today]

i got given a copy of the bible today -
the new testament (as a special gift)

________________ small and bound in plastic
carved to look like leather.

the men asked me which colour
_______ should we put in each of the 75 hotel rooms,

but they didn't have enough green.

they're coming back on thursday.

Thursday, July 13, 2006


for khayyeh ashraf, khayyeh ahmad, ikhteh maya, ummi and father. for the osman family. my heart goes out to you more now than usual.

we wrap our concerns -
final and fleeting -

in knit blankets and promises
_____of another strike


you wrapped your burns
in scented lotions and gauss

allowing for medication
to cure the heartache


is the city of your youth
in need of new scars?

broken _____ cloaked
in a putrid layer of ash


letting my eyes sting
from the threat of tears

shed in empathy
_____and memory

of what's hidden beneath the wax
that hangs on your dining room wall





help his cause

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

max is three months old today

working on his wrestling moves
all tangled up...and has been acting extra cute. here are a some of max's odder moments in the past few days... (the ones i caught on camera anyway)
what max doesn't realize is that we can still see him, no matter how much he tries to become one with the carpet
your guess is as good as mine
he just can't help being adorable
i think the objective here was to take up as much of the sofa as possible
he didn't stay under there long, and the rug didn't stay that way 'round for very long either

Monday, July 10, 2006

the fold

i'm only going half way
on this one
__________bible-belt romance

feed me into your covered-bridge fairy tales
and cracked pavement affairs

show me the patch
of sugar coated grass

your kindergarten sweetheart
in a daisy-white dress

show me your obsession
with astronauts and stars

because where we come from
this isn't how it goes


Sunday, July 09, 2006

the pomp

dedicated to we and sunday evenings

we ate english pancakes
with granulated sugar

and extracted lemon juice
from a plastic lemon-shaped bottle

on fine china,
with the good silver

sitting just beyond
the blaze of the fire

watching the belly of the swamp
rise and fall

in the wake
of passing canoes.
ringing in week 3 with ashraf! - image by shirley allard of house mouse
exploding dog, duh
i want to go back to sleep.

happy sunday everyone.

happy super birthday day michelle

and grandma curran too!


i really want to go back to bed.

Friday, July 07, 2006


i've taken the week off posting here by recommendation of a dear friend. though i have been writing, and i have been so doing in a journal (my first form of composition, before blogger). it is only now beginning to prove fruitful after a week of lulling and moaning to myself about how summer sucks the luster out of my poems. it probably, in the end, has nothing whatsoever to do with the season; i need someone to blame though, don't i? >__<

i have been fleeting in mood; to put it poetically. not like anyone really cares what state of mind nor mood i might be in, this is my blog and, therefore, my rules--as i like to remind myself every once in a while.

to describe myself better, i would like to turn you over to the unspeakably wonderifous cecilia. her poem see me triggered a recognition in me, one that i've been on the way to making, but needed this extra sparkle to in the end.

so, thank you ashraf and thank you cecilia. you sweet little cherubs, you.

last call

if you want to join this week's party, send ashraf your poetry submissions for the carnival!!

archmemory @ yahoo . com

Saturday, July 01, 2006

welcome, dear guests, to

image by shirley allard
[week two]

during the past week i have accepted poetry submissions from some of my favorite blogging poets. though i did not set any guidelines for the content of the poetry, i have taken the liberty of dressing this week's Ringing in a carnival/circus outfit (i hope you're ready for a bit of reading!!). for those of you interested in my experience in hosting the poetry carnival, a complimentary post to this one has been posted on po'et'ship. for those of you who are itching to get to the poetry...

our first bard is the beautiful shirley allard of housemouse. shirley, the painted woman and gifted make-up artist (keep her away from the clowns), brings her stirring poem, embracing the storm, to the big top. extra special thanks go out to shirley for her contribution to this carnival and all to follow; beyond her poetry, shirley has also designed the logo that graces the top of this carnival post!

the cotton candy stand poetess, cecilia , asked me to bend the rules a tad for her and i could refuse? the depth of silent mark is matched only by that of her other work on clear candy daily. so the poem is a bit older (only by a few months) but lines like
"growing tongues tasting the wind
feel like the knife scraping soft butter"

never get old.

you've made it past the brush of madame shirley and the sticky fingers of our darling cecilia, now it's time to meet the master.

the ring master, that is... and what would a carnival be without the booming lungs and dramatic nature of its ring master? ashraf (known to many as arch.memory) fits the bill for ring master to a proverbial T. to prove just how loud he can be, he bears all in his poem hunger. you wanted drama? you wanted a show? you wanted the finest poetry the blogsphere has to offer? you've just found your gold mine. ashraf knows, but i should tell you all too, i'm too good a friend to him to ever let his ego get such a feeding without meaning every word with the utmost sincerity.

our next featured poet is a very special member of the blogging poets' community. in fact, many of us agree that billy should represent as Mayor:

and while you're here, why not cast your vote?

and who better to welcome his fellow townsfolk to the festivities than our dear mayor? none, i say!! ah, he's got a fine welcome in store for you too; a sweet story of childhood antics as retold to him by his dear mother. she told it to be true is a true story of billy, the helpful little hopeful picking tomatoes for his mom. *aww* and before i go too far without saying it...

