Tag Archives: jack henry poet

poem: in this Starbucks

29 Mar

there is too much noise
in this Starbucks
too many voices screeching
in this Starbucks
too much sameness
in this Starbucks
same drab jazz bullshit symphonies

in this Starbucks
there is a long line
in this Starbucks
people cut from similar cloth
in this Starbucks
they queue without question
in this Starbucks
buy the same items each time

in this Starbucks
i use the free Internet
in this Starbucks
cruise for willing partners
in this Starbucks
download hardcore porn
in this Starbucks
write poetry about nothing

in this Starbucks
a girlfriend once worked
in this Starbucks
she’d blow me on breaks
in this Starbucks
we’d fuck after closing
in this Starbucks
she left me for another

in this Starbucks
my world comes and goes
in this Starbucks
i make change for the bus
in this Starbucks
homeless people piss
in this Starbucks
drug deals occur daily

in this Starbucks
sometimes i work
in this Starbucks
make false comments
in this Starbucks
pretend to be someone else
in this Starbucks
realize my life is beige on beige

in this Starbucks
a man greets me
in this Starbucks
speaks incoherently perfect
in this Starbucks
screams about the meaningless of life
in this Starbucks
finally buys a Venti Mocha Frappe
in this Starbucks

poem: east of where i stand

7 Oct

my brain fills
with scattershot landscapes,
tumble weeds blow dead
across long flat rivers of black asphalt,
trees and shrubs bend from a ceaseless wind,
dust carves veins atop dry clay river bottoms –
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poem: sublimation

2 Oct

poem: sublimation
i am a 1950s suburban housewife
standing at a door,
knowing but not wanting him to return after a day at an office,
or an afternoon with his whore;
alone in a kitchen,
masturbating to memories,
lost in a fog of anti-depressants and household chores,
Leave It to Beaver beatitudes
and paint-by-numbers Barbie play sets –
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poem: angels of disrepair

1 Oct

and still the whispers echo
long after the rope’s been cut,
bodies removed,
sinners and saints retired from the town square,
the center of the world,
the center of life,
the very core of it all –

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review – “Crunked”

16 Sep

i am lucky to have received a very positive review of “crunked” which now appears at BOLD MONKEY. in all honesty it is completely unexpected given my feelings on “crunked” and how it may or may not be perceived in the so-called “public realm.”

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three poems about a girl named Hannah –

30 Jun

when sleeping means sleep when we sleep together
an incessant knock wakes me at 2 am –
Hannah stands frozen in tears –
I let her in, sit at the edge of a bed,
and hold her –
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video – wtf?

16 May

yup. it’s true. i got sucka punched into doing a video of one of my poems. it’s a short one that doesn’t say much or do much or feel much but it is there.

for what it is worth….

gutter eloquence –

16 May

after crushing rejections over the last few weeks, gutter eloquence is taking a risk and publishing one of my recent works in their fine journal. it will arrive sometime between july 1 and 5. gutter eloquence can be found here.

here is a naked picture for you to enjoy…

poem: One More Day

26 Mar

Alone at the edge of star crusted tide,
Trees bend from sainted wind –
Sea birds huddle close together –
Whispers vaporize on clouded breath –
A moon, full and eager, blends in a gray mist sky –
Morning nears –

My hand drifts down your back –
Blue eyes open –
A smile climbs alabaster skin –
Tattoos collaborate hidden meaning –
Floorboards creak from silent movement –

Through an open window a menacing sea comes to life –
Linen curtains lift and flow on invisible waves –
Your arms wrap around me –
Words fleck across my neck –
We light candles and drink stall coffee –
Laughter fills a barren room –
The sun climbs on its rise –

She stands, leads me away with a kiss –
Toys from a night just past lay discarded –
Clothes stack on a rattan chair –
One more day, just one more day –

poem: wistful contemplation –

26 Mar

…and I remember the sweet taste of your tongue
your hands folding into mine
the color of your eyes as they begin to fade –
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poem: low rent living

