"arkansas" poems
The sweet heat washes down trembling limbs
Drenching in warm sweat
Trailing its languid touch down the face
Arms and finger tips
Dripping along the spine
Between the chest and across the hair of the scalp
Collecting on eyelashes and lips
Huffing in exertion
Choking on humidity
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
coupon for Granny's Original 32% All Natural Oatmeal®
cart-to-cart down aisle 48 and this man's an affront to khakis
and this woman's brain runs off a child's complaints
BLIZZARD 2013
according to the radar, buy 80 pounds of rock salt
from The Home Depot®, more saving. more doing.™
more rock salt. more doing
BLIZZARD 2013
according to the radar, buy two-weeks-worth of tuna,
a pallet of Pepsi Max®, and four loaves of Baker Good's NeverMold Bread®
all for $21.99 with your Sam's Club® Rewards Card
BLIZZARD 2013
cart-to-cart down aisle 62 where once there was soda, now an I.O.U.
and I read on the internet that the preservatives in diet cola will keep
my body from decomposing and I read on the internet that these
dented, discount tuna cans will give me botulism
BLIZZARD 2013
one jug of water from a spring in Mountain View, Arkansas
one jug of water from a spring in New Iberia, Louisiana
picking between Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana
the pitter-patter on the warehouse roof reassures
time for eenie meenie miney mo
BLIZZARD 2013
and the intercom desperate for a cart wrangler
customer service now open for checkout
don't leave your toddlers alone in shopping carts
they're choking on free samples
with an echo, raindrops strike parking lot pools
just past the intersection an ambulance grumbles
BLIZZARD 2013
in a room with a view wishing the windowpane weatherized
beers bought by volume, candles forgotten, six months of
licorice, EverFluff® popcorn, and hand warmers of chemical kind
remembered
BLIZZARD 2013
will not be landing in the city, watch out for that rain though
if the temperatures drop below 32 degrees it could ice over
and if the temperatures don't, well, it won't
News 7's coverage of Blizzard 2013 brought to you by
The Home Depot®, more saving. More doing.™
and Sam's Club®, savings made simple.™
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
Set fire to the Antique Shop,
We’re one step ahead of the cops.
Mannequins of Elvis begin to melt.
Free from past matters; free from guilt.
Promoting the prosperity
As we hoard hostility
Androids ambushing Arkansas,
They seek to find ménage trois.
Achieving self-awareness
They want fill the void’s emptiness
Chugging R & R by the fifths.
By our thumbnails we dangle off cliffs.
Thread by thread, the veil unfolds.
Standing all alone, I’m left in the cold.
Show me how much you care.
Push me in my wheelchair.
Listening to what drives you crazy
Eventually helps you stop being lazy.
Lilly is spinning me dizzy
She belongs to the world of yesterday
The haze is now fading away.
If only I could stay
for just one day
But Behold
I feel you should be told
I have come from the end
When the Earth is condemned.
As I tell the tall tale,
How we came to live in hell,
once we found the holy grail.
“We overcame our fear
The classified was made clear.
We launched all the nukes,
By order of the Skywalker named Luke.
The framers were lousy architects;
They left the balance completely hectic.
The CEO’s got away with fraud.
Thinking their work was the will of God.”
I met you in the gloomiest bar.
We speed across the town in my car.
Questioning why we remained silent.
The flickering florescent light compliment
The tone of shallow yellow paint,
I can finally hibernate.
After I left the oblivious,
Do I finally notice,
It’s hesitation that leads
me astray from redemption.
TJW 2013
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 6:14 AM UTC
There's a simple life somewhere
Out there in the cold
If it's dead, I don't care
I'm already too old
The window feels like winter
It makes me think of home
My thought's been split to splinters
On this lonely, teenage road
Have you seen my possessions?
I think I left them in Omaha
I've got no obsessions
As we pass through Arkansas
Can you play our song?
Only if you sing it with me
And if you've been driving too long
Give the control back to me
There's a ringing in my ear
It's the voice of an angel speak
Tell me, I want to hear
Your stories awaken me
This wheel's on fire now
Just like our skin and our hearts
And before it's over now
Can you tear me apart?
I've been in here too long
I can't stand the engine noise
I need to get back home
And have a drink with the boys
Can you fill up the tank?
Can you bring me to the end?
Don't take this to the bank
But I want to see you again
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
as a dreamer, in a particle splits the path of thought,
like mud under my fingernails and crystal shells.
