"hup" poems
another construction friday:
smash, lift, grunt, clean, sweep, collect, empty . . . (grind)
lift up (hup!) doors, hang 'em, nail 'em in.
rap up the stairs, feet heavy in big old boots
thighs aflame --- heavy--fuck
clomp
clomp--stomp. swish.
stop for lunch: sandwich/grapes/arizona
sandwich only cheese so not satisfied full..
dusts in the mouth
(and nostrils) so i sneeze & sneeze
raw-nosed in the attic cleaning
---brooms and dust dust dust.
good view to the bay up second level tho:
autumn vistas and panoramas and waves on white shorelines
giant's tomb in the deep, breast heaving
big wide windows w/wasps buzzing eternal
buzz
whack each with rolled window installation guide
grind with the heel
grsch
each one dead is replaced with one more
crawling from odd upstairs nest
---from rest.
feel guilty & awful killing them but
so aggressive in their slowness (compensating) this time of year that
moving material presents good risk of sting.
---zing.
hope they will forgive me.
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 5:54 PM UTC
they ride along
the mountain road:
kashgar and
the heron girl
crane their necks
to the shaman's haze,
ploughing out
the humpback’s trail.
with a slow hup-hup, up
down powder trot,
a boombox laugh
and a slapstrum knot;
walking the lake,
talking of the bay,
savor the night:
hear what they say!
bronze battalions
beat the prince,
hide the sambas
inside of their hats;
a summer tent,
a sterling pearl:
kashgar and
the heron girl.
they rode along
the mountain road,
past water cranes
and lily haze;
roaming slow
the worldshell snail,
ploughing out
the humpback trail.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
at the cafe on ruby toes and sugar pinch, we consent and reap the valdez of our perpetual cud.
we sip from octagonal spoons. there, we suture the fiend to the deed and the rail
to the runaway train. how else would you explain your dashing about
in the chum of our castanet. we cast our nets in the epibenthic fumes of our unusual loveliness
and sweat the little things that vanish from the canon our interesting.
hup to it. vie for the offshore drill.
suppose you grow a dead thing and keep it astonished with flashcards
and nobody says a thing ?
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
AN AMPERSAND &...
An & and
an & and another.
I fill up the page
build a wall of &’s
I’ve always loved
their variousness
this the sharp contraction
of the simple “and.”
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
My writer’s block
hides behind
my wall of ****
ampersands.
Suddenly the words
break through
my man-made
ampersand wall!
“Thought I’d almost lost
you there sunshine!”
the poem beams.
“Ok, words!
Let’s get to work here!”
“Hup hup let’s get this
poet up and running!”
The poem puts
the pen in my hand
puts the pen
to the page.
“Ok son…get on
with it!”
And the hand
remembers
by candlelight how
it all happened
one day in
…French.
The poet goes &
makes a cup of Cocoa.
The page reads
the poem over
to itself.
“Not bad…not bad!”
the page laughs to itself.
“Poets! Ha!
Who’d ‘ave ‘em!”
VERRE D'EAU
il pleut dans
le verre d'eau oubliée
remplir à craquer
le verre vide maintenant
renversée par la pluie féroce
scintillant dans le soleil
une coccinelle rampe à l'intérieur
cet univers de verre
le chant des oiseaux tombe sur l'herbe mouillée
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
Go
Flo
Rip
Lip
Wiggle
Tiggle
Smash
Dash
Groove
Move
Hup
Pup
Slide
Ide
Dive
Clive
Push
Nush
Tickle
Lickle
Love
Dove
Bounce
Ounce
Daz
Jazz
Big
Dig
Slip
Pip
Trip
Hip
Hop
Pop
Grind
Mind
Telly
Belly
Hell
Tell
Oz
Loz
Stone
Bone
Big
Wig
Tic
Nic
Danny
*****
Granny
Manny
Wimp
Imp
Rib
Dib
Dace
Mace
Lace
Race
Fire
Ire
Flat
Face
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
it's me
i miisss yookuouoso muruch i dontnowottodoabouutitit
iim acaar fulll of ****** a shipp ffull of sssailas
a ccsamp fullof boyscouutss
it's you
twiddledy-twiddly-twiddle the kknob
pussshing thhe buutons, fiftyytwo, fourtythree, tennn-hup
a maggneticpo leto my compasss
it's us
qmdkksjdjjaiekmkrrrrfkfk, nsdjndf
kkksksiashiuyiddrirttranoth erone, go on, doit
do it aagin, ynotit works dunnitit
it's ours
and from over here it loooks likke
we'll never get tto do it evva again, unnless
itl earns anoth erlanguage
thhatw ebothu ndusttaaaand
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
"Finally decided to do your hair for once."
