Monthly Archives: February 2018

The View From My Edge Of The Planet, by Michael H. Brownstein

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

My world slams into the ridge of my left shoulder blade,
bodily harm, grit and greasy, this is the world outside who I am:.
When a sailor ties a knot,
it is meant to not be easily untied.
The raccoon in the city understands a lack of compassion,
the hand of the homeless–thorns, garbage, growing older.
They say there is one runner left and we should see him.
They say he has no legs, but his hands are strong.
So here we are unable to gain the task,
a grim weaver and a grim outlook–silence and golden
glare and still nothing can make this happen.
Nothing and yet something always does.
This is why the last car of the train is as important as the first
and why my babies will be born wearing tee shirts and jeans,
but still we went through tits and passion,
placenta and the shape…

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the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

–because Richard Corey is the true Jehovah
We walk down the blue-lined streets of litter and tension,
the sky exhausted and white haired.
They told me the earth was a living beast
riding a tortoise shell across the light of space,
the shell old and degraded, the tortoise long gone,
only the tusks of an elephant spiking its center.
No elephant. No tortoise. The shadows of dawn
calm, a poodle mating with a shepherd, the house
on the corner bright with lights of unhappiness.
Can you not smell the carcasses of thick gray skin,
the acid in the water taking out a memory of fish?
Everywhere a hand torments itself with touch,
the ears the noise of poverty and disuse,
taste a matter for another time. The poodle
lets go and the shepherd rushes to the alley
in search of the smell and the bones piled there.
“This is…

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The Life Within Us, by Michael H. Brownstein

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

The soul in man changes into an animal on death
the word is mbisimo: people say that the witch sends the soul of his witchcraft to eat the soul of the flesh of man.
medicine has a soul
the word is umbaga: a second spear that does the final kill no matter if only one spear has been used (even when the second spear does not exist, it is the spear that accomplishes the final act)
in Orrissa, the Jeypore witch lets a ball of thread flow downwards until it touches the skin of an enemy, places the other end of the thread in her mouth and sucks her enemy’s blood
the word is sugar: it fell into our hair a saturation of tissues

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Guns don’t kill people, by Scott Redmond

I am not a silent poet

Guns don’t kill people, people do.
Guns don’t kill people, rappers do.
Guns don’t kill people, bullets do.
Guns don’t kill people,  bleeding, hypoxia caused by pneumothorax, catastrophic injury to the heart and larger blood vessels, and damage to the brain or central nervous system do. As a rule, all gunshot wounds are considered medical emergencies that require immediate treatment.
And those gunshots are caused by guns. But guns don’t kill people.

Guns don’t kill people, long term high cholesterol diets do.
Guns don’t kill people, traffic accidents do.
Guns don’t kill people, knives do.
Guns don’t kill people, workplace accidents do.
Guns don’t kill people, falling pianos do.
Guns don’t kill people, hippopotamus attacks do.
And I don’t hear anyone trying to ban hippopotamuses, do you?

Guns don’t kill people, but teachers should be expected to.

‘What if a really heavy gun just fell on someone’s head?’
‘They would…

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Species of Reply/Einstein Wasn’t Wrong, by Peter A Kelly

I am not a silent poet

To witness the wordspill I could hardly wait.
Would he accept that Denial’s Not Appropriate?
And for a moment he acknowledges the reality
seeming to experience nanoseconds of clarity
confirming a partial apparent acceptance
of solid scientific evidence that the
first modern Briton was black, black.
But then makes sure his interpretation
of the incontrovertible revelation pleases
those affected by jingoistic diseases

(finding these words)

I belong here, this is twenty eighteen
Nothing to fear from a Mesolithic fossil
(Nothing against him but nothing in common)
Struggling a bit with the DNA findings though,
Cheddar Man sounds more light than dark to me
However, for the sake of discussion let’s say
this minor blip occurred way back, back
in a time so distant
that it’s almost irrelevant
Well, during ten thousand years
of British history this glitch was erased
from our proud ancestry
but if it had not

(he concludes)

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