tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62721555351846198102024-03-05T06:10:21.431-08:00Sleep with your feet toward the road --poems by Ted BurkeTED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-11391024503820108122023-05-19T13:08:00.001-07:002023-05-19T13:20:11.133-07:00THE KENSINGTON BEAT<p> There are drum solos rumbling down the avenue</p><p>where storefront lights burn into the dark</p><p>and get diffuse in the</p><p>amber glare of bottles and rim shots clinking and reporting</p><p>the news of the night:</p><p><br /></p><p>Yes, we have to go to work again on Monday,</p><p>only planets have converged,</p><p>lined up in a way that leaves my gravity and shoreline alone,</p><p><br /></p><p>the highest satellite dish we see tonight</p><p>will still be there</p><p>in the morning with</p><p>birds sitting on them, tennis shoes hanging from them,</p><p>giving someone so many sharp moving pictures of</p><p>moronic diversions.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Everyone steps up and takes a solo on the melody that becomes the</p><p>tattoo on the big shoulder of the crowd that leans into the wall of sound that</p><p>each player powers their riffs against, yes, it’s dark outside, the streetlight cannot burn away the black or the mist that surrounds the glow,</p><p><br /></p><p>I consider bills to pay, bills to pay, </p><p>your face smiling or looking down,</p><p>at that point when you think you’re alone,</p><p>whistling and singing</p><p>the trilling ends of</p><p>famous Hendrix riffs, gutter growl,</p><p> whammy bar tirade, ostinatos and legato salvo, tongue triple timing</p><p>imperfect harmony with sonic</p><p>bitch slap pick harmonic tooth grinding chop heaven,</p><p>screams go across the night, I think of you singing whole</p><p>sections of</p><p>Axis, Bold as Love</p><p>when I got home early years ago,</p><p>you had all the kitchen gadgets grinding, the stereo</p><p>blasting, you</p><p>had your voice unleashed in vowels and consonants</p><p>riffing in sustained syllabics that</p><p>kept away the lurking edge of the night</p><p>that would come over the horizon</p><p>and up the street</p><p>on tiny feet</p><p>and bring with it a wake of</p><p>wasted blackness that swallowed all</p><p><br /></p><p>All there is left to do is sing</p><p>and consider bills to pay,</p><p><br /></p><p>Warm nights and drum solos </p><p>from the back of the Kensington Club</p><p> where my brother plays</p><p>and demonstrates</p><p>the history of sticks</p><p>on drum heads, what the hands do when</p><p>getting busy is the business,</p><p><br /></p><p>Everyone gets to take a solo,</p><p>to rail their music against the wall of sound,</p><p>the night abates; it gives up its claim</p><p>on your division of city street and passes you</p><p>as singing</p><p>to yourself burns a black smoke</p><p> and sparking fabric of sheer emotion</p><p>that life stories end up as notes on sheet music</p><p>in an arrangement that seems to give we room to</p><p>stretch and take our time, to talk to the ends of our existence</p><p>so far</p><p>and burnish the ends of</p><p>our trilling and thrilling cadenzas with a name</p><p>that announces itself as part of that</p><p>invisible “it”</p><p>that is the nature of the street, the kiss of the town you live in,</p><p><br /></p><p>There are drums the spill out of the doors</p><p>and on the street</p><p>we go back to</p><p>in order to find other streets</p><p>to find our beds</p><p>before the sun rises over the</p><p>eastern mountains and chases the dark back to its recesses,</p><p>making this world safe for money.</p><p><br /></p><p>But tonight, there are drums, a song,</p><p>step to the mike, take a solo,</p><p>it’s all yours</p><p>for 32 bars,</p><p>or sunrise.</p><div><br /></div>TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-30352495554984333942021-12-01T11:09:00.005-08:002021-12-01T11:09:51.047-08:00<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Aog6WcoLY4e7buy0-CjLHExHA_twEtCj3SOR7vmKLnuhmAbJylybPPR3ux9QxFixnD3WS7XxZJTeUM-ao6x-AEsYxXim66WdaRvnibh1A1QNs83jdBrtwxlsr5mzRBjbVDlEZCYaJHCS/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1237" data-original-width="838" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Aog6WcoLY4e7buy0-CjLHExHA_twEtCj3SOR7vmKLnuhmAbJylybPPR3ux9QxFixnD3WS7XxZJTeUM-ao6x-AEsYxXim66WdaRvnibh1A1QNs83jdBrtwxlsr5mzRBjbVDlEZCYaJHCS/" width="163" /></a></div><b>THE LOCUSTS HAVE NO KING</b><br />a novel by Dawn Powell<br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">A New York comedy of manners set in the Forties, it concerns a married couple comprised of a famous playwright and her husband, an academic who labors at his specialty in obscurity. While successful in this discipline, the husband works away in his obscure scholarly endeavors, known by virtually no one saves for a handful of peers. At the same time, the wife is the toast of Broadway, blessed with hit after hit, loads of favorable reviews, and admiring tidbits in all the newspapers. Fate, or some other cruel force that loves to upset the smug and arrogant expectations, works so that the husband gains great notoriety for the research he's been pouring over for years, even breaking through to what was then the mainstream media. </span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At the same time, the wife must deal with a box office bomb and negative reviews, items that have her reputation sliding quickly down the social ladder. Powell is one of the better comic writers we've had --a spikier Edith Wharton, shall we say, a funnier Thomas Hardy (think of <i>Mayor of Casterbridge</i>)--who provides momentum, atmosphere, and rich, crackling dialogue in this many -charactered satire. This would be the sort of novel Tom Wolfe has been trying to write for years. Powell's dialogue is crisp, curt and telling in what it reveals about the characters, and the prose has a jazzy feel too it, a lightly worn eloquence that doesn't smother the momentum. Tall buildings, over decorated apartments, and rattta-tat bustle of agendas being advanced, abandoned Big Apple bring us a comedy of hubris. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">More about Wolfe-as-novelist, he lacks the precision of detail, character quirks and reveals himself to be a rather drifting plotter. The arcs of his novels lack the efficient forward movement of Powell, who has the sense along with the aforementioned Hardy that fate, triggered by seemingly insignificant gestures, remarks, or stray, condemning thoughts, results in reversals of fortunes, either comic or tragic. We are fortunate Powell opts for the comic. Wolfe piles it on, sentence after sentence, clause after clause, until he suffocates the good ideas he might have hard. Powell keeps us intrigued as to how much deeper the characters in question can deepen the hole they're in. We have here a situation where the fortunes of a famous wife and unknown husband are suddenly and realistically reversed, a turn that reveals the shallow relations and loyalties tied as they are to one's fortunes. Or lack of them.</span></p>TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-85030267623303121872021-04-18T10:51:00.005-07:002021-11-13T23:51:19.292-08:00DON'T SMILE TOO FAST<p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Try not to smile<br />too fast in crowded places<br />like elevators<br />or even at<br />intersections where you<br />are waiting<br />in your car, <br />drumming the stirring wheel<br />and sipping scalding coffee<br />in a cardboard cup:<br />the citizens around<br />might feel left out <br />of the game|<br />they think you're playing<br />and begin to tell<br />you stories of<br />the private deeds<br />as as the elevator <br />slithers open on your floor,<br />the dull bell<br />pinging like<br />a decade's worth of old headaches,<br />or even as<br />the lights change<br />and traffic begins to move<br />and your coffee has<br />spilt in your lap<br />making you scream<br />and the fool in the next car, <br />not moving despite car horns<br />and swear words,<br />smiles when he pauses his<br />woe to you through his<br />driver's side window,<br />thinking your howling<br />is a sign of commiseration,<br />empathy rather than agony,.