Like a Vonnegut tale,
Mo Frederickson
Mo Frederickson
Jun 22, 2014

There's something about you,
Like a Vonnegut tale,
A beautiful thing
With odd little quirks
Around every corner
And in every page.
A glowing light
That sometimes flickers
To black.
There's something about you,
My dear,
That's just out of reach.
So it goes.

For Trevor
Mike Jewett
Mike Jewett
Feb 26, 2015

Let’s bomb Dresden
with the black fire
of thousands
of bookmarks
with poetry
of poets
far and

-so it

side is
with verse;
flip flopping
through the air
each to land on
Dresden’s ghosts.

Kurt Schneider
Jan 14, 2015

If fools could speak of geometry,
you would be the right angle,
while me, obtuse,
I find light in the darkest places,
where the glint of the moon turns back time,
I look back,
And find you cloaked in fog,
traipsing towards me,
with no rhyme,
strafing while they bleed,
we are cogs in the handset,
we are all lost teeth,
broken and shattered,
fallen to those underneath.

bearing our souls
barefooted, our soles.
bearing the weight
of only our bare
naked souls.

May 9, 2011

I was young
and you gave me words
and thoughts
and entertaining plots.
I spent so much time
looking at the way you write
and looking at the way you phrase
and wishing I could do the same.

Now I have my own phrases
and plots
and thoughts.
All because you planted want.

andrea bush
Sep 26, 2010

so it goes, he said, over and again.
and she knew he only said it to remind her
of her own duty dance with death
but she still wished she had never given him that book.
yeah, well, she said, i want to stay
as close to the edge as i can without going over.
yes, he said. big, undreamed-of things –
the people on the edge see them first.

the several excerpts from the works of vonnegut are, obviously, property of kurt vonnegut.
In 1969, Vonnegut
Emily Anne Schumann

— for the American Mustang

Strung up on one leg, bled dry while alive,
unloaded off trailers crammed full
of the crippled and blind —mares
giving birth on three legs, foals trampled
by stallions, and a wave of fear
hovering over tossing manes
like the sea after Moby Dick surfaced
for the first time. Last year,

135,000 horses died —

rounded up in hundreds and sent
off to slaughter like feeder goldfish,
three stops from Canada
or Cabo, displaced from plains
once revered for their livelihood.

In 1969, Vonnegut
wrote, “And so it goes…”

In 2061, our children will ask about the wild
horses who used to live in their backyards
as they catch the last fireflies and bottle
them up in jars, flickering and dying
like tired bulbs giving up on electricity —

2015 sees Henderson, Nevada grasses paying tribute
to power-plant-lines and a suburb built
on Tralfamadore fiction: house-mounds
and picket fences caging domesticated dogs,
curb-lined streets and caution signs, billboard
warnings of humanity’s fixation with progression,
combined like coffee with an overabundance
of half-and-half and too much sugar — only 99 cents
at Dunkin down a little ways, and home
to the dreamers who forget the word freedom.

Kelsey Bohn
Kelsey Bohn
Jan 6, 2015

I would like to start out saying thank you for all the work you made
for thoughts side comments in your books that make me want to have met you
I would just like to let you know that people are still reading your books
and if I may say you are a true writer that will last past my death
and you inspire me to be the same
so thank you
                           a true lover of your work

Dec 5, 2015

Some people endeavor to portray a persona.
Some people perpetuate the beliefs of their parents.
Some people pretend to be somebody they've seen on TV.
Some people have trouble accepting that they're actually existing.
Some people perceive themselves as being unlike anyone else.
Some people have an aversion to personality profiling.
Some people just can't help themselves.
Some people feel a need to place everyone they've ever known into categories.

"Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land;
Man got to tell himself he understand."
#cats   #kurt   #cradle   #vonnegut   #bokonon  
allen currant
allen currant
Nov 14, 2014

billy pilgrim knows
knows what will
happen to me he
breathes down my
neck warm and
gentle my skin
prickling like
stepping into the
cold post-rain
autumn desolation
there is no why

plaids and dead
sheep have appeared
skin shields shilled
by the new age saviors
mellow melancholy
as everything crumbles
around me meat hooks
and bungee cords
billy pilgrim has
come unstuck in time

every look is a story
every story is too short
unless stretched to
translucence porous
and fragile tangled
in my hair like cobwebs
or a month of wearing
the same black hat
a bug trapped in amber

i am my legs eyes and
mouth and a broom
sweeping invisible hairs

#love   #sad   #depression   #time   #night   #despair   #books   #vonnegut  
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