Arkansas is driving me insane
come one come all she's the
fare-st if you fall.
neck burned as a fingerprint, itches sore in trash days,
conspiracies and deputies
looking still more strange.
can determined minds build a staircase of reason?
up to a future, teasing
me out in the open
with your temper words.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
Day lilies and dragonflies
in Arkansas June
boy do I need a sombrero!
not a cloud in the sky
and I pray for a genteel breeze
to cool my brow
The crepe myrtle has
crept its way into
my heart
From dawn to dusk
She stands unscathed
shocking pink candelabrum
boisterous laughter of
school children on vacation and
belly flops in chlorine blue green pools
brings to mind a delightful dip
in a secluded, sylvan
mountain stream
where I can with palms folded
Love brimming
salute the Summer Solstice
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Acrostic poems shouldn't be reserved for the
Mildly ******** fifth graders who still can't identify
Arkansas on a blank map of the United States.
Real "poets" use formulas, too. Are you trying to tell me
Elizabethan sonnets hold more "poetic" merit
Than this skillfully crafted,
Thought-provoking
Ode to my favorite liqueur?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
See here: I’ve been to Arkansas, and New Orleans at Mardi Gras. I’ve traveled south of Panama, did Dublin, Thames, and Wichita, I went, I saw, though full of awe, I couldn’t help but find such flaw in everything and all. An outlaw in my old rickshaw I draw my paths and highways, y’all, and always come back home. I’ve seen the summer, felt the fall, I love the fields and hate the mall I rob from Peter, pay back Paul and haven’t found the wherewithal to turn **** in on time. I do recall a cell phone call, and built up walls to break the fall, lose a little, lose it all, the breaking down, the overhaul, now take me up to Montreal, I’ll see you in the spring.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
My birthday is today
Seventeen years since another Sunday at 9 AM
On top of a mountain called Ozark
In a land that reminded me of Harry Potter
Called Pettigrew like Peter
It's forests elicited sprites and daddy long legs
Made of me a changeling then spit me back out
I learned what real ice tea was at the age of three
It was my birthday
Doing Pirouettes on my aunts Patio
Again, under Arkansas stars
With faery lights leading my way
I ascended to the brush behind the house
Got lost in the greens and browns of paradise's supply
Returned with flesh painted the colour of love
In an apartment overlooking crab apple trees
Fresh Canadian foliage fostering a well concealed creek
On a 90 degree angle over a dark chocolate cake
My ninth birthday
I drank pickle juice because Vinny said it was limonade
I wore dresses that year
And coveted baskets filled to brim with blossoms
Baked the crab apples into a pie
But preferred mama's banana cream
I wore bandages on my arms
and grass stains on my knees
My tears washed away like Crayola markers
And my biggest inner questions had to do
With what was for breakfast
And the lifespan of a temporary tattoos
14 came with a big black bow
Done up gaudily in greys with a sad little smile
Three years marked with pink splotches and lines
A subject to hormones and arsenic tones
My birthday
A celebration of decay
And mama still sang, and baked, and kissed my face
And didn't wake when I placed cotton ***** in her ears
Because I was a happy girl
Today is my birthday
And mama exclaims
"No more babies! All four of you are so grown!"
But the mirror still illustrates an odd little show
With a baby face
A girls chest
And a womans hips
An ordinary freak all stitched up
Awkward and too much of everything
But not enough all the same
And inside I know
Is a sea of paradoxical Samanthas
Some stubborn and loud
Some shy and reserved
All with changes to make
Books to read
And places to go
And only few that are quite wanting yet
To be 17
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
There is no more straddling state lines for you.
You are no longer teetering on the edge of
life and death
because you are now deader than my father’s
dead bell heart. You are laying in a morgue and
I am sitting on a train, miles and miles from you. An
early bloomer, a preemie baby boy, you are
one day too soon.
I am watching the trees of Arkansas of Missouri of Illinois
pass me by, but you are being
whisked
and
twirled
and
whirled
through the stars.
(I am trying to imagine what it must feel like to
explode into a supernova, to
implode into a constellation.
I am trying to contemplate what it means to
reach
i n f i n i t y
and
n i h i l i t y
at the same time.)
Careening headfirst towards the midwest, I
am heading towards a home I no longer wish to go. I have
spent my night in a daze between
asleep and awake,
listening to a man snore and a baby cry, and nothing is stopping
me from thinking about the steps in post-mortem care. I have
seen dead bodies before. I have touched dead bodies before.