<br />Yeah,that joke wasn't worth remembering,<br />her kiss wasn't that sweet,<br />last weekend wasn't<br />that wonderful,<br />tell yourself whatever<br />you have too<br />and remember<br />the examples,<br />don't smile too fast<br />and don't drive<br />with coffee<br />nestled between<br />your thighs<br />contained<br />in fragile cardboard, ok?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></p>TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-49631299385071053832019-07-20T22:08:00.002-07:002021-12-30T18:58:25.823-08:00THE MOMENT OF THE WORLD<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 6px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">The better words we have</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">are the feathers on the wings</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">of effervescent angels</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">who'd prefer the poets of the earth</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">to cease staring in the mirror</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">of their self-assigned appellation</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">and leave the library, the desk,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">that place where the muse goes to</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">wither,and walk out the door,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">Take the elevator down </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">and then a train out of town over mountains a</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">nd state lines to cities for that perfect cup of coffee,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">that lingering kiss on a stranger's lips,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">the waiting for traffic lights</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">at odd intersections</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">and with not a clue</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">about which way to turn</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">in this unfamiliar confusion.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">Our angels might take </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">their feathers back</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">if something isn't done.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">Imagine us finally </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">in the Day of Miracles</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">with cats and dogs</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">saints and shitheads</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">having civil meals,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">tending to each other's wounds</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">and not one of us</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">gets the itch and tickle</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">to write a word or two</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">wholly inadequate as witness</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">but scribed at the moment</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">of the world,</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">not above it.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: times;">That would be shame.</span></div></div><div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;">
</span></div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-90847436750466983782019-07-03T00:54:00.002-07:002021-02-11T23:41:23.060-08:00page not found<span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><br /><span style="font-family: times;">not the voice that comes<br />from the steam</span></span><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br />nor the tide that turns<br />at the drop of a dime </span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />into a newspaper machine.<br />not a name that fades in the ear<br />when you turn a corner</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />nor a name that comes through the<br />earpiece of your phone that<br />rings at the dinner hour.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />not a lover who misses you<br />after all the years in jobs</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />on a far coast where time zones and<br />temperatures are closer and hotter</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />that the hotel sheets<br />are to the mattress where you stare<br />at the door to the hallway,<br />the shadows of feet passing in</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />the middle of the night,<br />you wonder what your lover<br />has to say,<br />not about this meal you're eating<br />or by what you're reading</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />but <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="instead " data-pwa-hint="Readability may be enhanced by removing this" data-pwa-id="pwa-BA8658367920132AC8F96E6AC66B0A7B" data-pwa-rule-id="READABILITY_3095" data-pwa-suggestions="(omit)">instead </pwa>about how you're living<br />in this world when<br />nothing seems real enough to<br />count on as if life itself mattered,</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br /><pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="grammar" data-pwa-dictionary-word="i" data-pwa-hint="Possible confused word" data-pwa-id="pwa-6CE57226F92CFA1E8F1F95E6EA30D805" data-pwa-rule-id="I_LOWERCASE" data-pwa-suggestions="I">i</pwa> say all these things come back to us<br />always in the moments when<br />we're required to be<br />the selves we've always rehearsed in<br /><br /></span></span></span><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">mirrors, at home, imagining interviews<br />and interrogations,<br /><pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="grammar" data-pwa-dictionary-word="i" data-pwa-hint="Possible confused word" data-pwa-id="pwa-2F486D14B6C8FCD63665678CA8E99A64" data-pwa-rule-id="I_LOWERCASE" data-pwa-suggestions="I"><br /></pwa></span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="grammar" data-pwa-dictionary-word="i" data-pwa-hint="Possible confused word" data-pwa-id="pwa-2F486D14B6C8FCD63665678CA8E99A64" data-pwa-rule-id="I_LOWERCASE" data-pwa-suggestions="I">i</pwa> think of the way your lips grew puffy<br />the first time <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="grammar" data-pwa-dictionary-word="i" data-pwa-hint="Possible confused word" data-pwa-id="pwa-C862425D38B1A3F8369CC5E58BF030EA" data-pwa-rule-id="I_LOWERCASE" data-pwa-suggestions="I">i</pwa> made you cry,<br /><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">the way your hand traced the words of<br />the book you were reading<br /><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">before setting it down<br />to dress for openings, dinner,<br /><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">where ever we might <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="be going" data-pwa-hint="Readability may be enhanced by using: go" data-pwa-id="pwa-F210E3527A773AE3C8E132DD2250E698" data-pwa-rule-id="READABILITY_1507" data-pwa-suggestions="go">be going</pwa>,<br />the masks crack and fall to the floor<br /><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">when some meaningless phrase <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="is said" data-pwa-hint="Passive verbs make your writing less direct. Try to use an active verb instead." data-pwa-id="pwa-F1830142E6BCFDCDCF2CAA0B4555F65C" data-pwa-rule-id="null" data-pwa-suggestions="">is said</pwa><br />and suddenly, powerfully</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />it’s clenched fists in public places,<br />the world <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="is