{ H A P P Y . B I R T H D A Y . B I L L Y ! }

cake and ice cream all around, but first we need to meet and greet all the other poets in this weeks carnival. what? you thought that was it! ha!! we've barely made it in the front door yet...

the following two poets are vying for your attention with their gorgeous, sizzling and tantalizing poems. welcome to the kissing booth, boys and girls!!

for the fellas, the glowing poetess mandolina dora of wet poems, has puckered up with her poem shudder. if the title doesn't clue you in... well, maybe i should let mandolina explain herself?

and for the ladies, is hardy f of torn labels. hardy, and i have told him this several times, is the best erotic male poet i've ever read. the poem chosen for feature here is a narrative/prose poem called 11:47. this is a quintessential hardy f poem in that before you even finish reading the piece, you will no doubt empathize with at least one of the characters and be itching uncontrollably for more. don't worry, there's lots more where that came from ;)

now that we've got you all hot and bothered, let's rearrange things with scott. maybe the right word is scramble... either way, track marks is bound to get your knickers in a twist. every good festival needs a sculptor, right? be it ice, clay, marble or your mind, scott's collection of poems on 30 Days: poem will keep you reeling!

photo by michelle of bad mana; photo taken at the polar cave

you've had your face painted by shirley, shared some sweets with cecilia, been greeted by the tipped top hat of ashraf, handed a ripe tomato by billy, had your way with mandolina and hardy, been all sorts of spun around by scott and now it's time for the show!!

first up is resident cowboy and sushi chef brian boutwell of the boarding house. when he's not throwing knives for the carnival, brian writes austere prose poems and short, staccato works like to lorna. simple in form and vernacular, this poem might take you only a minute or two to read, but will leave you in a dusting of thought and imprint upon you a distinct southern flair.

on the other side of the ring, dodging brian's knives, is the talented poet and stilts-acrobat erin of poetic acceptance. keeping her balance all the while, erin delivers a gorgeous reading (yes, AUDIO!) of her entry to the bards, below morning's edge. the rhythm and intonation delivered by erin's reading of her piece is sure to make this poem an instant hit with all who hear it!

hearts go out to bob of average poet (an anything but average poet in all respects) - having been warned against sever flooding, he's decided to stick it out. would calling him the aqua-man be inappropriate? i'll go no further. his poem was inspired by the tsunami that crashed ashore just after christmas this past year. this is the flood watch.

rising above the flood plains is a lightening bug. or is that travis j morgan of zen moon flying the trapeze? japanese in tradition and aesthetic, t.j.'s acrobatics are bound to astound. the gymnast of poetry, and one of the few modern poets who pulls of a regular ababcdcd rhyme scheme with candor and charm, i am proud to present travis as a member of the carnival this week!

our spotlight turns to the center ring where mike of an unknowing mind will thrill with tales of those long lost beasts of the new world; a reader of minds, whisperer of fortunes, predictor future events and a provocative story teller, let us follow mike into the dorms and dare not to look back.

all the way from khazakhstan (i'm totally not joking) is russell. russell is without a doubt the finest human cannon ball (or was that yuckelbel's cannon?) this carnival's ever seen. and with each flight through the stratosphere of the big top, russell waves hello to all who dare dream the impossible. like he said, "It doesn’t hurt so bad..."

go - no don't, that's his name. go, or gobuick, is a herbivorous chicken geek* from the appropriately titled geek poet. while he only dines on the green stuff, his dedication to the art form is beyond comparison. ah, so dedicated in fact that we have two poems from go. yep. two. yep... i couldn't decide (yep, am a bit indecisive at times). from the pit then, is summertime & the line.
[note: have only just 'met' go; therefore, would like to thank him for agreeing to be give the role of probably the ickiest carnival gig in history, and all the while, he's a veggie! thanks go! i owe you.]

and last be most defiantly not least is the affectionate and ever-so-clever glenn of crunchy weta. we don't ask why he's crunchy, it just goes without saying. or, maybe he's got us all under his spell. he is, after all the world's greatest hypnotist! (without a doubt!) he'll tame your senses; do not doubt him.

i would like to thank all 15 of the poets who contributed to this week's carnival. though it took many hours to compile, compose and adjust, i have had the absolute best time reading and rereading the poems sent to my attention and giving you all silly circus jobs! thanks too, to all who have read and who continue to support poets of all shapes and sizes throughout the galaxy.

[[addition 7/3/06 7:30am] randall gray of tanata sent me an email which i recieved this morning. in it was a gift of unspeakable value...

People (the stuffy ones) say poetry's dead
Irrelevant nonsense, ego-fed
But where else than a poem is one to find
Transcendent rhythm for the mind
That speaks of secrets, odd and dark
And frees the soul's creative spark
And leads me clicking down a hall,
So I feel as if I've been to a carnival?

...and what better way to end a carnival about poetry than with a poem? hmmn?

super uber special thanks to Randall for the lovely gift, and for being so sweet about it too!]

NEXT WEEK'S CARNIVAL is at Ashraf's house ^_^
send a recent poem from your blog to ashraf
(please include a hyper-link to the poem)

and now, a word from our sponsors.
this week's poetry carnival has been brought to you by:

bad mana
the polar cave

also brought to you by

*A performer at a carnival (Colin Swanson) who swallows various live animals and bugs. Sometimes this extends to biting off the heads of chickens. The Geek would usually perform in a "geek pit". This sense of the word dates back to the 1920s, and possibly comes from the 16th century word geck, originally of Middle Saxon origin. In English the precursor word "geck" or "gecke" was used by Shakespeare: "Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, and made the most notorious geck and gull That e'er invention play'd on?" (Twelfth Night, V.i). The word also thought to appear in Cymbeline (
happy birthday billy!!!!!