I do not want to come in contact with yours.
My problem is not that you finally finished your
transition from boy to skeleton,
my problem is that you did so without
asking your mother’s permission. I read the
Book of James the night before your surgery two years ago
and forgot it the very next day. There is nothing I want more
than to swim laps and crochet scarves and write bad poems and
become void of all the information that I currently hold.
I want to forget that I knew you.
I want to forget that I thought I loved you.
I want to forget my attachment to you so it won’t
hurt as bad now that you’re
( d e a d ) .
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
I rode in the black back seat
at the age of three
From Wichita to Selma
in this land where nothing comes free
Across Texas , Arkansas , Mississippi
under stars I dreamed
While a heartbeat
was ever following me
Strange the things we choose
to remember and recall
Are the things maybe trivial
But are another brick in the wall
I lived in Panama City
until I was twelve
Swam with sharks and rays
Fell in love but on it I won't dwell
I ran with wild mustangs
in the wilds of Spokane
Climbed up the Rockies
Trekked the snows in a winter wonderland
I slept in the desert under
the most gorgeous stars
Ate mushrooms and peyote
trying to figure out who I are
But there's no place
No place , like the one
Where you were born
No place
on earth
Can lead you away that's far
There's no where
Like the dirt running
through your veins
There's no place
like the place where
you got your name
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Some in my family say
Uncle Sam was my salvation
when I was a young man
hell, maybe so, I don’t know
but he kept me out of jail
and paid for my education
which is how I found myself
in West Memphis, Arkansas
surveying Indian mounds
that some fool professors thought
were put there by the Choctaw
but I knew they’d got it wrong
all along, it was the Mississippians
which makes perfect sense if you think
on it considering where they put ‘em
but I digress, I must confess it
was my fondness for backroad bars
and blues guitars carved from wood
of crosses burnt by drunks in hoods
and strings plucked by calloused fingers
of old men with shoulders slumped
like sagging barns and Ford pickups
you find out in them parts, singing
songs about long gone women, all
kinds of aching age old pains lingering
enough to make a man’s heart rain
until the US Army Corps of Engineers
blew the levy’s to send those tears
out across cotton fields and mounds
I know the Choctaw didn’t build.
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 10:58 PM UTC
Yes It is I the Notorious Break Down Queen
Been to every big city and every hick town in between
Broken down more times than a little bit
All I do is hurry up and wait but most of time is just sit
Waiting in the shop to get my truck repair
Must have open Pandora's Box. does anyone care?
clutch rod bent, steering rack and pinion went to crap
stuck in a truck that's a rolling death trap
Finally I get rolling thinking this must be a curse I'm under
Good God what that sound? My engine sounds like thunder
The Truck God's are against me I just know it
I'm so mad right now I could just spit
Injectors one through five and the turbo just blew
oil and fuel all over the hood and wind shield resembling something like glue
four days in the shop in San Larenzo California
3600 dollars later repair guy say "hers a nice little bill for ya"
Not long after the breaks got hot and the air chambers took a dump
must have had happened when I ignored that **** speed bump
now what all the indicator light just came on and my oil is low
maybe I should set fire to it and watch it burn slow
this is perfect I'm just in the nick of time
get into Gallup N.M hit the nearest bar and order a corona with a lime
My truck is fixed and I'm ready to roll
I just pray when I back out I don't hit a poll
In Arkansas In a town of population 12 and one **** dog
Hung up on the rail road tracks due to the heavy fog
Two cranes later they send me on my way
a rock hit my wind shield I guess in Chicago I'll stay
Sick and tired of the hotels motels and shops
trailer lights are out get escorted by the Indianapolis city cops
Broke down again and not a penny to my name
have a water leak which I cannot tame
Held captive against my will in Atlanta for I am pleading
only for them to tell me i have a low voltage reading
will it ever come to an end I will never freaking know
almost in Minersville, PA plowed in by 9 inches of snow
A mixture of all the minor and major stuff
This makes my job that more tough
the little fixes and the big repairs in between
Now you know how I got my name the
Notorious Breakdown Queen.
Nov 17, 2009
Nov 17, 2009 at 8:47 AM UTC
Is it just imagination, or
Is Wal-Mart running out of
**** to put on their shelves?
I swear.
(And I intend on cee-ceeing
Elizabeth Warren with this.)
