04/07: IT AIN’T YOUR GRANDDADDY’S POETRY
It Ain’t Your Granddaddy’s Poetry is pleased to present poetry by Joseph Arechavala, Jen Kirchner, and Anna Vosburgh!
Dogwoods
by: Joseph Arechavala
I remember the dogwoods in our backyard
Gnarled, twisted things that, in the dark, could be
Easily mistaken for monsters
The flowers smelled like a honey-day, and meant
Spring was here, even more than the robins in
March who left tiny prints in last snows
They were little, struggling trees, and I jungle-gymmed
Without care, snapping tiny, hopeful arms
As I caroused, inflicting wounds on wood
They're gone now, and I wonder if I ever
Made them cry
The Doe
by: Joseph Arechavala
Does graze by the side of the highway
Twilight glimmering through pines
Hum of mosquitoes and tires
As headlights begin to pierce dark;
They are unaware of the danger
Blazing by in the high seventies
One will leap into hazard, darting,
Daring aluminum, steel and glass
In the reflection of her eye,
And not even Artemis herself could
Dare be so beautiful
Does sweat exist at all?
by: Joseph Arechavala
If life is so meaningless, why do we sweat?
Take out the garbage?
If life is meaningless, why are we afraid?
Compelled to accumulate? To wound, or save?
Why do we? Why at all?
Are we really islands, or symbiotic?
Perhaps antibiotic? Feral or urbane?
Sartre thought he knew emptiness
Augustine thought he’d know bliss
Does reality exist on a mote
or do universes keep expanding?
Are we impelled to act
by Urges, Ego or Creator?
Do we exist in the vacuum
In heavenly spheres?
Does sweat exist at all?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SPIT
by: Jen Kirchner (copyright 2007)
I fear they'll find you
They'll look
I think they already did, happy happy he said
he always kept tabs on me
I was spit at
I owe this one my life he lets me know as his waste
hits the ground I am disgusting
with what I don't do.
The suit growls at me did he read
my fetish is improper
I've paint and chalk on my fingers
counting pencils in the basement he doesn't care
though I bet he knows.
And this one smiles, turns and smiles
thinks he's next in line for what you morphed
I have a spring in my step
though there is nothing to smell.
Spit at
Follow me, clear your throat,
Make sure I know.
They'll look for you
For seeing what happened
TRY
rip this silver off my throat
like when they broke my jaw.
But I have my father's grin now
He was here, I am here, twice
I came back like the one who left
Did you read me before they did?
Crazy as shit you said
It's been crazy as shit for eighteen months
and they call me "girl" here
like I'm a treasure the pirate uncovered.
So take another pill! I spit
I've been in this forever and longer and
I don't care if your eyes bulge at that.
...Your smirk astounded me
and sometimes you speak like the one I trashed
but something still is innocent
and I wear this sand dollar like garlic.
DECIDING THOUGHTS
by: Jen Kirchner (copyright 1995)
Thursday
"Maybe married by October......."
We are
moving at a fast pace
if tonight
you would tell your mother
about us.
I only over heard,
still,
my insides were suddenly showing
and embarrassed I asked you to take me
somewhere else,
hold me.
Thoughts...
us, you, me,
life
the half-double with pseudo brick walls
and red wood cabinets
us,
you holding me
forever,
chase round and round.
I can't get enough,
it seems
I never can
get close enough to you.
Where did hunger come from, that
I should want you there
all the time?
Never enough,
I need more and more
of this feeling,
this ecstasy
when I'm enveloped by our simple happiness,
by your arms
and I decided
it doesn't really matter
if you can't buy me a ring
right now.
You're here.
I just can't understand
why I am unnerved
and scared
when you leave;
in the night's hour
I list reasons why I want you for a lifetime
in my journal, in black and white
for future reference.
Deciding thoughts
ensue vague feelings-
my life is just starting
and I'm missing out
on something or other.
