fructification - Carl Linnaeus - berserk - porcelain - banya

Published
by
agraf
on March 31, 2009
in Mar 24 2009
. 0 Comments

I feel a little embarrassed

by Evelyn

A man is coming here and then we are going to go to Banya.
This cannot make sense–that man is Carl Linnaeus.
Banya is not a word I am comfortable using.
Why don’t you take off all of your clothes Carl Linnaeus says when I am adjusting my underwear which I put on backwards. A berserker is someone who has never eaten off of porcelain Carl Linnaeus explains when he is naked. When he gets comfortable he overexplains.
This is for the fructification of your soul–I would never tell myself that when I begin undressing. I am not comfortable explaining “soul.”

Untitled

by Adam

On return from the banya; glissering upon porcelain; reassured in our fructification
we occupied a booth opposite Carl Linnaeus.
As I call him. She preferred to term him Carolus
to match his namesake linden.
“We have some specials today, including a roasted foreign boar and a buffalo burger with salad or fries.
I can return in a moment if you’re still deciding.”
“Are you referring to Bison bison, or Bubalus?” a frustrating Carl arched.
Our minds, or mine, strayed to bobbing on a wallow
yielding silt or trampled grassland.
Carl, restraining his berserk distinction
ordered a beet and walnut salad.
Waiter glossed the confusion caused
pulled me to the menu question.
“A peach quesadilla please.”

Linnolaeum

by Erika

I opened the magazine, picked out a Carl Linnaeus haircut,
pointed to it. “It suits you.”
Nearby, porcelain apples rolled on the floor in a corner of loud fructification by the dustbin. A lady’s photo hung, young. Rainbow lights shined on it.
You soaked your feet like at a banya. Then, berserk.
“That haircut would suck on me.”

Untitled

by Matt

Carl Linnaeus told me I was ripe enough to be picked,
but I don’t understand allusions to fructification
I just thought he was another creepy old dead man,
wrinkled skin pleated like sheets,
sitting next to me in the banya
I can picture him squatting over a porcelain bowl
bowels going beserk
‘homo sapiens’ is just pretty nomenclature
for a bunch of eating and defecating animals

The Mischievous Ne’er-Do-Wells Did Not Follow Through on This Plot
by Stephanie

It was all staged to happen in the banya.  Just before breakfast.
Carl Linnaeus and the other booky boys from the dormitory would come
waltzing in,
all fructification and classification, their porcelain chests held
high in the fog.
Oh, it would have been a berserk moment there.

Untitled

by Carla

My fructification knows no banya.  It is a ferocious Carl Linnaeus
which consumes me from the beserkest depths of my porcelain.

Untitled

by Adam #2

My banya knows no porcelain. Carl Linnaeus is a fructification beserker which consumes me from the deepest depths of my core.

tended - flop - juiced - loo - archer

Published
by
agraf
on February 19, 2009
in Feb 01 2009
. 0 Comments

Hot Cereal

by Stephanie

While he was in the loo she stood guard,
tended the churning wet slop on the stove,
an archer flinging wooden spoons at her prey.

This pursuit could happen morning after morning,
until their fruits were juiced of it,
the orchard floor flattened and bare,
and her quiver sagging and worn clean through.

It was a flop afterall.
Too bland, he said.
A sprinkling of brown sugar may have helped.

The Voyage of the Mememememe

by Adam

a midshipman’s navel fuzz
tended to flop
abaft and obscure
the captain’s vision

bow down midshipman
weigh archer
loose the cannons
in loo of jigging
juiced the head

Orange

by Erika

Oh what, you’re an archer now? Right. What else is new. Cockfights, crock pots, old smocks, gold lockets. Just put all that stuff down. Moldy pock marks–Do you even know how to–Flea markets–Do you even know how to use it. Jeez. Bow and arrow. Please. All that jazz while i tended to fleas. On the cat’s body. I suppose you didn’t even notice i was in the loo. What? People say that. You’ve really got nerve. You are toast. No, you’re worse than toast: you are juiced. This means war. No, this! means war. It’s all going to be a flop. A flop. A flop.

by Carla:

reflopped, retended, rejuiced
lofotens loos call from within the sauna I wait
springing forth into swells of puffined air
stoned archers sing arrows into the sweet deep

“This is Seattle”

Published
by
evelyn
on April 24, 2008
in Apr 16 2008
. 1 Comment

This round of poems is based on this photo.

the group of animals

by Adam

carla is sorting her things
she is the center of the animals’ attention
drawing the animals to each of her things
save this or appreciate it now

rooting as though finding
a place intolerance
determine if this belongs
out with it if you have it

shelter the refuse
that it may find a host
who can boast the most roast
or collect rejection

moreover until next time
same time next week right here
to the thrilling conclusion
counting down
playing along with
a suspenseful season

.

.

.

Monadnock

by Carla

foursquare plasticity grazing on cellophane squares
Eyes swing down on lever, lower to the level of resistance
Pudding watchings silently bubbling
comfort bears dancing
gently padding floor

.

.

.

Friday Nite in the Recent Past

by Erika

The woman was on all fours –
in some kitchen in some house in a town somewhere.
Anyway she was on all fours. Who can say why?
Like a second table, lower than the first,
she was planted there.
Others were around, near the sauces and the salts,
some paying attention and some not,
all of their elbows bent.

Pour the Chimay into the mug –
or for Heaven’s sake, do something.
Don’t just stare at her like that.

.

.

.

The Lamp is Behind the Girl

by Stephanie

For what crumb
does she slither
on black & white checkered linoleum?
For what worry
does the other girl cover her mouth,
the other coolly look down?
For whose sake
do the brown bottle
and the black & white coffee cup
rest on the table, sinners?
A man stands with his back to it.
This kitchen is lit with it.
These glass fronted cabinets are filled with it.
What. What light?

.

.

.

Pet of the future

by Evelyn

They have a pet there that is like a woman.
I do not think that’s why they have many friends
who come over often. There is something else
to cram into this unrelenting vacant description:
there is also cake, pieces of nuts in the world,
pockets of turned-over phrases where small enclaves
are positioned in neat rows. “Adam will be sorting
on the counter & Carla will need to be crawling
toward him” and whoever said that was in the other
room where the future could be looked at because
of time travel. Nobody invites anybody to the future,
they just show up in purple flowered skirts.

bystander - televised - hiccup - epic - wash

Published
by
agraf
on March 24, 2008
in Mar 26 2008
. 0 Comments

Great American Metal Band

by Alexis

Epic Ballad sing to me.
Televised constantly in my head.

It stays playing
rolling through my temporal lobe
until finally
Broca’s outed me
screaming rapaciously
hesitation bated,

“Take the women and children”
assault on an innocent lake going bystander

Suddenly self aware
Hiccuping regret
fearing shitty pants and reprisal

Hastily
I wash my dirty dirty IPOD.
Manowar you hurt me.

.

.

.

What We Call A Gyp

by Erika

It was a wash.
The battle was televised,
a hiccup in the ratings.
It was the match of a hundred years
but all for naught.
You watched the tube
through your hair
(unwashed)
eyes unblinking
while you pulled through the knots.

A bystander with a stupid face –
you’d box his ears to take his place.

But there was nothing epic about this.

.

.

.

donkey boiler

by Evelyn

the lion knitting jodhpurs epic
turned my bed into stone & i
escaped when the clock
hiccuped. then my hands were
too big to wash my face. i was
hosed. the ritual was televised,
conferring the status of bystander
on everyone, including trans-
gressive pirates.

.

.

.

The Epic Hiccup Will Not be Televised

by Stephanie

A great spasm.
A dreadful inhalation.
You await the next.
Wash a dish.
Then from it drink upside down.
Was that the last?
It happens like a stab.
Or a shot.
Or a slam.
Take a deep breath.
You bystander– bam!

.

.

.

tele-stander hiccup eccup wash

by Adam

stand and face me, you!
I cannot abide your slippery standards
they tickle me
you hiccup your icky banter
bystander

your zits will be televised
and your facial masque
an epic wash

notch - Appaloosa - piquant - deliberate - entomb - opium

Published
by
Nimble Owl
on February 20, 2008
in Feb 20 2008
. 1 Comment

I Remember You Said It Like This

by Erika
The joke was about
two young doctors entombed in an opium den –
One of them chokes on ice
and one of them mounts a horse naked –
a mottled Appaloosa with pretty hair.
You love that part.

It wasn’t wildly funny,
it was maybe just your voice,
the way it went up a notch –
piquant and deliberate
and about to split.