So, you want to do something
About inequality in America?
So, you want to give the working stiffs,
A Fighting Chance,
Is that the name of
Your book, Senator Liz?
I’ve heard it all before:
It’s Hope & Change Redux, Babaloo!
(And don’t get me started on Osama Obama.)
Here’s my plan:
You go aisle to aisle in any Superstore
With a little notepad and pencil.
Every time you see some
Large plastic piece of ****
Realizing they sell
15 million of ‘em every year,
All made by some Dink-Chink in China.
QUESTION: So, what do you do, Mr. Policy Wonk?
ANSWER: Federally-subsidize the
Building & Operation of a plant
Manufacturing that **** right here in Detroit.
Or Atlanta, or Hartford,
Cleveland or Fitchburg,
Or even Oakland,
Where San Francisco poor continue to squeeze.
(Don’t get me started on Urban Gentrification.)
Trust me on this:
AMERICAN JOBS
Will deodorize everything that
Stinks about The Economy.
“Capital Flight Gone Global:
Invest where Labor comes cheap.
Export those American jobs again & again.”
QUESTION: What’s the difference
Between a middle-class person
And a poor person in America?
A middle-class job,
********
But I digress.
I was sharing an observation:
Wal-Mart’s shelves are
Not as luscious, as they once were.
Gaps left for
PINEAPPLE CHUNKS,
With only CRUSHED PINEAPPLE
Cans in stock, e.g.
So much for that On-line,
Real-time,
Instant supply-chain,
Super-duper
Inventory system, Mr. Walton.
Arkansas wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
Was it Mr. Sam?
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
River as persistent
as the enduring ******
for self-preservation -
Carving by currents
and flowing within
a necessary course
Determined
by ancient
inherent law.
Oblivious to danger
and ignorant of doubt
it is perpetually unconcerned -
The river carelessly
generous
without discrimination -
Ever sustaining
trees, grasses and
underbrush shelters
Home to life in its waters
and nourishment for those
that come to the banks
Never quarreling with any
human imposition
be it sport or utility
And always providing
the perfect primordial
music for meditation
Always offering
an immaculate lullaby
for the tranquil restorative
of sleep.
- fr
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
my psychiatrist tells me to find the source of my hate in order to defeat it. in order to manipulate it back into a positive effect.
my source of hate is in myself, of myself. of the stupid, childish things that i mistakenly and purposefully do. like letting people in. getting attached to them and exposing them to...well...me. i'm embarrassed of myself and i don't want other people to be punished by my presence. i hate myself because i get to know these beautifully ugly people just to push them away...or let them slide through the creases of my fingers. i hate myself because i drove myself insane. i refused help when i knew i needed it and then lashed out because i was all alone. i hate myself because i couldn't even succeed in suicide. i hate myself because i hate living. i hate myself because i loved him more than anything. i hate myself because i allow him to continuously abuse me. i hate myself because i chose arkansas. i hate myself because i had the chance to live with him and so i'm the reason why we're not together. and i have to live with that. i have to live with wondering whether he's using again or if he returned to that *** crusted blonde *****
but most of all, i hate myself because i can't be happy with what i willingly chose.
i love myself.
i don't need a reason for that.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
My Grandmother told me stories
How she lived across the street from Bugsy Siegel's mother in Brooklyn
If you knew my family, it's hardly believable.
Mobsters near the family, I was told "things always fell off the truck."
I guess Great Grandpa Willie made it by, must have had good luck.
Berger became Bock, Grandma Marcia married Joel, my Grandpa.
He left Brooklyn for the Air force and they moved to Arkansas
East to Midwest, to West....
Grandma went with him, they finally rested in sunny California.
Willie would have been proud of Joel when he served during Korea.
William Berger passed away, I never knew him.
We now have scholars, businessmen, artists and athletes
It's iconic how living here will shape your reality
The memories and moments of a family to which we clutch
Softly being recorded, my family history shows how much he loved us.
A mysterious, touching legacy was left over time.
I'm sure my grandmother keeps pictures and pages I will never find.
No matter what, whether he was honest, hardworking, or in crime,
I know he did it all for his family, prosperity or depressing times.
I was told he had a lot of courage, and always made friends
I wish I could have seen his face, I wish I could have met the man.
Grandma says I look like him.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Someday I’d like to visit Georgia
Or maybe Florida
Or maybe the Bahamas or Tahiti or Hawaii
Just someplace that’s warm.