removed" data-pwa-hint="Passive verbs make your writing less direct. Try to use an active verb instead." data-pwa-id="pwa-E599916FF6B91F0B6C45A895DC429FC8" data-pwa-rule-id="null" data-pwa-suggestions="">is removed</pwa> just then and too loud<pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word=" as well" data-pwa-hint="Readability may be enhanced by removing this" data-pwa-id="pwa-B5862A01482118DCE109BFACAE0EA479" data-pwa-rule-id="READABILITY_609" data-pwa-suggestions="(omit)"> as well</pwa>,</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />it's all those things<pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word=" after all" data-pwa-hint="Readability may be enhanced by removing this" data-pwa-id="pwa-B7C6E48FD8BE13F40EA3783AC121E235" data-pwa-rule-id="READABILITY_665" data-pwa-suggestions="(omit)"> after all</pwa>,<br />every <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="last " data-pwa-hint="Readability may be enhanced by removing this" data-pwa-id="pwa-62DC49357E6C672637DF1E8E3F01D374" data-pwa-rule-id="READABILITY_2907" data-pwa-suggestions="(omit)">last </pwa>cough and <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="grammar" data-pwa-dictionary-word="bottle" data-pwa-hint="Possible missing determiner" data-pwa-id="pwa-26F1BBAAC28AF967EEAB84200446DBC5" data-pwa-rule-id="DET_CG_2" data-pwa-suggestions="a bottle~the bottle">bottle</pwa> of beer we balanced<br />on the fireplace, there's nothing <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="grammar" data-pwa-dictionary-word="i" data-pwa-hint="Incorrect capitalization" data-pwa-id="pwa-CBE1679F4A7124202D89D14054CCD82F" data-pwa-rule-id="LOWER_I" data-pwa-suggestions="I">i</pwa> ever had</span></span></span></div><div><span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />that <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="grammar" data-pwa-dictionary-word="i" data-pwa-hint="Possible confused word" data-pwa-id="pwa-E4CD8ED39936319796BD0B571C0C67AC" data-pwa-rule-id="I_LOWERCASE" data-pwa-suggestions="I">i</pwa> don't miss, you were everything<br />in front of me, passing by and gone<br />like a road sign that couldn’t <pwa class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="be read" data-pwa-hint="Passive verbs make your writing less direct. Try to use an active verb instead." data-pwa-id="pwa-5B02322735DE669DB3425336C3A62C4F" data-pwa-rule-id="null" data-pwa-suggestions="">be read</pwa>.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-size: 14px;"></span></div></div>TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-34252845943204173632018-12-13T10:54:00.000-08:002018-12-25T00:31:05.306-08:00SHE LIKES A WITH A SHAVE<div style="background-color: white; color: #666666; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She likes a man with a shave<br />and a room temperature IQ<br />who can trips over his words<br />‘though he hasn’t spoken <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />for weeks and months and more.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">He is both Popeye and Bluto<br />brawling on avenues<br />and twisting streetlights<br />around the neck of the other<br />over a friendly<br />dispute over which one of them<br />is going to pay the bill.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">He is also Leopold and Loeb,<br />Abbott and Costello,<br />matching pairs of<br />the same dark impulse<br />to play in traffic<br />and keep score besides.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">He trips over words<br />he hasn’t spoken,<br />he is hit by buses<br />he didn’t see coming,<br />he is always flat on the asphalt<br />staring into what remains of heaven,<br />circles of planets, stars, and singing birds<br />and some notion that<br />he might have been someone named<br />Roland Barthes getting pulverized<br />by a laundry truck<br />in a city where words<br />are loud as car horns<br />screaming in configurations<br />that cannot be untied.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">She likes cartoons<br />above all else,<br />cute animals<br />destroying<br />hungry wolves and<br />wretched vermin<br />endlessly in variations<br />that allow them to<br />eternally return to<br />the sparely drawn<br />desert-scape where<br />the only laundry truck<br />within 1,000 miles<br />in any direction<br />will find them<br />and collide with their heads<br />and flatten their bodies<br />like sheets of wax paper<br />just as they<br />are about to claim their feasts,<br />amid all their famine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">What goes around<br />turns out badly, she thinks,<br />I need a man<br />the way a man<br />needs a shave.</span></div>
</div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-18608192525569707452018-09-01T11:22:00.005-07:002022-01-12T10:39:45.950-08:00NOTICE TO ENTER<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Wrap these sandwich slivers<br />in a paper napkin, place it<br />in a crumpled plastic bag<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />from the 7-11,<br />leave it by the dumpster<br />that's been locked<br />for fear the flies might escape,</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />Go to work<br />and bill every citizen<br />whose accounts are in arrears,<br />take an extra twenty minutes on<br />your hour lunch,<br />sing a happy song,<br />buy tickets online<br />for a reunion concert<br />of a band whose original members<br />are dead or are quarreling<br />with those who've passed on,<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">Pass on a chance</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">to get with the girl<br />two cubicles behind you<br />because everyone<br />is suing everyone else<br />for bad pick-up lines<br />and suspicious gravity<br />around the waistline,<br />return emails drink more coffee,<br />call your sponsor,<br />plan a trip on Trivago<br />and then cancel the purchase,</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Regret that you gave up smoking<br />because that was the only<br />good reason to leave the office<br />and hang with the inventory boys<br />at the loading dock,<br />ask an intern if they've<br />ever heard of Woody Woodbury,<br />ask the intern<br />if they remember the theme song<br />to "One Step Beyond",<br />update your blog<br />with 500 words on<br />why the good things<br />in your life<br />are being forgotten<br />or turned into<br />theme parks,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's still twilight when</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">you get home,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the plastic sack</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">with the sandwich halves</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">is still next to the dumpster,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the napkin discolored with</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the grey stain of congealed mayonnaise,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the bag is covered in flies,</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> </span><div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And on the</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">black security door</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">of your apartment</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">is a notification from the management</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">announcing a date and time</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">in which they will need to enter</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">your space</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">to inspect your pipes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">your comic books,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">all your bullshit,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">all of it.</span></div>