I just' can't understand
why your goodnight kiss would leave
a bitter aftertaste
upon my tongue.
Friday
I remember
we made love atop lemon yellow sheets
scented with the days sun,
my bed.
I remember
we made love amid bubble mountains,
time passed two hours, our skin wrinkled
neither cared.
We devoured
feasted of each other
and when I
eventually
floated back to earth
I knew
the feeling, the intensity
would never end
just go on forever,
intermingled, intertwined
before, during, after
warm, loved
forever.
They told me tonight
my grandmother died this morning.
Something,
finally
tore and removed itself from me.
Death
reminded me of my father,
reminded me of loss
and the time I tried to explain
why I am afraid to love.
I cried over death
of love.
I should have told you
I am confused and asked you
to explain where the time went
for making love in lemon yellow sheets and bathtubs.
I can't remember
the last time
you said you loved me
with your touch.
I can't remember
at all.
You fly high
without me
almost there;
you take off and land
then apologize
only,
again.
"I feel I'm cheating you"
you say tonight
You must know then
you are only taking
and I've become
only a vessel.
I bathed alone
scalding hot and a bar of Ivory,
tried to wash away the pain,
the grief,
scrubbed myself raw and emerged pink
with trying to erase your scent.
I find greed repulsive
and no longer like the taste of you
or want your touch
remaining.
Saturday Afternoon
Just kidding
you have told me
I'm not good for much
forget painting and writing,
WHAT
can I find to do during the day
WORTHWHILE?
Lazy.
Unemployed.
Etc.
Inside
I cry
silent tears and decide
I will make up my own mind
as to who I am
even if
you can't see
the need
in me
to create
with my hands and my mind.
And, just kidding?
you always ask
what I would like to do.
Somehow
the movies
are, always, replaced
with sitting in Lynn's Bar
infinite glasses of Riunite and Mich
until
you feel safe enough
for affections.
Too many nights
we're separated
by boob-tube phenomenon or
stony silences, riding aimlessly
never materializing
the trip to New York
the weekend in the Poconos
a night on the town
alone,
the promises.
I know
you may desire
the comfort of my presence,
I resent
the loss of our precious time
I wonder
if you'd like to keep me
with hopes
that dissipate
like early morning fog.
I've said
WE
have to do something about this.
I like beach walking and the stars
you profess
"drinking, screwing, and gambling"
are substantial pastimes,
the beach is too cold this time of year
and you've grown an allergy to
all
my friends
since
just two
tried
just once
to fix me up with someone else.
"WE
will compromise"
yet somehow
I still
have a choice only out of three.
Four months and then some.....
I have taken the time
to find out who you are,
forgetting who I was
when we began.
You
might as well be on our first date.
I look
and can't help but feel
you are growing ugly to me
so often
frustration fills and overflows
like nausea.
Saturday Night
I've realized
what we have in common
couldn't possibly
fill a life.
Two months ago
I escaped to the Maine woods,
you didn't understand
the land called
my need to be there once in the fall
something that was a component of
me.
I gave you
my poetry in a little black book;
you could touch me still
while I was gone.
I never told you
it wounded
when you returned it,
me,
unread,
and I failed to see
two months ago
it began,
your need to control,
hold me under from whatever I might be,
with word and actions
cause insecurity with things
not of your immediate world.
Why?
Isn't it enough
one of us is already
without needing to make
the other feel so too?
You are
moving at too fast a pace
for me.
I can't become a prisoner
of your self doubt
no matter your words
"just don't ever screw me over"
ring in my ears.
I will break free
unless you decide
to let me and my lemon yellow sheets
in again.
Sunday Morning
Last night sitting
side by side on leather barstools
you abruptly stated
we are one sided
and I need to learn
to put my foot down
or you will learn to take permanent advantage.
You must possess a sixth sense,
an eerie perception,
compassion for me
or
am I indeed your prisoner
and you have been watching
for my self emancipation.
