Category Archives: Poetry
Last night, total kleptomania, I tucked
the universe down in my shorts then I ran
–scattering rogue, fleeing the scene, flat out quick.
No one was looking.
Soon I found a back street fog to slip into.
Home-free, I caught clawing cimmerian sounds
–that bopping cats do scratching doors wanting in.
Got me to thinking,
were those dream kittens? That’s when I checked my pants.
The universe was not there. I had dropped it.
And that’s when I began to wonder, what’s now
keeping me running?
Physics? I thought I knew gravity, how to
suspend whims; we can’t be spontaneous till
we get our shit done. Our scale, mass, magnitude,
like poems, had meaning.
And love, its buoyancy, its stretchiness, its
cool hell; thought I knew clouds, like Joni Mitchell,
but now with life’s illusions lost, what were clouds?
The universe–all of space, time, planets, stars,
galaxies, all the matter and energy,
known and unknown spacial events–gone,
no longer happening.
All, I’m sorry for losing the universe
in a dream. I will try to snooze better in
the future–-if there is a tomorrow in
this dream. Here’s hoping.
Christmas is not too far off. So, why not give Dark Sandwiches to those you love? And while you’re at it, also give Dark Sandwiches to those you don’t like all that much. It’s the perfect gift for everyone.
“Dark Sandwiches is whimsical, radical and wonderfully weird. If David Lynch, John Lennon and Edward Corey had a literary threesome, their love child might look something like this. Make no mistake, Gresham is a wholly original American voice.” Edward E Romero, writer, and director
US envoy to Israel faces Senate after Trump scraps two-state policy
Surprise! Trump hands the mic to supporter at Florida rally
Zakaria: Trump has’hardly done anything’
Comey talks Russia with senators in closed-door briefing
Senators want Russia-related materials preserved
Flynn changed story to FBI, no charges expected
Tillerson presides over abrupt shakeup at State Department
Trump pivots to economic message in Boeing visit
Clinton’s staffers are keeping up the fight
Republicans have long talk about replacing Obamacare, but no bill yet
Cruz to Trump: Name John Bolton as national security adviser
Officials: Mike Dubke to be named as White House communications director
McCain: Dictators ‘get started by suppressing free press’
Trump wants a ‘wall’. Border experts want a fence
Jeff Sessions’ team takes over Washington
Under fire, Trump returns to the campaign
Priebus denies collusion between Trump campaign and Russian officials
Navy commander charged in long-running scandal
Roommate wanted: No Trump supporters
McConnell urges GOP: Don’t fear protesters
Trump’s Sweden comment raises questions
Is Russia’s obsession with Donald Trump waning?
DeVos given U.S. Marshals Service protection
Smerconish: ‘This is a golden age of journalism’
from CNN headlines 2/10/17
In the sky she floats,
flooding the shadowed earth
with clear silver light. (Sappho)
Herself to her a Music
as bumble-bee of June. (Dickenson)
That music of my nature,
day and night with dream
and thought and feeling interwound (Browning)
among the litter of a sunless afternoon
having eaten without tasting
talked without communion. (Loy)
Love comes in waves like the ocean,
a sickness which goes on
& on, a hollow cave. (Attwood)
- The Poems of Sappho
- The Poems of Emily Dickenson
- The Soul’s Expression by Elisabeth Barrett Browning
- Human Cylinders by Mina Loy
- Postcards by Margaret Attwood
Wake up you sleep shop heads. Wake now sleep stop.
Make with morning songs sung second to none.
Get up. Get up. Good god, get up a ton.
Stick socks and shoes on feet–sans the holdup.
Last warning. No snoozing here. Coffee’s up.
Don’t zizz on like hell on a hot dog bun
–a blanket sausage/pillowed concoction.
God bless everyone but get the hell up.
Window look, out, toward the sun. Rub your eyes
or whatever you do in the morning.
Sun’s an early riser so so must you
blow a so long kiss to your slumber selves.
And then stretch–sing like a sun a-shinin’.
Suns do sing, sleepsters. And, oh, don’t argue.