</span></div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-43606241914515111172018-08-01T10:42:00.002-07:002018-08-01T10:42:43.690-07:00JAZZ CAT DREAM POEM<div class="MsoNormal">
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The armies of the night<br />might as well be<br />stray cats on a fence<br />having choir practice,<br />a twelve-tone scat fest<br />improvising new<br />metaphors for hunger<br />as a grey, lunar ash<br />covered the backyards<br />and corners of old buildings<br />that haven't been<br />entirely seduced by the dark.<br />I sat up,<br />a head full of conquests and amours<br />receding like retractable cable,<br />reaching for something to fill my hand,<br />harmonica? shoe? <i>Lunch Poems</i> by O'Hara?<br />to be frank,<br />I turned on the radio<br />but kept the room dark,<br />ad-libbed Coltrane extravaganzas in the cool shadows,<br />got up and tripped over my shoes,<br />on the floor, I heard Benny Golson<br />stomp at the Savoy,<br />sweet tenor notes and<br />rhythms that made<br />skip the elevator<br />and take the stairs.<br />then there was static,<br />the radio was silent,<br />so to speak,<br />the darkness became deep,<br />the cats had found<br />another dark window to<br />haunt.<br />i saw your silhouette<br />as you sat up<br />in the bed<br />and asked </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
what the matter was<br />and I said I was dreaming<br />of moons and music,<br />serenades under many stars<br />and thought I heard<br />you laugh,<o:p></o:p></div>
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and<br />then realized<br />after getting to my feet<br />that<br />you were not there,<br />still absent,<br />somewhere beyond<br />the window drapes, the city’s skyline,<br />the night itself and the day that follows.<o:p></o:p></div>
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TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-61334632074884503812018-06-17T14:38:00.001-07:002018-08-01T10:43:42.549-07:00POEM ABOUT POETRY WITH PLAGIARIZED FIRST LINE<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Poetry makes nothing happen<br />other than making our tongues<br />wag at one another and our<br />brains send words to our limbs<br />to suggest a proper hand gesture<br />to underscore a swift lyric response<br />and to undercut the boogeyman<br />peeking around the corner<br />of the door frame<br />because one of us started humming<br />a light and sprite tune<br />when the slim collection<br />was closed by two calm hands<br />and all came to rest<br />sweetly in the lap.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Poetry makes nothing change<br />except the key the music<br />is played in,<br />the time signature<br />that now follows the whim,<br />not the metronome,<br />the temperature<br />between the ears<br />that rises and falls<br />as the senses are engaged, inflamed<br />and then deflated,<br />poetry does nothing<br />except make the rooms we walk<br />into fit us a little better<br />than before the first stanza<br />was read, exclaimed, declared at length,<br />these verses do nothing at all<br />that wits alone can measure.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Poetry is a bouquet from<br />the angels or our better regard,<br />a sharp stone in every pair of shoes,<br />a lover's sigh,<br />a boss's grunt,<br />a wall of wet paint that dries too slow,<br />friends who understand<br />too quickly and<br />grasp not a word<br />you've said,<br />assuming of course,<br />something rhymed<br />or cursed with irregular<br />lines mattered enough<br />to stop the clock and arrest our attention<br />with handcuffs of wonder and what the fuck was that?,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Poetry makes nothing happen,<br />poetry is what happens,<br />and nothing ever happens around here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="display: none; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Top of Form<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-85055378968214661502018-06-13T20:17:00.000-07:002018-07-25T22:20:28.770-07:00MUSIC FOR CASH REGISTERS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7Hvag1yRaXJnWfIHq4RR5j7Tp97pkgQNjx7bto0_V5MQSSijRaKCP9GEJ32UP0ohkDRrrDGn7OjpAk3p6iwgEvhpABouESaDmLI3feNgbvJpsbP9GNNQyf0JsdyTOBv8-NjhuYbbsPos/s1600/0228181343_Film7-01.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7Hvag1yRaXJnWfIHq4RR5j7Tp97pkgQNjx7bto0_V5MQSSijRaKCP9GEJ32UP0ohkDRrrDGn7OjpAk3p6iwgEvhpABouESaDmLI3feNgbvJpsbP9GNNQyf0JsdyTOBv8-NjhuYbbsPos/s400/0228181343_Film7-01.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I could sing all night</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">if the lights never changed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">and if the radio played this song</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">again and again,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">it’s a riff that rubs me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">the right way in traffic</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">it’s a chorus making downtown</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">a party of long ribbons</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">and tap shoes,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">the motor purrs and growls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">with each keyboard grunt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">and grunting guitar,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">this car just rocks</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">when there’s no one I have to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">return it to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">This is the curse of</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">owning things</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">that merely own you in exchange,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Cars, toasters, handguns and</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">and magazines hug your</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">face with a deep kiss of need,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">What I receive is nameless</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">and elusive, some music, some smoke,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">dry ice vapors and a wallet that</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">floats away,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">that’s how light it’s gotten,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">Money is air, invisible but potent,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I owe money I’ve never seen</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">to people I’ve never met,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Like you, shuffling your debit cards</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">and saying prayers that don’t seem</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">to soar as high as interest rates</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">or blood pressure,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">you should be dancing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">for all the coin we owe,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">This moment, right now,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">on the street that vibrates</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">with orders on how to drive</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">when to cross and what to smoke</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">the thirty yards from the public entrance,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">the world can stop and we perk our ears to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">listen to an imagined needle scratching</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">the surface of percussive vinyl,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">The bass line and the grunts of soul singers</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">are all the advice we need; they called decades ago</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">when we started to toss our cash out from</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Wall Street Windows,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: medium;">They advised</span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><i>Do the jerk, baby,</i><i>Do the jerk now!</i></span></blockquote>
