Author: admin

I Am a Bower Quiet

I look behind my grave and weep
and find that I am not there.
For a thing of beauty increases health and quiet breathing.  It will never
pass into nothingness but still will keep its
loveliness full of sweet dreams, a thousand winds that blow.
There is a soul of light in my deepest sorrows.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
And all is right, quiet birds in circled flight.

I cry and awaken the morning’s hush, when you sleep at my grave: the stars stand there at night and do not sleep!
I rush on the gentle sunlight uplifting a swift autumn rain, and after I shine in the ripened grain.

That soft – joy is not for us
is not for ever…
I am… I am not… I am…
I stand… I do not…
I die… I do not…
I did.

Paola Tavoletti, 2016

Remixed works:
Soul Of Light, by Swami Vivekananda
A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever, by John Keats
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, by Mary Elizabeth Frye

If If was really if

If you can read this socks
Are losec mups dispersible
If you can teach
Buy makeup online
If you can walk you can dance
(Or) being or been
(Or) being or having been
And yet I don’t know

If you can dream it you can do it
If you can think it you can do it
If you can move two matches
And truth table
If you can bear it
Twisted by design
Or the watch shop
(And) Stoop and another v rand water

If you can make god bleed
And rise in glory
And loose and lose and loss
And never let her go
If you can fix a bike
To serve your country
And so he spoke
“Expect the worst”

If you can talk you can swing
Or walk by a lilac tree
If either cell contains then
If all meaning
If you can fix a bike
With sincere condolences
Yours is the earth Parbold
And will we were here

You’ll be alright

Ed Arantus, 2016

Algorithmic approach:
Type line of original poem to seed search engine.
Stop typing before predictive line reverts to original.
Use the predicted line.
Do this for each line in original poem.

Algorithmic seed:
If, by Rudyard Kipling

My Back (Facebook) Pages

Florida is moving faster from battleground To Blue
while Oklahoma posts signs that shame pregnant
women considering abortion.

Breaking Bad makes so much sense when you see
Bryan Cranston in Malcolm in the Middle. Do you
know what would be really smart?

Beautiful scarves and 70 cookies!
What to do in Trump’s America: It’s sort of a shaggy
dog story but you’ll soon enough see the point.

By 2045 YouTube will be the only channel.
What’s on btw? Sing, man, sing—
we came here for a song!

Barry Basden, 2016

Remixed works:
Barry Basden’s Facebook timeline

The Far Side of Zero

My life has been a migration. The last
movement is the sound of a waterfall

in a hurricane. Debra wants to hear oldies.
We will sing today with a child almost

hit in a crosswalk by a pickup truck –
yes, something possible everywhere.

Howie Good, 2016

Remixed works:
Your Deathbed Playlist, New York Times, Nov. 18, 2016
Police log, Nov. 8-15, 2016, Times Argus, Montpelier, VT

Masonick Non-rituals

Re-borns a-dazzle with the new darkness
Are flocking to town
Like pen-strokes to believe
In the all-business world
That before them has begun to break up
Into rays of magnetic speed.

Human salt-mists
And rainbow-smeared field creatures
Wheel into the luminous bone hills
That betrayed nothing of what might lie
A shovel-ful away.

Silver dividers, in this commodious corner,
Beneath flocking room-smoke
And crippled coal-blue fringes,
Torch false yards of wrinkled images,
Pipesful of stars fading
With fatty luminescence.

All light from outside vanishes
As something fills the doorway,
Regarding them with
Tunnel eyes focussed to
Hitherto unimagined intensities.

Your halo blinds me, sir.

Ed Garland, 2016

Remixed work:
Mason and Dixon, by Thomas Pynchon

Commands

We drive you from us,
Blunt end forward,
Whoever you may be.

Unclean spirit.
Annunciator, diverter,
Infernal invader,

Universal handtool,
You, wicked legions,
Half-unit sun and planet,

From the snares of the devil,
Sun shadow,
Bind him and cast him

Into the bottomless pit.
At the time of closest approach,
Reject and rupture,

We beseech Thee to hear us.
As smoke is driven away
Deliver us, O Lord–

With a number of passes–
From assemblies and sects.

Time to burn.

Dale Wisely, 2016

Remixed works:
A Glossary of the Apollo Program, compiled by Garry Kennedy
An exorcism prayer, Catholic Online

Blood and Blood and Blood

If I’m starved for blood I look like a perfect horror.  I started to think incessantly of drinking human blood.  I was resolute that I would not drink innocent blood.  Ah, the smell of innocent blood!

He was that same ancient monster only he was filled with my blood!  Blood and blood and blood.  Sweet luscious blood.  And my tears were blood.

I’ll drink blood.  For a long moment I looked at this blood.  You will drink blood, won’t you?  Blood came up like liquid fire.  I stared at the blood.  The blood was alive.  The blood hit the roof of my mouth.  The blood warmed me.  I heard the blood.  But I couldn’t have drunk anymore blood.

I began to drink up Paris as if the city were blood.

I wanted his blood flowing into me.  My thirst for blood.  The blood poured out.  I leaned forward and kissed the blood.  Blood running down his chin in rivulets.  The blood that soaked his lace shirt.  The blood-drenched lace.  The blood on his lace ruff.  The dark blood.

There is blood that flows.  The vampiric blood.  Blood like mine.  Blood like light itself.  Our blood.  The blood and sheer ecstasy of the blood.

Not a drop of blood had been spilt.  Those Who Drink the Blood always hide.  I will give you The Blood.  Give me the blood.  Never should I drink any blood.  The Drinking of the Blood.  He drained so much blood.  I was seeing blood and smelling blood.  You may drink your fill of the sacrificial blood.  I could drink the blood.  I smelled the blood.  They will give you all the blood that you can take.  They were Drinkers of the Blood.  A race of blood-drinking demons.

Something in my blood was impelling me to drink more blood.  I spent the nights feasting on blood.  I could endure my blood lust.  Do they want blood?  They won’t give their healing blood to me.  Try again to drink their blood.

Blood soaked pulp upon the floor.  The bloody mass.  The blood seeming to feed the fire.  There had been great battles among the Drinkers of the Blood.  All-powerful blood.  I drank of her blood until I was healed.

Out of every zinging vessel my blood was suddenly drawn.  But all the blood in the world couldn’t stop the horrors.  And then I was drinking blood in the darkness, living blood from another victim, but it wasn’t the healing blood, it was just blood.

Tara Roeder, 2016

Remixed work:
The Vampire Lestat, by Anne Rice

Return of the Native, or Lighten Up

The nature of stillness dissolves like the waning of light.
I need to go dancing, ignoring instincts when asked,
if I have forgotten to get to the truth.

I wondered why this life.
The intricacies of urge and chattering.
The tendency to arrange ladybugs
after I thought I was looking at a flower
that no longer fell like beauty and young fingers.

Monica Rico, 2016

Remixed work:
The Raw and the Cooked: Adventures of a Roving Gourmand, by Jim Harrison