How bizarre
you reached in
and pulled out my thoughts
while they sat protected
on the edge of my heart and tongue...
Dogwoods
by: Joseph Arechavala
I remember the dogwoods in our backyard
Gnarled, twisted things that, in the dark, could be
Easily mistaken for monsters
The flowers smelled like a honey-day, and meant
Spring was here, even more than the robins in
March who left tiny prints in last snows
They were little, struggling trees, and I jungle-gymmed
Without care, snapping tiny, hopeful arms
As I caroused, inflicting wounds on wood
They're gone now, and I wonder if I ever
Made them cry
The Doe
by: Joseph Arechavala
Does graze by the side of the highway
Twilight glimmering through pines
Hum of mosquitoes and tires
As headlights begin to pierce dark;
They are unaware of the danger
Blazing by in the high seventies
One will leap into hazard, darting,
Daring aluminum, steel and glass
In the reflection of her eye,
And not even Artemis herself could
Dare be so beautiful
Does sweat exist at all?
by: Joseph Arechavala
If life is so meaningless, why do we sweat?
Take out the garbage?
If life is meaningless, why are we afraid?
Compelled to accumulate? To wound, or save?
Why do we? Why at all?
Are we really islands, or symbiotic?
Perhaps antibiotic? Feral or urbane?
Sartre thought he knew emptiness
Augustine thought he’d know bliss
Does reality exist on a mote
or do universes keep expanding?
Are we impelled to act
by Urges, Ego or Creator?
Do we exist in the vacuum
In heavenly spheres?
Does sweat exist at all?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SPIT
by: Jen Kirchner (copyright 2007)
I fear they'll find you
They'll look
I think they already did, happy happy he said
he always kept tabs on me
I was spit at
I owe this one my life he lets me know as his waste
hits the ground I am disgusting
with what I don't do.
The suit growls at me did he read
my fetish is improper
I've paint and chalk on my fingers
counting pencils in the basement he doesn't care
though I bet he knows.
And this one smiles, turns and smiles
thinks he's next in line for what you morphed
I have a spring in my step
though there is nothing to smell.
Spit at
Follow me, clear your throat,
Make sure I know.
They'll look for you
For seeing what happened
TRY
rip this silver off my throat
like when they broke my jaw.
But I have my father's grin now
He was here, I am here, twice
I came back like the one who left
Did you read me before they did?
Crazy as shit you said
It's been crazy as shit for eighteen months
and they call me "girl" here
like I'm a treasure the pirate uncovered.
So take another pill! I spit
I've been in this forever and longer and
I don't care if your eyes bulge at that.
...Your smirk astounded me
and sometimes you speak like the one I trashed
but something still is innocent
and I wear this sand dollar like garlic.
DECIDING THOUGHTS
by: Jen Kirchner (copyright 1995)
Thursday
"Maybe married by October......."
We are
moving at a fast pace
if tonight
you would tell your mother
about us.
I only over heard,
still,
my insides were suddenly showing
and embarrassed I asked you to take me
somewhere else,
hold me.
Thoughts...
us, you, me,
life
the half-double with pseudo brick walls
and red wood cabinets
us,
you holding me
forever,
chase round and round.
I can't get enough,
it seems
I never can
get close enough to you.
Where did hunger come from, that
I should want you there
all the time?
Never enough,
I need more and more
of this feeling,
this ecstasy
when I'm enveloped by our simple happiness,
by your arms
and I decided
it doesn't really matter
if you can't buy me a ring
right now.
You're here.
I just can't understand
why I am unnerved
and scared
when you leave;
in the night's hour
I list reasons why I want you for a lifetime
in my journal, in black and white
for future reference.
Deciding thoughts
ensue vague feelings-
my life is just starting
and I'm missing out
on something or other.
I just' can't understand
why your goodnight kiss would leave
a bitter aftertaste
upon my tongue.
