Monday, December 21, 2009

one word ain't ross: supreme

virtual necessity
cream of wheat

the dalliance dithers

the vast will wither

time will her creeping


corraling pleasure

anticipating treasure

playing the games

of red with blue

absenting the want

that need never


flesh will

touch the touching

sky will near

no fear

angels ascend


victimless crime

on second street

the second you know

the second you flow

the second you see

the rest of you



sloppy joe

shadow show

status quo

apropos in your ever so quid pro quo


past the climes of tropical henrys

the i don't know

electric glow

vince van, go on, you go

desire to know in her

effervescent to and fro -



Blogger Teresa said...

Well, this is a nice one, and it does have a flow. I like the way it got all fed up and nourished with a breakfast of champions so it could dither and wither, corral and creep, treasure the pleasures, and touch the sky in a split second going higher and higher and spinning faster and faster in a tropically stormy glow of effervescence. Gotta dig that Cream of Wheat!!

8:30 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Wrote this to "Everwanting" blaring through the headphones. No surprise there.

9:15 PM  
Blogger Teresa said...

So it's belly is full of Cream of Wheat and its spirit is surging to the rhythms of "Everwanting," no wonder it hits the pinnacles and then jumps up further to dance on moonbeams.

11:28 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...


3:20 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

Cream, Paul Butterfield Blues Band, Miles Davis, back when I was running an injection molding press at a plastic plant on nights, they would let us play the radio on nights when In Concert was on. Never forget the night Grand Funk Railroad came back to Detroit and played. Shop steward pulled a stool up next to my machine and listened with me. I was on a whole different music plane as I read this - was hearing Buddy Miles and Them Changes ...and, I lived in a trailer with three other poor young'ns :)

2:37 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Grand Funk and In Concert, that'll take you back. Gotta love those old Fillmore posters. Ooo, and a trailer, too.

Have you ever read the poet Philip Levine? Came to San Antonio a few years back to Gemini Ink, the lit center where I was working. Crotchety geezer, awesome poet. From Detroit: has written some gorgeous poems about his own factory days. Books that stood out for me were What Work Is, The Simple Truth, and The Mercy. A book of essays, The Bread of Time. It's all good, though, and plenty online.

Something wonderfully poetic in the phrase running an injection molding press at a plastic plant on nights.

Merry Christmas, hermana.

9:37 AM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

Never read him but I will now. Plastic plant days, lot of time to think, 18 years old and thought I had all the answers, miss factory philosopher. "wish I knew now what I didn't know then". back to cooking - Merry Christmas to you, Tina, and Mr. Baby :)

10:19 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Them's was the days, Ms Dee. "Plastic plant days" sounds like a groovy writing prompt, we'll see what comes of it.

Phunny philosophers: just engaged in a most engaging conversation with 11-year-old Mr. Baby, narrator for this afternoon's children's Christmas pageant, who intones, "You know, no one's ever really proven that Jesus existed." The journey, deliciously, is in full bloom.

11:16 AM  

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