Someday I’d like to visit Alabama
Or Louisiana
Or Arkansas or Georgia or Carolina
Someplace where the boys speak with accents
And the girls wear boots and plaid
And farmland is everywhere
Just someplace where people are kind.
Someday I’d like to visit Texas
Or Nevada
Or Wyoming or Oklahoma or Kansas
Someplace where the sun beats down hot
And the men ride horses
And the desert stretches for miles
Just someplace where people aren’t.
Someday I’d like to visit Austin
Or Atlanta
Or Hollywood or New Orleans or Nashville
Someplace where men serenade the moon
And women hum babies to sleep
And fame resides everywhere
Just someplace where music fills the air.
Someday I’d like to visit Heaven
Or maybe stay
Yes, stay, forever and ever
Someplace where families reunite
And children get enough to eat
And no one speaks an unkind word
Just someplace where souls come together.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
i stand there
watching you walk by
i can’t speak
you’ve got me tongue tied
what will it take
to erase you
you haunt my
withering mind
Nov 13, 2023
Nov 13, 2023 at 7:55 PM UTC
The man on the phone
told him that rent was due
by five o'clock
rent which was not there
but five was seven hours away
and he had this feeling
that seven hours was a good distance
to put between him and Richmond
so he packed up his clothes
his old jeans and plaid button downs
and his typewriter
that old clunky son of a *****
which made such sweet music
he stuffed it all into a backpack
and left his keys in the apartment
as the door closed for him
for the last time
He left Virginia behind
and headed west
he spent a night or two in Memphis
drinking cheap bourbon from a plastic bottle
and dancing with some pretty little thing
as Johnny Cash played over the radio
He took his car
and passed through
Fort Smith Arkansas
but he didn't stay too long
He made a few bucks
cleaning glasses in a ****** old bar
in Oklahoma City
sleeping in the small room
upstairs
He made it to Amarillo Texas
and thought that he might just stay
under the dead pan
Texas sun
but he was restlessly being chased
by his memories and fears
His car broke down
in Albuquerque
so he hopped on a train
heading to Phoenix
but Phoenix was tough
and alien
and he got footloose
real quick
He hitched out of there
with a ****** cardboard sign
which read simply
"West"
and he met some strangers
and made some new friends
before he found himself
in fallen angel country
Hollywood heart breaks
and smog covered starlight
with no more road left to travel
he'd been coast to coast
he settled down
like the pioneers who came before him
and burned his maps
just a *****
road weary,
traveler
with a typewriter
and dusty worn jeans
a traveler who made his way home
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
the jhoola is damp from
evening rains
still I enjoy swinging under
misty twilight skies
the moon beaming a toothless grin
Funny how it all feels so real
solid, permanent
I’ll always be Sonya ki
in this familiar body,
surroundings and place
I gaze at puddles
of silvery water glistening
over the garden beds
visions from the past float to the
surface
not too long ago I was living in
Arkansas, and before that the big apple
childhood memories of my mother’s
comforting voice and soft lap
eclipses the other images morphing
into a cascade of ever changing
ephemeral moments in time
If nothing stays the same then
what is it that resounds through
the hills and valleys of my being
like an eternal echo
That fixed point where the sun never rises nor sets
Splendor enthroned within
Immortal witness
Beloved
“Consciousness is neither inward turned nor outward turned nor both
It is not undifferentiated, it is beyond cognition and non cognition.
Not experienced by the senses nor known by comparison or inference,
incomprehensible, unthinkable and indescribable,
pure consciousness, the real Self, the cessation of all phenomena,
tranquil, all-blissful, one without a second,
this fourth state (Turiya ), the Atma (Real Self)
(Eternal Witness)
is to be realized”
~Mandukya Upanishad
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 2:17 AM UTC
his pretty girl
lives in Arkansas
he's traveling
the miles
to be with the girl
he adores
by the breaking light of dawn
he'll be holding her near
they'll be standing on her porch
taking in the bright sun's sphere
their kisses and cuddles
shall be so swell
their love shall chime
like an ecstatic bell
his pretty girl
lives in Arkansas
he's traveling
the miles
to be with the girl
he adores
they'll continue
their love story
until the moon of night
they'll stay
melded together
soaring in love's flight
their love shall be
ever fond
and they'll always
have a loving bond
his pretty
lives in Arkansas
he's traveling
the miles
to be with the girl
he adores
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC