Category Archives: writing

posts with things about writing

Poetry Bombs

I am thinking of starting a reading/writing/critiqu group here in Columbus, Ohio. Here are a few things we will do

* Meet in local bars, coffee shops, and resteraunts once every two weeks
* share recently written or discovered poems
* offer critique when asked for
* divvying out of poetry assignments
* offer chances for collaboration
* bring poetry to others by presenting inpromptu “guerilla” readings

If you think this group will be right for you, please comment on this post and I will send you info about the first Bomb.

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Filed under Larry's, poetry, poetry bomb, writing

Notes on my reading, my heart, my body, my life

My reading with Peripatetic Poets was Sunday, and though I was noticibly nervous, I did ok. Here is the list of what I read….
Tracks to cover
Perpetual motion
Slaughterer’s Hook
I can pull out my own seams better than anyone
Swoon
What I learned from Zombie Porn
Casual Sex
Morning After Pill
Sex with someone new
an ode to lube
the fuck buddy
An open letter to Alison, studying art in Italy
An open lover to an ex-lover stationed in Iraq
The Cardiologist
A light Dusting
The reasons she gave when slitting her wrists from wrist to elbow didn’t work
Her own Jesus
Excuses
A very young woman with enormous wings
Lonnie Childers
I’m lost to you
When we tried bondage
The center

A few notes:

1.) I was reading along with a woman commanly referred to as the grande dame of Columbus poetry. Before the reading, she told me she was nervous about reading a poem about McCain. I told her not to worry, as I was reading lots of poems with graphically sexual titles. She loved it.

2) Afterward, one of the older women there came up to me and said that she got really excited before the reading because someone told her that I read pornographic poems, and that her husband had died five years ago, and she really needed some porn. She said that I did not disappoint and she loved it. I loved her for it.

3) A good friend sent me a really sweet email afterward that made me happy. It meant a lot to me.

4) I need to do more longer readings, I need to get better at it. I need to write more.

OK, in non reading related news… I worked 12 hours today. Yay overtime. I need a part time job. And I am thinking that the vintage picture on my vintage copy of Anais Nin’s Delta of Venus (my perinnial fave erotica) would make a kick ass tattoo.

This is all that is in my head and heart right now. I’ve said it all.

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Filed under Musings, reading, Uncategorized, writing

excuses

It is too hot to write,
and my ex best friend
is talking about me to
people she knows I do
not like,

my dog is chewing
on things she shouldn’t,
and I am hungry,
I should just go and get
in the shower.

I need to go for a run,
or go and clean
the dishes
in the sink

there is money I have yet
to spend and
my sleep has not
been deep

I cannot sit so long
at the desk
and I do not
know what to say.

I’ll find
a way to write
some other day.

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Filed under Frustrations and Rants, writing

The Fisting Poem

It’s pretty mundane, really

The Fisting Poem

Because I can,
I will write a poem
about fisting.

I will tell you
what it is
to reach inside

another person, to
streatch a small
important part

of another so it fits
every curve of a small
important part of you.

Because no one can
ever tell me not to,
I can tell you
how to fold your fingers
into your palm,

how to drip thick
clear liquid over your lover,
how to entice, sliding

in and out of her wetness,
how to live and breathe
inside her, how to push

your hand inside her knuckles
first and slide it out, how to pump
from your shoulder, how
to flip her over and suck on her
as you invade and plunder.

I can tell you how
her body bends,
how her back
arches, how she moans

and rolls her head.
The things I can tell you.

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Filed under lust and love, writing

In the groove

Why is it that I always hit my poetic stride after a time away with a graphic poem about sex? Last night, I wrote the first poem I really liked in months and months, and it was about (close your eyes if you are sexually squeemish) … All ready for it? Fisting.

I am a poetic oddity.

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Filed under writing

The center

This is a draft of a poem that I started writing while running this weekend.

I
Reaching for your center,
she was always trying
to pull from you

some sort of bone, some
piece of cartilage

something hard and real
of you to call
her own. Life taught

her that she could
push past eager resistance

to get to the warmest
part of your body. She could
slide up into you

but she could never
take anything

as a reminder
of the places
she has been.

II
When you told her
it was over, you made
sure to use
the nastiest words.

Anyone you had fucked
like that was sure
never to be offended.

III
You wake at night
and feel something inside
you still, and wonder –

She never managed to take
anything from you, but might
she have left something

there, at your center? Are you
a clam, enveloping whats left
of her in whats best of you

so that it will not hurt so much?

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Filed under lust and love, writing

I can pull out my own seams better than anyone else

I am
creativly
self-destructive.

I wake in the morning
and remember
cold steel
against skin;
splitting flesh
on my ankle
and thigh;

lines of shining,
red and white
pills on the edge
of my mother’s
kitchen dounter
and an endless

glass of water;
walking home
stumbling
drunk in the dark
alone, arms
around
my neck and waist

not fighting,
pleading for
the real end.

I woke up and knew
you were no longer
a reason
to live
after I drove

away from you
in a midnight
thunderstorm
without
windshield wipers.

I wake up and pull
strings from the corchet
trim of a pillow case,
unravel moment after
moment of a day
that was never
mine. These
words are no
plea
for your help –

but celebration
of the only
power
available.

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Filed under Frustrations and Rants, lust and love, poetry, writing