.

.

.

We Stay on the Trail
by Stephanie

We are listening to the Pet Shop Boys,
you lounging plumply on your Appaloosa,
and I on my Paint.
A deliberate yank of the reins,
and we squeak leather against leather, curling up the trail,
another notch up past the tree line.
Hooves brush unknowing against poppy buds,
their sultry layers of electric petals sit dewy and ready to shock,
their entombed opium laughs at how we look from so far below.
Soil smears on poly-cotton blend: piquant, wet, dark.

.

.

.

Tim Gunn

by Evelyn

Tim Gunn says
‘this will never
work, you have
to lose that
acrylic Appaloosa
it’s hideous. Make
a notch and entomb
it in silk just get it
out of here it
reminds me of
cowboys and that
look’s so deliberate
and overdone
like that brand
Piquant Opium.’

.

.

.

prelude to the purchase of opium

by Adam

some jonesing cowpoke moseys up to the bar
saloon doors swinging behind ‘em entomb
the appaloosa he rode in on

furtively surveys the dim room
deliberate glances into the dimmest notch
to see a man about a horse

procures a beer and retires to a table
near a darkened corner opposite
bent like a beaten dead horse

a brief exchange with the guy at the table
he gets up wearing a big waxy coat
they make like trees and leave into the piquant evening

.

.

.

Untitled

by Abby

We pass exit 387B, Tulsa business loop

and I run my fingers absentmindedly over the notches in the AC vent, entombed in the passenger seat.

You sit behind the wheel for the eternity of another four states.

You guessed the last word in eighteen questions. It was opium.

I put in a cd to fill the air for another 100 miles, it was the black and white one.

Several songs in, you ask why he named it Appaloosa, and give me a piquant glance.

I give back a deliberate little chuckle before i realize it wasn’t a joke.

.

.

.

The Ivory buck

By Carla

tsing, tsing, tsing  bright and sharp sound
punctuating a street filled with deliberate speed
and grace - bright tall china air ladies twirl creating swaths of sex, color
very controlled easy to read the message - easy to tell the story

piquant pikachus pirouette
richly notched wood rests ready to be rubbed by the smooth hands of streetvendors
this is too easy - is it a dream

sweet smells rest on the ground and opium is my middle mane
appaloosa rugs clap once returning, entombing me in silence

crummy - neti pot - sleeve - caked - note

Published
by
Nimble Owl
on February 13, 2008
in Feb 13 2008
. 0 Comments

slowly draw the cloth out of your throat and over your eyes
by Adam G.
experiments with the neti pot have led
closer to senses than solutions

hypertonicity may be more effective
in relieving syndromes characterized by
dried mucus caked into upper respiratory cavities
crummy lung volume
in comparison to previous measurements
uncontrollable wiping of the nose with the sleeve
sniveling, wretchedness, intemperance

some of these symptoms may be relived by
exercises familiar to those versed in
circular breathing
employing circular logic
calculating elliptic orbits

in the case of impeded flow
note that sutra neti may
remove some minor blockages

.

.

.

MB
by Carla
soured homey slightly crossed eyes dwelling in a place,
parameters felt but not seen crummy fault lines in fonzies face
hollow sleeves hover between cakes and precise crabbily cobbled notes
nothing new netty pot nothing new

.

.

.

Gifted!

by Erika
The neti pot you gave me for Christmas
is caked in mucous.
I wipe it with the sleeve of my anorak
and leave you a note on wax paper
next to the snot pot:
“Thanks for all the crummy dreams.”

.

.

.

comfort extender

by Evelyn

the need for a neti pot is comforting because it’s optimistic
that’s optimistic with ice cream caked around it
and like a hip’s hump of flesh
and the negative part of thought/not thought
cross-sectioning a hip is explanatory
and not like pulling on a sleeve to get what you want
from the parent conduit
every parent should promise never to die in a note
that leaves everyone with something crummy to read
something adult
like the word ‘intersection’

.

.

.

Something Happened on the Hillside

by Stephanie
your crummy little note scribbled on the back of a receipt,
which fell from the wormy hand poking from the end of my sleeve,
is drifting across the open plains,
majestically brushing the bark of elm,
becoming caked in the dung of elk,
and finally disbursing its pulp like snowflakes in the salty water
of the pond from which I scoop sparkling water for my neti pot.

.

.

.

The fucking plague

by Alexis

My house is a symphony of sickness
Not even a netti pot built for giants can clear these caked pipes
I shamed by my contagious nature,
and forced to wear a note on my sleeve reading C
I should have gotten the flu shot.

.

.

.

untitled

by Adam Lee

crummy sleeve of the world
slips away
gently

indulging in the netti pot
of the mind

past memories caking my thoughts
break suddenly free

i should leave a note before
i am too far
gone

scroll - igloo - bastion - colander - knob

Published
by
Nimble Owl
on February 3, 2008
in Feb 01 2008
. 2 Comments

Procrastination Leads to Cooking

by Adam Lee

Colander glints warily,
hot noodles breath a sigh of relief.
The grimy knobs of my range reflect the
hot spattering of oil.
A few garlic cloves,
the last bastions in my
igloo-like fridge.
Scrolling through the recipe
in my mind;
black bean sauce
and some chicken broth.
After steaming, finally…
I taste.

.

.

.

Untitled

by Alexis

I live in an igloo and I ride a fixed gear,
Wouldn’t you like to know how I roll.
The answer is simple I live by the scroll
Some question my faith,
But my bastion is solid as ice
Oh shit fire is seeping through my colander
I’m reaching for the knob
The control key is lost
It is all melting.
Tersely
Against the parchment
Maybe I need a new ride.

.

.

.

The Great Screen Scrape

by Adam

I click on the subjects of the emails until the screen is long
then I grab the contracted little knob on the scroll bar and scroll
past jungles and deserts and other landforms
scrolling to Antarctica and a flock of huddled penguins
scrolling to Greenland and an igloo village
the scroll bar jogs the length of the great wall of China
the bastion of distance become transparent as a colander

.

.

.

Untitled

by Carla

bobble bobble bastion blunder
colander coil and igloo bubble
add three knobs of newt, two possum teats
and a scroll that says something stupid
the end

.

.

.

- Whistler’s Mother -

by Erika

Hold the hag’s hair back
as she spurts into the colander and it seeps out the cracks.

Beat the bastion of hot men
holdings scrolls rolled into cylinders, burned black.

Turn the slick knob
with a sodden hand,
wipe the gristle on the wall,
next to the igloo plaque.

.

.

.

Common household objects

by Evelyn

I scroll down.

There’s more advice:
make an igloo
with an upside-down colander!

A knob
does make a closed door
believable!

There’s a bastion
in the common.

.

.

.

Some Places Get So Cold That Your Tears Freeze Before They Leave Their Ducts

by Stephanie

The knob had popped off the dresser that day
and rolled around and around the floor of the igloo.
Gurgling and lonesome against the dirt in the fluorescent cool.

A day that was dainty and strange — elastic and dull.

Two of the girls slipped through the holes in the colander,
while their father sat on a pile of pelts in his bastion
scrolling through pages and pages of eBay feedback.

acerbic - recumbent - retarded - gangly - forge - halibut

Published
by
Nimble Owl
on January 30, 2008
in Jan 18 2008
. 0 Comments

Mission Oak Frame

by Evelyn

Retarded halibut framed in mission oak

Forge! Ascerbic, gangly herder

The recumbent chair creeps closer to

the mutt shears…

.

.

.

Oh Gangly God

by Stephanie

Recumbent out back on the lawn,

we forged a new gentle philosophy.

An acerbic appearance of a Messiah

scared the halibut shitless

and sent them shivering back into blackness.

The retarded army sputtered and sank.

.

.

.

Untitled

by Erika

Little gangly guys

race around the yard

and forge their retarded names in the dirt.

“Halibut, halibut, more halibut”

was the acerbic word.

And you never even told me

what you think “recumbent” means.

.

.

.

Untitled

by Miles

the retarded halibut slid upstream

environmental protections kept them safe like

an iron-forged security blanket

recumbent, quiet sliding like a moonbeam

gangly field-trip teens staring from across the dike

his slow, acerbic musings cooled downstream, spread like a sheet

.

.

.

Flope

by Adam

push on my sternum acerbic

recumbent recoup my potential

floating retarded indentured

forge a gangly recurring dissention

until respite we march

or laze on the porch

have halibut every 3rd sunday

.

.

.

