Wednesday, August 7, 2013


About 9 months ago, very near Thanksgiving, my friend Anthony wrote a poem. At least, I thought it was a poem; at the time, I couldn't tell, because he had decided to litter the writing with pictures that I imagine he thought were helpful and/or contributive. They were neither. In fact, I was so inflamed by the inclusion of these pictures that I was compelled to step away from the Thanksgiving festivities and write a poem about how terrible his decision to include pictures was.

Unfortunately, I prematurely revealed this fact to him, and he promptly removed the pictures before I could take advantage of the situation. His post now only has one picture instead of nine million.

That being said, I already started the damn poem and since I'm going through my old drafts and publishing them (no matter the quality or the nearness to completion), here's the beginning of what was sure to be a ruinous piece of poesy.


Within arms’ reach there lie three pies
Pecaned, all; all mother’s make
(and smell says some have Chocolate!) –
and the aroma of rosemarried roasting
Turkey certainly poses no lesser threat
To poesy strong and deliberate –
But pies and turkey have nothing yet
Over the photo-poetry amalgamation
You posted to your blog.

When I picture the master of a violin,
He has a massive Amish-Biker beard
And is thin and frail and bent –
Not this wobbly-cheeked fat Jew-of-a-man,
This beardless Tevye with receding hairline.
My master has yet learned to read or write,
He is dressed in goatskin and lives on alms
And his wisdom is known from his strong scent-smell.
I am trying to picture him playing strong,
Rending here, straining there,
Slashing and burying horse-hair into string
But your fat Jew man keeps butting in,
Playing Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14
On the damned violin.

So I skip down to what you are seeking in love -
But you’ve posted a picture of a crack in the snow.
What the hell, Anthony. No, no, no, no, no.
Now you’re drinking a cup but I’m staring at light
Penetrating the clouds, seeping through mountainheight
And reflecting off water, half-frozen – a sight,
I agree, my photographical friend, but a hindrance for sure.
Why distract from your words with a visual lure?
Why write “wound” and “storehouse” and “daffodils, birds”
And post a picture of Alaska?

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