Call Heather Christle at (413) 570-3077
Call Heather Christle at (413) 570-3077 Poems read aloud over the phone, by the poet! Via HTML Giant: On the occasion of the release of her second book of poems, The Trees The Trees, which just came out from Octopus, and is indeed mazelike, Heather Christle has secured a phone number that you can call her at, through which she will read to you a poem. This begins today and will continue through July 14th. This is such a magnificent idea. I cannot wait to...
Read Moreanagrammed
This has been roiling around in my head, a moment years ago that I wish I had done differently. anagrammed fist wrapped around stem bubble spit laid on lip elbow crumpled menu you called me codependent while I anagrammed each step out the door tend cope end – Halsted M. Bernard
Read MorePoetry.com has closed
Poetry.com has closed Lulu shut it down last Thursday. Did you notice?
Read Moregood dog
good dog the dog is dying that’s all we can talk aboutthe dog pees all over the living room floorand so we put plastic down and that’s all wecan talk about dolly was such a good dogwasn’t she but she’s not dead yet it’s all wecan talk about the not-yet-dead dog that isdying and peeing all over the living roomfloor and how good the dog was and howthe dog always came when you called her ohdolly what a good dog you were and she’snot even dead yet you’re not even dead yetare you good dog are you but we still talkabout you like you have gone into the pastquiet like your midnight excursions past thepiece of plastic to push your wet pup noseagainst the sliding glass door and look outat the blue patio at the bats that flit fromlight to light at the edge of...
Read MoreBulletproof pants.
Time for another spam poem! All lines were taken from my spam folder, and only punctuation and line breaks have been added. The fall of Saddam Hussein has brought destruction/Hell to our great country and everything is so difficult now and all our opportunities are closing up, the new Government is trying to frustrate all our businesses. Life was better when I was younger, and with this secret potion, life seems young again. Why aren’t there bullet-proof pants? You do not know me and neither do I know you. If you are in not good state and have got no cash to move out, I know that you will grant my request in good faith. Regarding the transfer: Mulberry bush aside, would a monkey really chase a weasel?
Read MoreDesiderata
Eighteen years ago, I first read Max Ehrmann’s prose poem “Desiderata” in the room description of a MUD. It resonated deeply with me, and I tend to revisit it when my life feels like an ill-tailored suit. Desiderata Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep...
Read Moreobligatory romance day
FunkyPlaid and I celebrated Obligatory Romance Day with Burgermeister burgers and geocaching. It was a perfect San Francisco day, 65 and sunny. Dogs of all kinds trotted happily before their humans. We talked about what makes us unhappy about our present, what we look forward to in our future. I am lucky to be able to tell him whatever I am thinking and feeling. It is a small yet crucial thing. Shortly after arriving home, I read that Lucille Clifton had died. While I was in school in Alabama, I was assigned to read her collection “The Book of Light”. It took me a few passes before I understood the genius in her simplicity. Then I tried to emulate her style. It did not work so well for me, but I still love her poems. Here is Lucille...
Read Moreto be moved
I hadn’t thought of you in a while, and right when I saw the lanky brunette swivel sideways in her plastic seat to let someone out, I thought of you, your skin and hair and bones, so taut and shiny. You were the epitome of “girl” in my world and if I had a crush on you – we all did – it was because I couldn’t take you apart. I couldn’t see your separate parts. You were effortless and your cigarettes always lit the first time, and I hated your perfect breasts framed by your crisp denim jacket. After we fought, and after you left because we fought, you became the woman on the train, older and harder and still unwilling to get up for anyone, to move or to be moved. She swiveled and I saw the back of your...
Read Moremercenaries
These words are mercenaries. They slouch outside the back door of this poem, clouds of frosty air billowing around their heads, belts and boots glinting in the flood lamp. When it is time, these words slip inside, carrying a box or a knife or an envelope. The hallway is dim. The recipient waits. A noise, half-sigh, half-groan, escapes. Perhaps nothing happened. The front door swings open; these words stumble out, playing drunk. They cross the street and their posture straightens. As the moon lifts, they head for the next poem. – Halsted M. Bernard
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