Untitled

by Carla

I have something stuck in my throat

and while I am choking and coughing

focusing on the struggle things slip by

behind the lump so big even the retarded

gangly things can slip by behind in

where the gangles forge their own path

aw crap I am tired of writing small

and neat so other people on their

recumbent bouncy balls with halibut

mitts for fleshily fondling acerbic balls

.

.

.

Blind Date

by Matthew

Are you retarded?

The halibut is on sale.

Do you think the Vulcan remained recumbent

when working at his mighty forge?

If you think you can make up

for your gangly face with acerbic wit…

you might be right,

put another log on and let’s see what happens…

.

.

.

Acerbic Alaska

by Adam #2

Gangly weatherbeaten men forging through the winter,

the halibut were sparse that season.

The humor sparser.

The retarded first mate kept cracking the same joke.

Black clouds gathered ominously.

Even the fish were sad.

.

.

.

Recumbent

by Alexis

Identify a pattern

guess whose turn:

To forge for a halibut

only to find a mutt

retarded, gangly, putt. putt. putt.

into a pitt

an acerbic wit

fleshy - loose - lime - blank - grip

Published
by
Nimble Owl
on January 30, 2008
in Jan 18 2008
. 0 Comments

labottles labels lapels loosen

by Carla

blindly skipping along a

path through a small forest

a grip in blank hoarer

the plaything of the

fleshy lime.

.

.

.

Untitled

by Matthew

Oooh, what a fleshy glare.

Loose lips over that floating lime.

The rising glass,

a gin & tonic kiss.

I’m gripping my fork

and blankly looking back.

.

.

.

Untitled

by Stephanie

When you want that fleshy feeling,

a meaty sensation to grip,

I’ll be there to squeeze the lime wedge

over your sprawling pieces.

And we’ll all cut loose

just like back in music class.

Staring at the blank back of the piano.

.

.

.

Lime

by Alexis

Jimmie Jimmie’s Jimmies

Jimmie

Fleshy Cherrio power for men

I have a loose grip on the fill in the blank poetry game.

.

.

.

Untitled

by Evelyn

When I go to Safeway I like to look fleshy,

I don’t care.

There is blank abandonment in this.

I buy some Grip and Lime, and Loose.

Fuck Whole Foods.

.

.

.

Untitled

by Adam #2

Loose grips cause slips

Never mind, I’ve lost my lime.

My brain’s a blank

Totally blank

The beer in my mouth is fleshy

.

.

.

Untitled

by Miles

Later on it got fleshy.

Was I too blank?

The lime taste was too unexpected, so

I lost my grip on the loose dialog.

.

.

.

a pint of toes

by Adam

The clique sauntered loosely along the hall.

Kicking a lime-colored rubber ball.

Blank facial expressions covered them all,

daring each other to release

their loose grip on their lifelong goal.

The angle of the eyelining kohl

fleshy dripping offal.

.

.

Internet in the Kitchen

by Erika

Hardcore blogs

full of blanks, everyday.

We’re feeling pretty fleshy,

fresh-faced like hogs.

Hug me hard, don’t trip;

I detest a loose grip.

I dropped a lime on the floor–

Don’t slip. It’s not a pog.

ear – carrot – stick – non-penetration – supernatural

Published
by
admin
on January 16, 2008
in Dec 29 2007
. 0 Comments

Untitled

by Carla

 

Ear in carrott stick makes good

Listening in on those cool hallways

Where smooth as silk voices nattering

Smooth and smuther the smooth hard

Smooth dark, did I say hard floors

Sliding by not supernatural in the all but perfectly normal

Act of non-penetration

 

 

 

Juice Vellocet

by Adam

 

Pour me a dram of carrot +

My droogs would like a tomato moloko and

a cabbage celery fennel-ohotsk

 

I’m only a wanker due to I haven’t

captured any supernatural ear yet tonight.

 

Let us track down some vagrants

and give them the stick

bashing and banishing

hope of non-penetration.

 

 

 

Plot of Land

by Stephanie

 

Always carry a cinnamon stick

with exactly one ear,

minus the carrott.

You wheel your barrel

through a supernatural orchard

of supple dripping juice fruits.

And regretful of non-penetration,

you suck them right in, sadly.

 

 

 

Untitled

by Evelyn

 

Richy wants to do the nice carrot + to her. She is not too old for him to put a stick in her tea and to whisper in her ear, “Supernatural non-penetration.”