Friday
I remember
we made love atop lemon yellow sheets
scented with the days sun,
my bed.
I remember
we made love amid bubble mountains,
time passed two hours, our skin wrinkled
neither cared.
We devoured
feasted of each other
and when I
eventually
floated back to earth
I knew
the feeling, the intensity
would never end
just go on forever,
intermingled, intertwined
before, during, after
warm, loved
forever.
They told me tonight
my grandmother died this morning.
Something,
finally
tore and removed itself from me.
Death
reminded me of my father,
reminded me of loss
and the time I tried to explain
why I am afraid to love.
I cried over death
of love.
I should have told you
I am confused and asked you
to explain where the time went
for making love in lemon yellow sheets and bathtubs.
I can't remember
the last time
you said you loved me
with your touch.
I can't remember
at all.
You fly high
without me
almost there;
you take off and land
then apologize
only,
again.
"I feel I'm cheating you"
you say tonight
You must know then
you are only taking
and I've become
only a vessel.
I bathed alone
scalding hot and a bar of Ivory,
tried to wash away the pain,
the grief,
scrubbed myself raw and emerged pink
with trying to erase your scent.
I find greed repulsive
and no longer like the taste of you
or want your touch
remaining.
Saturday Afternoon
Just kidding
you have told me
I'm not good for much
forget painting and writing,
WHAT
can I find to do during the day
WORTHWHILE?
Lazy.
Unemployed.
Etc.
Inside
I cry
silent tears and decide
I will make up my own mind
as to who I am
even if
you can't see
the need
in me
to create
with my hands and my mind.
And, just kidding?
you always ask
what I would like to do.
Somehow
the movies
are, always, replaced
with sitting in Lynn's Bar
infinite glasses of Riunite and Mich
until
you feel safe enough
for affections.
Too many nights
we're separated
by boob-tube phenomenon or
stony silences, riding aimlessly
never materializing
the trip to New York
the weekend in the Poconos
a night on the town
alone,
the promises.
I know
you may desire
the comfort of my presence,
I resent
the loss of our precious time
I wonder
if you'd like to keep me
with hopes
that dissipate
like early morning fog.
I've said
WE
have to do something about this.
I like beach walking and the stars
you profess
"drinking, screwing, and gambling"
are substantial pastimes,
the beach is too cold this time of year
and you've grown an allergy to
all
my friends
since
just two
tried
just once
to fix me up with someone else.
"WE
will compromise"
yet somehow
I still
have a choice only out of three.
Four months and then some.....
I have taken the time
to find out who you are,
forgetting who I was
when we began.
You
might as well be on our first date.
I look
and can't help but feel
you are growing ugly to me
so often
frustration fills and overflows
like nausea.
Saturday Night
I've realized
what we have in common
couldn't possibly
fill a life.
Two months ago
I escaped to the Maine woods,
you didn't understand
the land called
my need to be there once in the fall
something that was a component of
me.
I gave you
my poetry in a little black book;
you could touch me still
while I was gone.
I never told you
it wounded
when you returned it,
me,
unread,
and I failed to see
two months ago
it began,
your need to control,
hold me under from whatever I might be,
with word and actions
cause insecurity with things
not of your immediate world.
Why?
Isn't it enough
one of us is already
without needing to make
the other feel so too?
You are
moving at too fast a pace
for me.
I can't become a prisoner
of your self doubt
no matter your words
"just don't ever screw me over"
ring in my ears.
I will break free
unless you decide
to let me and my lemon yellow sheets
in again.
Sunday Morning
Last night sitting
side by side on leather barstools
you abruptly stated
we are one sided
and I need to learn
to put my foot down
or you will learn to take permanent advantage.
You must possess a sixth sense,
an eerie perception,
compassion for me
or
am I indeed your prisoner
and you have been watching
for my self emancipation.
How bizarre
you reached in
and pulled out my thoughts
while they sat protected
on the edge of my heart and tongue...