<br />TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-8658372864432896632018-05-23T11:25:00.000-07:002019-03-20T02:30:06.172-07:00YOU'D BE SO NICE<div aria-describedby="js_2tf js_2tg" aria-labelledby="js_2te" aria-posinset="1" aria-setsize="30" class="_4-u2 mbm _4mrt _5jmm _5pat _5v3q _4-u8" data-fte="1" data-ftr="1" data-insertion-position="0" id="u_3i_0" role="article" style="background-color: white; border-color: transparent; border-image: initial; border-radius: 3px; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px 0px; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 10px; opacity: 1; position: relative; word-wrap: break-word;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">you'd be so nice<br />to walk away from<br />in a crowded piazza<br />that exists solely <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />in imagination,</span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">i can see it</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">anytime i want,</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
the crowds of small faces<br />
and gesturing limbs<br />
walking across the way<br />
cathedral to cathedral,<br />
toward the long decaying stairs<br />
or to the fountain<br />
tall and dry<br />
with ruddy faced cherubs<br />
grimacing when<br />
love seems nothing<br />
more than a match<br />
in a room full of<br />
very dry , brittle things,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
and then, of course,<br />
a large flock of<br />
irritated pidgeons<br />
taking flight,<br />
flustered and fluttering<br />
wings against<br />
clouds the<br />
color of old tools,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
you on the bench<br />
eating crackers and cheese<br />
or maybe standing<br />
as it begins to rain<br />
and the crowd<br />
gets thick about you<br />
while you try to watch<br />
me walk a line<br />
to a vanishing point<br />
on the horizon<br />
between apartments<br />
and gaudy government repairs,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
yes , I would be walking<br />
away toward a fate<br />
obviously unplanned ,<br />
trivial as a crossword clue,<br />
meandering into<br />
an anonymous history,<br />
walking in uneven steps,<br />
one leg longer than the other,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
it begins to rain,<br />
I won't look back,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
yeah, that would be sweet.</div>
</span></div>
</div>
</div>
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TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-17667775680260549742018-05-20T23:51:00.005-07:002018-05-20T23:51:48.614-07:00WONDERFUL THINGS<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I</span></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> talk so the birds</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">do not fall from the trees</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">and bruise their feathers</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">whatever the weather,</span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
I sing so the bricks kiss the mortar</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
like the two were sealing a deal,<br />a conspiracy to grow old fall where they stand,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I dream so that you will love me<br />because you see my face<br />when I'm not looking at it<br />rehearsing a pose and stare<br />I think will send you to the stars,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
I walk everywhere I go</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
to keep the earth spinning<br />where it belongs<br />with the other marbles,<br />making music that<br />is far from the center<br />yet near the heart<br />of wonderful things<br />nameless and unseen.</div>
</span></div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-4359373725413375552018-05-19T21:37:00.002-07:002018-05-19T21:37:17.767-07:00MINOR GRAVITY<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
Oh! the world is a vulgar place
where the words for beauty
are matched with calamities
of tongue , coarse and unloved.</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
So we sigh and
watch the flowers die
a day at a time,
petals curled and brown,
pistel and stamen
bowing to the table,
hanging from the vase
like dry tongues
swollen in thirsty gasps.</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
We raise our glass
to the new born babe
damp and mewling
the same experimental complaints,
we remain in awe
and transported wonder
and give ourselves to regrets
that the tears go by too fast,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
too soon our own
words will indict
us for each pipe dream
and in seam
come undone.</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
Ahhh...we will
lurk longer
at the lake and
stare into the water
after we’ve skipped a stone
and toss off a cigarette,
relieved the lines
in the face looking back
aren’t ours just yet.
There is only enough time
to invent all these phrases
that sustain themselves
and contain mystery
that arises the harder we
squint for a clearer view
of the lines of our face,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
our faces are terrains
of over explored expectations,
the lines are the ravines
where the certain futures fell,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
hands,arms, legs
tremble, ache, drag along the walk way,
each step gets a caress
from a shoe heel that could not be lifted
high enough against the minor gravity.</div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-53987982932294107802018-05-19T21:35:00.002-07:002018-07-25T22:25:13.156-07:00SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET YELLED AT<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sister wants to fight
while Dad prefers to drive
and smoke his cigarettes
alone in the car,</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brother tells sister
to stop telling him what do do,
it’s his tree and it’s his branch
and he’ll jump if he feels like
</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And if gravity is kind,
he'll have the good luck
of not breaking his leg
or snapping his neck.</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom stares at the
mixing bowl
she filled with unwashed potatoes,
thinking
shit,
all the ice has melted
</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sister throws a rock at brother
as he sits on the tree branch,
swinging his legs back and forth.</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rock misses him and flies next door,
crashing through the neighbor’s
upstairs window.
An old man comes to the window
stares down at sister,
who turns and runs into the house
to find</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom still considering
the dirty potatoes
in the mixing bowl.</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lighting his third cigarette
with the push button lighter,
Dad sings along with the advertising jingles
on the radio
and steers the car with one steady hand,
the other one conducting
a sudden outbreak of big band music
from the speakers
that is all but drowned out
but a loud and frantic
screech of tires.</span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brother thinks about climbing down at last,
thinking the dying of the light
and the cry of sirens
coming closer
indicates that something’s amiss
and someone is going to get yelled at.
