Abby Library

Come in

The door has no lock
It is warm to the touch
Warm and kempt and polished with hand-oil

The books sip dusklight
And drink heavy from the lamps
They are ready for a banquet
That makes tables groan in protest

There are breaths
As loud as engines
Bells, as loud as shot
Furious, a ticking clock

Is small and slow here
Its arms heavy with perfume
The smoke of old dreams
Turning into something else

A shop-worn place
Of well-used lives
Weeded of vanity

By a librarian that knows his work.

Song of Straw

In the sun
You turn in offering

Holding only
light and water

The fruit is heavy;
still you cup your hands
built so strong
of damp earth
cured in the sun

But now

you can rest
stacked as you are
ready to give warmth
and become a prayer yourself

Chasing Rabbits

It’s odd
Thoroughly stupid, in fact
That a man
Can chase so many rabbits at once
Some are larger
Most smaller
They have every color
Scattering so quickly
When the damn kale is gone
Or they want to escape
From me
They’re wise in that
Because I’d dash their heads against the brick
Cook them, and eat them
Even the large ones
Are not that fucking big

The proof
That a man was not given much sense
Is that he can chase the rabbits
So many god-damned times

Captain Ellie

When I returned from
The Isle of Celyon
A hell, it burst between my ears
In a Sussex gutter
I resolved to die
To leave this world in gin and tears

God showed me mercy
He showed me love
When he sent her to my side
Cast out from my fellows
But in her warm hands
I found faith, and I found my pride

Captain Ellie, oh! She made me rise!
Rise!
Captain Ellie, oh! She made me rise!

This pain in my heart
It will not subside
Captain Ellie, oh! She made me rise! Continue reading

Rest on Your Laureates

A poet laureate can be understood as an official poet of a government. The US has had a national laureate for many years. I was reading an article in the New York Times that there are actually 45 state poet laureates in the US. This number doesn’t count those lower than the state level; there are tons of them on the county and city level as well. Hell, even my city has one.

The funny thing about this article, in particular, is that it wasn’t an article about how poetry is a dying art.. The writer even mentions this multiple times in the article, as if surprised herself. There was another article the Times published more in line with this narrative. The author calls on the nation’s schools to begin teaching poetry again. What is funny here is that the article is based on three false assumptions.

The first assumption is that poetry is a dead art form here in America. It most certainly isn’t.

For proof, I turn to Fancy by Iggy Azalea.

Stay with me now. Continue reading

Tequila and Whiskey and Frank

On life’s edges I met a man
I called him a friend for a while
He drank from bottles of smoke and flesh
Through a crack on his face for a smile

The lights were shining brightly
True beauty in shadow and gray
For we both found such pretty things
Before our nights bled to days

Tequila and Whiskey and Frank
Tequila and Whiskey and Frank
Tequila and Whiskey and Frank
Tequila and Whiskey and Frank Continue reading

Understanding Highs

Pop music these days is, well, poppy.

Most of the music that makes it to the charts is fun, and little else. That’s fine, right? Surely nobody’s looking for insight, guidance, or commentary from a pop star with whipped cream cans coming out of her bra.

But in the midst of all of this mindlessness, there’s something that’s a little off. The songs that we’re hearing, even the ones in the pop charts, are picking up on it.
Continue reading

Jameson on the Rocks and a Glass of Soda Water Works Too…

Happiness You know it?
It’s measured by the can
The barrel and the bottle
And the loudly playing band

And of an end to good times
That one should never speak
Because if our hearts be weighted
It’s sorrow that we’ll reap

And all that’s good and righteous
Our lovers, friends and fools
Would never live life hard enough
Without that hallowed brew

So lighten up your hearts now
Be brave and never fear
And where you go you’ll always know
That Steve would like a beer