"Chris, thank you, but let's focus on the dance."
"With this awful song?.. 2, 3, and hup!"
"We walked the aisle to this.. do try to keep up."
"Now now Jayne, that was probably ages ago."
"Oh, then explain why first anniversary's tomorrow."
"Ahem, now lunge, slowly, 4, embrace me."
"Can I ask one question? Why the hell did we marry?"
"That's two - you really should work on your spending."
"Sniff, and you should spend much more on washing."
"Judge Michel looks concerned, would you stop being upset."
"But I'm the one smiling, with great hair I might add."
"Steady, and land.. Yes speaking of which, why now?"
"I'm leaving you for Michel.. do not forget to bow."
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
When an astronomer says, very densely packed,
of matter - as in the Oort cloud,
he is in another scale of thought, augmented
by science used with knowledge of
fore gone conclusions as to
metrics on con sci user's
speed of thought,
where
reality doesn't care if you believe it or not.
We are all past-understanding,
we are the lifeship earth peace makers,
the entire crew, auto, right, mathic-myth,
sentience intended to manifest
in time to make that
final ******
pop the bubble of babble's biggest fuss
race
to spew the luke warm from my mouth and watch,
each drop of venom sprouts a rod
of an almond tree.
{I predicted the return of this riddle}
Maybe and whatif are not
ex-act-ed-ly, no, actually
-- see, slow… see
maybe and trust are crushed words, compacted
as the density of any den of thieves becomes
assumedwiseasstreetspunky, slang, coo'
thoughts merge from phrases to signals
true rest may be, if we survive
next as we imagine it,
resting in truth, matters or not,
spirit of philio or spirit of sophia,
we agree,
shoulder to shoulder, elbo-grease and oompha
songs,
hup, we hup, we lift the foot from the mud,
find the boot has lost its irony soul,
sould,
American, LSMFT, never forget!!
When the joker told the thief of the must be
way, the liar, himself, believed
the whole story…
that was magic, not a trick, not a cheat.
You know reality does not care.
{evidence, in the mystery of iniquity working thread}
The reason beauty is, is you. Seeing, you doing the
seeing, witnessing the irrationality
of iridescent humming birds
playing in my cloudless
January sunset,
all along the 33rd parallel.
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 7:50 PM UTC
Am I winning?
Have I won?
Am I living?
Yes, I am.
Am I living?
Yes, I am
Have I lived?
Yes I have
Lo, and be hold
beholden’ on
this is the future, my future, your now,
you may change what comes next,
but my bit of this idea was thought
some time ago.
----
say stretch, tendere, eh, say stretch
yo’ sorry ol’ attent-attention
three sibling boys march past me
counting cadence, 30 per
hup two three
--- why is this so easy to see
as real in any
boy I ever knew, the boy who leads
is 12, the sarge is 8, pfc is 5,
War, The idea of war, itself, an imagined
anthropomorph
in many fantasy experiences, in tranced
story-wise, tuned to the game
as to life, these see war as game theory,
rage from another age
lurks among the liars, there flattened
on the inner edge of the wall they wished
to form from fear and hate idea viruses.
Yes, Seth’s original strain, pure conjectural
objects orienting precepticons…
Can you see me now?
Am I living?
Yes, I am.
Ecce **** Augmento.
Yah. You may say… whoso ever
or who so
ever or whosoever makes peace
appear
as here, at this point, in time
we think of as then and now, you know.
Wake up, take your watch.
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 7:40 PM UTC
My heart pounds
Run out of nouns
Headache
accompanied by heartache
Dizzy
Told me to drink the water fizzy
Can hardly breathe
slipping away me
My lunch comes up
HUP HUP HUP
My body jerks
And herks
Then my heart slows to a dead mans pace
I spray the mace
To keep them at bay
I don't want to die
I can't feel my blood in my veins
Faint
The blood is taint
I black out
All around me they pout
Finally my heart siezes
My life ends in pieces
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
HUP! ONETWO THREE!
a herd of pylons
march across countryside
car radio blares Col. Hathi March
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 5:37 PM UTC