</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-9033888362081852602018-05-19T21:34:00.002-07:002018-05-19T21:34:04.772-07:00THE REST WAS SILENCE<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were in San Francisco
standing on a steep, sloping
corner outside an Italian Ice store,
smoking a joint
in the cold , cutting wind.
It was a beautiful night
otherwise,
because down the hill
you could see the lights of
the downtown buildings
form a bright crescent
around the bay.
It was night
and it was lovely
but I was slightly drunk
and shivering in my sport coat,
and the joint made
nervous
as an assassin’s cat.
The famous poet
who’d come to see our
reading at New College
asked me what I thought
of Gang of Four
and Lydia Lunch.
My stammering
blended brilliantly
with the gust of wind
that swept over us just then.
I muttered something finally
about Johnny Winter
and turned to look at the skyline
and the expanse of the black bay
and the boat lights that
dotted the surface with
bobbing bursts of yellow and red.
Save for the gusting bluster,
the rest was silence.</span>TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-90773979426931639572018-05-19T21:32:00.002-07:002018-05-19T21:32:33.001-07:00PAPER FLAG<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
A paper flag is in the window,
stars and stripes
bleached by hot and cold winds
and all the sunshine
California brags
about even on afternoons
where smoke crowds the horizon
and air burns your lungs as you breathe,
The stars and bars are now a faint, rusted green,
a nauseated tint of yellow
erodes the edges of each straight line,
What was once white
is a crinkled brow, a worried grey,
the blue we knew
is cracked and lined
with spiderwebbing
and the dry shells
of dead insects,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
The tape holding the paper
to the window sill
is likewise
cracked, baked onto the glass paned,
affixed as long as the
window remains unshattered
but long after
the rage that
made many scream one syllable slogans
and cry at cat videos
and cartoons of angry eagles
clutching lightning bolts and missals
in its talons
has receded like beach sand
coming and going with
tides that occur whether
we pay attention or not,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
This day is pleasant,
the workman are somewhere else
with their tar and jackhammers,
but this window still bears the paper flag
staring at the traffic and
diminishing pedestrian density
as the sun recedes
and the shadows get longer
while whatever was on our mind
as a species
scrolls off the list of
many things we’ll
get to think all the way through.</div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-2514247277476457852018-05-19T21:29:00.001-07:002018-05-19T21:30:30.860-07:00I HATE POETRY<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
I hate poems about poetry
but I do like poems
with dirt under the fingernails,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
that is,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
verses that make less sense
than a man and woman
in the center lane of the expressway
with all their furniture and A
Sylvania tv that glowers with
one big eye at passing traffic,
yup,
the news THEY DON’T REPORT
when you need to hear it most.
I like poems that are
so full of crap
that each stanza could fertilize
acres of future corn,
i have NO poems about poets or cats ,</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
no dog poems either
but lets have
more poems about baseball
because BASEBALL is ALREADY a poem
for the ages.
Meanwhile, I remember your face
coming out of the mist
of the night parking lot
and find myself
grousing and grazing under lovely trees,
after a walk,
rubbing my knees.</div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-6697519381715031582018-04-23T00:01:00.000-07:002018-04-23T00:01:07.934-07:00WE CROSS AND UNCROSS OUR LEGS<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">We cross and uncross our legs<br />at the same time, light one cigarette<br />and then another, one for each hand,<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />check ourselves into rehabs and rental cars<br />that are out of control and useless to<br />a decent conversation,</span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
it's just that we don't talk,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br />we just borrow each other's make up<br />and best stolen ad libs,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
that is to say that stuff<br />is getting in the way of my stuff<br />and the more I try to describe<br />your best features , my image<br />vanishes in the bathroom mirror,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
should i leave the seat up or down<br />and should you pull out a chair or a<br />gun and a bag of candy?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
one of us will leave this relationship</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br />and it won't be either of us, I will say that much.<br />otherwise , we should confine our remarks<br />to how we can stretch the meaning of words<br />and even rock solid ideas of reality as easily<br />as we can the waist band of a pair of stretch pants<br />one of us bought on the internet, stretch it until it breaks<br />and everything we created</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
in 1st and 2nd person<br />drops to our ankles<br /> and neither of us<br /> gets anything from the other,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
not even a middle finger.</div>
</span></div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-16298557502673801292018-03-20T15:36:00.000-07:002019-02-03T16:32:31.343-08:00Bruno Mars<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdRUfq8OivdbPz5DpIttusc1i-cOn-vtArxPR792azOvG6mmxp5xs4BoE7wq-nO-YhYkc7JShOTcT_Mmi7NByAtxdNuWFQif6bQFLdG1phym1d-zzjENVEoyeMOVLM1CkDPIK3ai2j-JO/s1600/0305181401_HDR_Film8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdRUfq8OivdbPz5DpIttusc1i-cOn-vtArxPR792azOvG6mmxp5xs4BoE7wq-nO-YhYkc7JShOTcT_Mmi7NByAtxdNuWFQif6bQFLdG1phym1d-zzjENVEoyeMOVLM1CkDPIK3ai2j-JO/s400/0305181401_HDR_Film8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;">T</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background: white; color: black; line-height: 107%;">o the matter as to whether Bruno Mars , who is not black, is appropriating black music and an aesthetic born of African American experience, created by talented black artists, well…I don’t know the man’s music, let alone his version of Black Style. I will him be and not mention him again in this harangue. Appropriation has been with us forever, although I would suggest that the non-black musicians playing music that is African American in origin have, for the most part, a genuine love of the sounds they've been exposed to. Theft is theft and black creators must be located, credited and their families paid for the use of the bodies of work that formed the foundation for a huge amount of American culture and a character, but at the same time it seems reductive and ironically bigoted to suggest that only black musicians have the right, let alone the sole ability to make authentic jazz, blues, or rhythm and blues. Forcing matters of creativity into a any kind of requirements for acceptance is absurd and contrary to what art is supposed to do, the process through which an individual--an artist--experiences the world and , through the use of whatever medium moves him enough to create objects of beauty of contemplation that hadn't existed before. Pretty much going with Marcuse on this one, as in his bookd the <i>Aesthetic Dimension</i>, where he argues that Society, The Establishment, the Powers that Be, need to leave the artists and allow them to perform their task with their art making, to produce joy. Otherwise, if held to aesthetic principles that are contrary to inspiration, it ceases to be art. It is Propaganda. We do not need an American version of Soviet Realism, no matter where it comes from.