Tag Archives: doggerel

Two Corinthians (Poem)

Two Corinthians Up to your no good — still? — are you, brass neck,hopped up gust, blur, bad vibe, heap of slag piledon top of hope? Make less way for the yachtcaste. Put the god-blessed arms down, can tough talk,stuff … Continue reading

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Pinched Dawnings

“I feel that poetry has the power to pinch one’s heart to such an extent that the reader thinks twice and thrice before he or she interprets it.” (Sonam Tsering, Silent Songs of Sonsnow) (Multivalence)STATIONS OF THE MASQUE (Assertion)Dawnings oxygenate … Continue reading

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The Pain of Poetry

My correspondent in life of the mind states my state of mind neatly and plainly in the matter of phosphorescent gargoyle exhalations swaddled in effulgent gossamer — I mean to say prosody. Now I remember why I, and doubtless others … Continue reading

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Nantucket Water-Fetching Saga

Jill and Jack went out the backEquipped with a large bucket.Jill said, “Both hands now, Jack, you prat,And this time let’s not…” (c) 2020 JMN

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They Says It

the tru-est words they says is that there are no per se true words for it for ev-‘ry thing has a no-thing if a sin-gle per-son ut-ter it they is the ip-so fac-to ut-ter-er of it if a sin-gle per-son … Continue reading

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Poesis in the Age of Wienie Grease

I’ve discovered that what’s called poesis, said to be the making and shaping of poems — they must be shaped as well as made! — is not straightforward. For one, you have to follow your feelings rather than steer them. … Continue reading

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Art Is God-Light

In my language, the one I recall now only by closing my eyes, the word for love is Yeu. And the word for weakness is Yếu.How you say what you mean changes what you say.Some call this prayer. I call … Continue reading

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Nothing Different

I turn over and savor a treasured exchange: — “What do you need from me right now?”— “Nothing different.” How perfect is such an answer? What’s needed starts with nothing. I’ve aplenty of it! “Different” turns it just so much, … Continue reading

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But Here We Are: Me and…

I feel foolish at bobbing and weaving through the tall grass of music theory, unled and untaught, not glimpsing even sky, much less horizon. All I would have to have done — note the pluperfect infinitive — is to have … Continue reading

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Saloon Spittoon

The bucal effluvia belched from limousine and lectern  drums the ear like the per- cussive splot of a hocked  louie slapping a saliva slick  in a saloon spittoon. (c) 2020 JMN

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