14 Mar

she walked into the living room,
sat on a thrift store reject couch,
adjusted her breasts,
and lit a cigarette –
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tree killer ink –

27 Oct

Tree Killer Ink – Press Release

by Epic Rites Press on Tuesday, October 26, 2010 at 10:16am

“Tree Killer Ink, from Epic Rites Press, is probably the best thing to come out of Alberta since The Calgary Stampede.” – David Blaine, Outside Writers

Tree Killer Ink has secured major distribution here in Canada – putting the magazine into hundreds of news boxes and venues! The magazine is presently under reconstruction to prepare for a re-launch.

There have been seven issues so far that have featured some of the best underground authors and artists. It would take a lengthy paragraph to list them all! They include Rob Plath, John Yamrus, William Taylor Jr., Todd Moore, John Dorsey, Gerald Locklin, A.D. Winans, Dan Fante, Lyn Lifshin, John Macker, Catfish McDaris, Jason Hardung, Pablo Vision, Henry Denander – and that’s only scratching the surface of the phenomenal authors and artists that have appeared in Tree Killer Ink.

The remaining five issues to complete the first year of Tree Killer Ink will be “showcase issues” – featuring the work of a single author. The next issues will feature the work of Jason Hardung (Issue #8), Karl Koweski (Issue #9), John Dorsey (Issue #10), Todd Moore (Issue #11). The final issue to complete the subscription will be announced shortly.

To commemorate the “contributor” issues, #7 is a massive twenty-page monster featuring new work by Jack T. Marlowe, Lynne Hayes, Jason Hardung, Christopher Anodyne, Murphy Clamrod, John Yamrus, Diana Rose, William Taylor Jr., Mike Meraz, John Dorsey, Dan Fante, Frankie Metro, Nic St. James, Todd Moore, Frank Reardon, M.J. Taylor, Casey Quinn, Pablo Vision, Newamba Flamingo, M.P. Powers, Karl Koweski, A. Molotkov, Peycho Kanev, Rob Plath, Wolfgang Carstens, Catfish McDaris, Jack Henry, Henry Denander, Zack Wilson and A.D. Winans. There is enough dynamite packed into this issue to destroy a small village!

The re-launch of Tree Killer Ink will probably happen sometime in early 2011 and I’ll re-open submissions to the public then.

We’re gonna break out of this underground darkness with cockroaches in our teeth and middle fingers stabbing the air!

– Wolfgang Carstens

poem: no need for translation

16 Dec

no need for translation

across the alley
from the Fortune Cookie factory
in a Chinese store
filled with trinkets and common
household items
spatulas and incense holders
large bowls
and golden coin banks shaped like cats
an old man watches me

there are two aisles
barely enough room for two people
to share
a smiles blankly at me
mutters a curse in Mandarin
or, perhaps, Cantonese
the old man shushes her

i cannot tell if he is smiling
or frowning
his eyes remain neutral
three young women enter the store
giggles and laughs
the old man watches me
sneak a indelicate glance
he smiles
his eyes delight

outside i catch a smoke
wait on my girlfriend
who caught my glance as well
laughed as well
shook her head
you are too old
but knock yourself out

back across the alley I sit in a chair
the kind you had in grade school
another old Chinese man sits on my left
the old Chinese man from the store comes outside
sits to my right
we sit there smoking
the old Chinese men trade a brief conversation
i understand the fingers
the pointing
the laughter

i laugh as well
what can you do?

young Chinese women in tight jeans
and low blouses walk by

three old men pause
smoke lingers in the air
they pass by
three old men sneak indelicate glances
it begins to sprinkle
in Chinatown

poem

14 Nov

in a suspended state of otherness



let me fold into you

for a moment
maybe two
linger 
	just awhile
let the clear focus
of reality
			blur
let midday sun 
bleed through 
open windows
	without curtains
let me melt onto you
my skin to yours
  Continue reading 
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