</span> It goes to authenticity that one writes in a style that is natural to them; whites writing in idioms that makes sense for Mance Liscomb is clearly insulting to black musicians and black culture in general. It is a not so subtle form of racism: it says "I think you're exotic, not quite human, something wholly "other" than normal. I will take your funny sounds and use them to decorate my cosmology." Absent the absolutist argument that only black musicians have the right to play blues and are the only ones who can have anything authentic expression (it's a powerful argument), the bottom line of the blues is the clear, simple, emotionally honest expression of one's experiences. That would mean that one find their own voice, something they can bring of themselves to the music they desire to perform and make it genuinely personal. There is a difference, a fine one, between having a personal style greatly influenced by black music and singers and one that slavishly tries to impersonate the sound, causing all sorts of suspicious Rich Little-isms. Those influenced by black artists but who have their own style, free of affectation: Butterfield, Mose Allison, Van Morrison, Tom Waits. Those who fail: Jagger, when he sings blues, Peter Wolfe, others galore. Wolf is listenable and usually effective as vocalist and frontman, but he never convinced me that his style was cleverly constructed, contrived. I won't go as far as to say he's guilty of minstrelsy, but his banter where spews hip argot, rope-a-dope rhymes and other offerings of hep-cat impersonation, comes off as cartoonish, stagy, really stereotypical of black performance; whether Cab Calloway or James Brown or an inspired preacher sermonizing from the pulpit of a black church, Wolf's machine gun is appropriation straight out. I had often wished he'd just keep his mouth shut and just sing.Yes, I realize the irony of the last sentence, but I think you see my point even if you might not agree with it. J.Geils is a band I've enjoyed a great deal over the last few decades, but there are times when Wolf's unreconstructed enthusiasm turns into caricature and stereotype. He reminds me of someone trying to beat his influences at their own game rather than forging something that is really his own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-54840108449511818952018-03-19T00:08:00.001-07:002018-03-19T00:08:40.769-07:00THE SHAME IS NOT IN THE FALLING DOWN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NpPbAdWasQmz-368a_ooQntGeHMeAgKKOGHwgw-yc1BJdJmHoibA8tybvV4STBbu0F1jVbH385NqdWTMyfR3O6C9HuOC0qVMr3j1IO3JO0VfFrf5KHGWuUJUnrCoytFEjgCdKpYxvHUp/s1600/IMG_20180310_122328_processed-01.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1NpPbAdWasQmz-368a_ooQntGeHMeAgKKOGHwgw-yc1BJdJmHoibA8tybvV4STBbu0F1jVbH385NqdWTMyfR3O6C9HuOC0qVMr3j1IO3JO0VfFrf5KHGWuUJUnrCoytFEjgCdKpYxvHUp/s640/IMG_20180310_122328_processed-01.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Not a minute goes by<br />where I don’t reach from my chair<br />to the coffee table<br />for a drink that is only water,<br />lukewarm at that, ice melted,<br />sides of the glass perspiring.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Too many people smoking<br />their cigarettes to the filter,<br />not enough ash trays,<br />the glass of water is grey and black,<br />soggy and swelled filters<br />crowding the glass top to bottom<br />like bodies recovered<br />from a boat that sank<br />a week ago<br />off the coast of nowhere<br />no one here can name<br />nor cares to talk about<br />instead of what they watched<br />on tv last night<br />or exactly how bad<br />their service was at the steak house.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am, though, still thirsty,<br />bored with coffee,<br />needing something cold, clear,<br />no sugar, to sooth<br />the splintering edges of my throat.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When I cough,<br />it sounds like mountains<br />sliding into dramatic ravines,<br />it feels like being shot<br />with an arrow an archer<br />lost sight of once it was<br />fired into the sky.<br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My friend is a woman<br />I’ve known as a mystery<br />novel for decades<br />and she asks me<br />what I desire tonight<br />in a living room full of smoke<br />and distracted chatter.<br />I tell her water<br />and she kicks me in the foot,</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She is a mystery novel<br />I will likely not finish reading<br />because I<br />really hate<br />coming to the end<br />of a genuinely good time.</span></div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-53575054036331197302018-03-09T11:09:00.001-08:002018-10-28T22:35:30.098-07:00Don't think about dying<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; direction: ltr; margin: 0px auto 28px; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t think about dying
crossing the bridge,
my shoes are the wrong hue
for just a rude thing to do
in the middle of the day
And drivers on cell phones
making hay before sunset
speed by in blurry clouds of exhaust
with a coffee cup wedged between their thighs
peripherally and only for a second
think they saw someone
at the slimmest edge of their distractions
climb over the safety rail,
arms stretched and then reaching up
as if to pounce from a diving board,
they shake their heads
and get back to their driving
and manic chatter ,
the really hot coffee
is still cradled between their thighs,
about to spill
and that’s no thrill at all,
after all.</span></span></div>
</div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-90085360967020349932017-12-29T01:21:00.001-08:002017-12-29T01:21:41.004-08:00"My Little Numbskull"<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
There were no separate beds we fell from
but there were different doors we left through,
giving a kiss over steam and burnt toast
only to vanish into dimensions that both played
the worst music on stations cursed with the grittiest static
a white man could invent.
