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2/7/14 05:49 pm - where did i go?

i'm going to come back

11/22/10 10:15 pm

Today I was told Stirring is going to nominate my poem for the Pushcart Prize!

7/29/10 03:09 pm - Voyaging to the Antipodes

I embark now from this land
of stone botanies and enter
the sea. I plunge my arm

in her secret places.
My compass turns to ichor.
I sink.

          From her lips
there grow savage bouquets
of kelp. Between her hips

the drowned grind
in their dance. I join them.
Cleanse me, woman,

of asphalt, of diffidence,
of the rage of wires!
My bush floats like

a lotus in her green depth.
I uncoil to sleep, her
turbulence subsides.

Day comes, the waves
tread one by one
to customary beaches.

The sun blinks. She
awakes. Her eyes are dry
stones, her spray

my sweat, my kissed mouth
chafed by salt.

Sargassos of what
latitudes?
Under what stars?

-George Hitchcock

1/8/10 08:39 pm - story of my drinking life:

two appetizers, three too little meals and a few too many drinks

4/11/09 10:32 pm

if there is anything that I hate about internet life it is poladroid

12/18/08 10:12 pm

10/2/08 10:07 pm - college icebreakers

"pumpkin"

"my name is Katie and the autumn weather makes me happy"

"MynameisKatie IhaveaCanonRebel IamfromSantaRosaCA Iwanttoeatsweetpotatoefrenchfries"

6/23/08 10:01 pm



Self-Portrait

He wants to be
a brutal old man,
an aggressive old man,
as dull, as brutal
as the emptiness around him,

He doesn’t want compromise,
nor to be ever nice
to anyone. Just mean,
and final in his brutal,
his total, rejection of it all.

He tried the sweet,
the gentle, the “oh,
let’s hold hands together”
and it was awful,
dull, brutally inconsequential.

Now he’ll stand on
his own dwindling legs.
His arms, his skin,
shrink daily. And
he loves, but hates equally.

Words
Tally


Creeley

4/10/08 11:00 pm

from The Maximus Poems

"at the boundary of the mighty world" H. (T) 620 foll.

Now Called Gravel Hill--dogs eat
gravel

Gravelly hill was 'the source and end (or boundary' of
D'town on the way that leads from the town to Smallmans
now Dwelling house, the Lower
Road gravelly, how the hill was, not the modern usableness
of any things but leaving it as an adverb as though the Earth herself
was active, she had her own characteristics, she could
stick her head up out of the earth at a spot
and say, to Athena I'm stuck here, all I can show
is my head but please, do something about
this person I am putting up out of the ground into your hands
Gravelly hill 'father' Pelops otherwise known as
Mud Face founder of
Dogtown. That sort of  'reason': leave things alone.
As it is there isn't a single thing isn't an opportunity
for some 'alert' person, including practically everybody
by the 'greed', that, they are 'alive', therefore. Etc.
That, in fact, there are 'conditions'. Gravelly Hill
or any sort of situation for improvement, when
the Earth was properly regarded as a 'garden'
tenement messuage orchard and if this is nostalgia
let you take a breath of April showers
let's us reason how is the dampness your
nasal passage--but I have had lunch
in this 'pasture' (B. Ellery to
                                   George Girdler Smith
                                           'gentleman'
                                              1799, for
                                                   150 pounds

overlooking
'the town'
sitting there like
the  Memphite lord of
all creation

with my back--with Dogtown
over the Crown of
gravelly
hill

It is not bad
to be pissed off

where there is any
condition imposed, by whomever, no matter how close

any
quid pro quo
get out. Gravelly Hill says
leave me be, I am contingent, the end of the world
is the borders
of my being

I can even tell you
where i run out; and you can find
out. I lie here
so many feet up
from the end of an old creek
which used to run off
the Otter ponds. There is a bridge
of old heavy slab stones
still crossing the creek on
the 'Back Road' about three rods
from where I do end northerly, and from my Crown
you may observe, in fact Jeremiah Millett's
generous pasture
which, in fact, is the first 'house'
(of Dogtown) is a part of the slide of
my back, to the East: it isn't so decisive
how one thing does end
and another begin to be very obviously dull about it
I should like to take the time to be dull
there is obviously very much to be done and the fire department
rushed up here one day--they called it
Bull Field, in the newspaper--when just that
side me I am talking about,
which belonged to Jeremiah Millet
and raises up rather sharply
--it became Mr Pulsifer's and then
1799, the property of the town
of Gloucester--was burned off.
My point it, the end of myself,
happens, on the east side (Erechthonios)
to be the beginning of another set
of circumstance. The road,
which has gone around me, swings
just beyond where Jeremiah Millett had his house
and there's a big rock about ends my being,
properly, swings
to the northeast, and makes its way
generally straying northeast in direction
to Dogtown Square or the rear of
William Smallman's
house where rocks pile up
darkness,
in a cleft of the earth
made of a perfect pavement
                                Dogtown Square
of rocks alone March, the holy month
                                  (the holy month
                                    LXIII
of nothing but black granite turned
every piece
downward,
to darkness,
to chill
and darkness. From which the height above it even
in such a fearful congery
with a dominant rock like a small mountain
above the Hellmouth the back of Smallmans is
that this source and end of the way from town into
the woods is only--as I am the beginning, and Gaia's
child--katavothra. Here you enter
darkness. Far away from me, to the northeast,
and higher than I, you enter
the Mount,
which looks merry,
and you go up into it
feels the very same as the corner
where the rocks all are
even smoking a cigarette on the mount
nothing around you, not even the sky
relieves the pressure of this declivity
which is so rich and packed.
It is Hell's mouth
where Dogtown ends
(on the lower
of two roads into
the woods.
I am the beginning
on this side
nearest the town
and it--this paved hole in the earth
is the end (boundary
Disappear.

Charles Olson

3/19/08 08:42 pm

The Rocks

Trying to think of
some way out, the
rocks of thought

which displace,
dropped in
the water,

much else.
So life is
water, love also

has substance of
like kind.
Wanting

water a Sunday
morning God will
not provide--

is it my
wife, her warmth
lying

beside me, is
that sense of warm
moistness the condition

in which all grows?
Drop
the rock,

think well, think
well of me.

Robert Creeley
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