Later , over french fries and cold cuts left over from some party or other,
we discuss the news we heard twenty four hours ago.
This was before the internet and phones
that poked you in the ribs
or purred against your privates
when something / anything / nothing at all
was happening somewhere / anywhere / nowhere you could name
happened, is happening, or is about to happen soon, can’t say when.
Cigarettes to smoke,
a column to write,
a costume to draw
perchance to stitch ,
drinks
and then
fairy tales,
stories from books,
lazy diction and
funny accents
of farm animals
in short pants
carrying tools to the barn
where they are building a big boat
as dark clouds form over the horizon
of a grey, roiling ocean.</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
There were no separate beds,
as I said
but after an hour of saying good night and sweet dreams,
we drifted into our different acres of nodding mist,
I in a car
and then flying, no plane,
over all the rooftops of houses
I’ve lived in here and there and anywhere I recollect,
you, as you said later,
in a boat that
comes up to a grand hall
and you’re somehow now in front of the stairs
in the best gown ever made
waiting for a man
of fortunes known and mysterious
to arrive
and take you to places
where there is only harmony,
nothing but sweet notes
as you pour the milk into your cereal
and sip coffee that tastes of spirits
that would circle you toe to the part of your hair
and keep you loved,warm , safe
from my worst habits and best intentions.</div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1d2129; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
You told me that when
you were mad at me.
I lit a cigarette and gave it to you
and then lit another and took a drag.
“My little numbskull”
you said to me
and I don’t think I’ve been as happy since then.</div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-6272511954714145112017-12-23T11:21:00.001-08:002017-12-23T11:21:32.045-08:00WE GOT THE BEAT<i>(for Jill, Violette and Emily)</i><br />
<br />
Her singing was off key<br />and her daughters<br />swung their dolls<br />barn dance style<br />repeating after Mom<br />laid down the ladle<br />and laid down the law<br />of this tiny kitchen<br />and every kitchen<br />from now on<br />until the sun rises<br />with a nod<br />rather than a wink<br />and<br />
<br />
<i>WE GOT THE BEAT!<br />we got the beat!!!</i><br />
<i>WE GOT THE BEAT!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Big sunglasses,<br />floppy hats<br />big frilly dresses<br />shoes too big<br />and socks<br />so loud they<br />wake the sleepiest<br />of feet,<br />the tiny women dance<br />as the drums pound hard<br />and the guitars crash<br />into one another,<br />
<br />
It's here<br />I realize<br />half awake<br />that breakfast<br />will wait<br />or be not at all<br />because there is no time<br />like the present<br />and, Mom says<br />
who needs to eat<br />when<br />
<i>WE GOT THE BEAT?</i><br /><br />TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-78411913734752215492017-12-21T20:51:00.001-08:002017-12-23T11:11:14.176-08:00Fidel<br />
<div class="_39k2" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px auto; padding: 40px 0px; position: relative;">
<div class="_2yud clearfix" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px auto; width: 700px; zoom: 1;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">We </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">named the cat Fidel
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">until there were
no more scratches
a</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">t the door after
the bars closed </span></div>
</div>
<div class="_39k5 _5s6c" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 28px; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 60px; position: relative;">
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="box-sizing: border-box; direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px auto 28px; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">and the stereo’s tone arm played
the edge of the red Columbia label. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The noise it made,
the bald needle bouncing off
the spinning circle
of company brand and song titles
was the sound we heard
when neither of us spoke.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The unending clicks
and whispering scrapes,
the scratch at the door,
a scraping sweep of claws
and a low rumbling growl. <br />
We awoke in absence of one thing,
the familiar violation of the silence
which never quite happened. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">We go tout of bed
and put on our pajamas ,
walked around the apartment,
poked the bushes and circled the trees
as if thinking Fidel would surrender,
paws raised, and stop his nocturnal
adventure
so some of us may sleep in
fields of odorless amnesia. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 17px;">
</span></div>
</div>
TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272155535184619810.post-32439669442128118402017-12-20T15:32:00.001-08:002017-12-20T18:23:36.430-08:00Dream Poem<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhmYp4-l_weANYnOwSeeloX27qRgVtocGsU-CNaLKcbT0RDXj7s4N89e5UsPnTwxmcozeAkVRFeMplhQeLM70zeYE5HupRnWIf4p-JhpjJZVZY1mheBZfJtEJ4jmrKFzlzOhrYTMit_KY/s1600/1123171733_HDR_Film8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhmYp4-l_weANYnOwSeeloX27qRgVtocGsU-CNaLKcbT0RDXj7s4N89e5UsPnTwxmcozeAkVRFeMplhQeLM70zeYE5HupRnWIf4p-JhpjJZVZY1mheBZfJtEJ4jmrKFzlzOhrYTMit_KY/s400/1123171733_HDR_Film8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nothing goes as we dream it would<br />if dreaming is all we do<br />when awake in the world,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All these streets of noise<br />and the bad language<br />of an accelerated life<br />that became accelerated<br />beyond the speed<br />our feet can walk, leap or run<br />without a stumble<br />or demand to know<br />where one is going<br />with these bags<br />and bricks we carry<br />back and forth<br />across the street,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">These items espied<br />on the tops of tables<br />and wet bars<br />that come to resemble<br />random small change,<br />a paper clip<br />and a torn post it<br />with a phone number,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">no name attached,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The dream of<br />rooms of empty walls<br />leading to another room<br />where you sat<br />at the other end,<br />your paintings<br />and hanging around you,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">you lifting your head<br />from a phone call<br />to nod at me,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And then I was<br />on a rooftop<br />over a skyline<br />of shifting designs,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am on a boat<br />sailing into the bay<br />and finally<br />the ocean,<br />the skyline<br />gets smaller,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am back home<br />suddenly awake<br />and wanting to<br />call you<br />'though I know<br />you're on another call<br />somewhere<br />in the cloud.</span>TED BURKEhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610296721891201100noreply@blogger.com0