Monday, October 30, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Bradley asked me to join this group, so I'm grateful for that. I'm a little unsure of what to post on here. From what I'm seeing, it looks like poems and announcements are mostly what's posted, so I'll post a piece soon.
Once again, thanks for the invite!
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Note to Self by bradley micheal albus
a blessing, for every blessing
a curse. What's worse I have been given one
to do with either as I choose.
God never exagerates. Things he says "come to pass"
The ability to recognize
anything at all. A few minutes ago
everything started making sense.
Just now; it stopped.
I'm walking up mountains here
just to walk back down
again. Over & over.
(When I get to the bottom, everything
is looking up)
It's good though, to wake up
in the middle of a dream
you can't remember. Waking up
and whispering to myself, "This poetry,
an ocean of seem. That ocean,
a poetry it seems. Either way,
it just seems, feels funny.
Have you driven a Ford lately?
I always imagined things differently.
(not that it's not)
Let me try and explain. I mean,
it's all over the papers. 20 dead in
to death by cucumbers. Who is responsible? Why
does everything feel like watching television, or
adding up vats of money
(at a quarter after)
Somehow I used to think
I was in to higher arts
what with all these crazy
women throwing crazy love darts
and bald men wielding bows and arrows.
What does it feel like to wake up
down by the river
under a rock
in a mountain blizzard? Warm, and cozy
it feels like -
What to do when grandma can't pay
her electric bill?
Buy her a comforter at K-mart
and maybe some votive candles.
I feel like a rusty clarinet in the basement.
Note to Self: CALL LILA
(that's why it gets hotter and hotter)
bradley micheal albus
Seven Mirrors by Eddie Dowe
I expected to see myself
in the colored stone of the mirror,
in this slim kitchen
still a man, but I cannot be
here, I must be
in the doorway, staring
toward the dawning street,
the light spinning about me
and my arms stretched out
to adjust the angle of my life.
A little girl waits
at my doorstep, in black Chinese slippers
and an orange dress.
She reaches up to ring
and from the mirror of the glass door
she notices another little girl
reaching up to grab her wrist.
This in only one
of the seven
mirrors buried in my yard.
A man balances
on one foot
under the shadow
of a blue hat
a dozen bronze keys stratching
like the broken glass of a mirror.
The woman in the white slip
asks for a glass of water
and I walk toward my reflection
already leaning over the mirror of the sink.
The bed behind me is a mirror.
My wife lifts her skirt
and removes her high heels.
She makes room for me
under the sheets.
The suit in my closet
hangs like a black man from a tree,
a mirror beneath his feet
and his shoes
two shining leaves.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Thoughts on Organic Zingers
I'm not at liberty to pursue this, my next million-dollar idea, whole-heartedly yet (due to potential legal entanglements with the parent company, Dolly Madison, basic physical production concerns, and simple time constraints that disallow the creation of a viable business plan, among other things). I do, however, want to introduce the idea to you because I have an unfounded and cheerfully naive view of human nature--that no one would DARE steal such an important idea. Also, I believe it's important to let you all know that it is coming, so you can rest easier and walk lighter in the knowledge that life is about to become so much more, well, organic, without having to give up that which we all love so much...I'm talking about Dolly Madison Zingers, and especially exalting the raspberry coconut variety with vanilla cream filling. There is but one distinct weakness to these wonderful little sponge cakes. They are not real. Up to now, I've just accepted this as an unfortunate part of life. I've recently come to see, however, that this does not HAVE to be the case.
More on this epiphany, coming soon...
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Eddie Dowe : 3 poems
open road to the soul (by bradley micheal albus)
the open road to the soul
lies somewhere in the begging bowl
it eats away it does
so until death takes its toll
body hedonistic, mind altruistic
let harmony & blessings be the goal
do the math, walk the path
it all adds up no matter what you take away
Nibbana Gate, OM Paragate, this day
Gabcast! 'Network_b' : On the Tips of Everyone #3
As it is meant to be: Poetry . . .
channel number: 3158
channel password: 1234
press # at the end of your recording to listen and / or publish your submission.
Also, don't forget to say your name at the beginning of your poem, along with the title, so that we can give credit to you as the author.
Gabcast! On the Tips of Everyone #2
Harmony & blessings
Sunday, October 08, 2006
a thousand ways of dying (by bradley micheal albus)
when we kiss, it's electric. A kind of stabbing.
when I think of you, it's hari kari inside
my heart palpates, murmurs.
It's a kind of slow death, torture. Maybe
a gentle crucifiction. Yes, the Japanese really know
how to die,
all this kama kazi jazz
(or maybe Russian Roulette)
My Soul is tying it's rope to your bumper as you idle away.
When you're gone, maybe I'll get chronic flatus
feels like jardia
or maybe systematic organ failure. But how
do you see yourself sexually? How
do you feel when you're the most turned on?
It's kind of sadistic, this falling in love
a thousand ways of dying
possibly becoming an angel or something
maybe being born again, or else
nothing ever having happened.
I can't get these pop rock songs out my head.
I mean, it's all been done before.
Getting trampled by elephants, death by
electrocution, or burning
yourself alive - it's all been done.
prostate, lung, and cancer of the breasts even
nickel and dime sized tumours
old age, drinking lysol liquid plumber maybe
quick, call poison control, I've got
flesh eating bacteria, or maybe a clogged anus. There's
suicide, self inflicted
chainsaw axe murderers depicted malaria
hanta virus, blood poisoning.
This itch, your words
my wounds they stitch
(up, up & the hair)
Falling off rocks, or off
the empire state building, the brooklyn bridge
drive by shooting, just an accident, or
you could die on purpose, too much sex maybe
or lose the will to live.
Tetanus death, a kind of rusty brown - no, lack of sleep
while operating heavy machinery.
A thousand ways of dying; choose one, dream on.
Food poisoning, maybe some arsenic in your milkshake.
Ebola, or like I said systematic
organ failure (already happened)
low blood pressure, high blood pressure.
I mean, it's all over the paper
knife wounds and dehydration
chemical wounds or some white powder in the mail.
You could crash in a train, drowning
or get hit by a car or get hit by a car
on a bicycle or get hit by a car
in a smaller car, it's like everywhere
you look there's
drunk drivers slamming into oncoming traffic, jacknifing
big rigs on gusty highways.
Then, there's getting the shit beat out of you.
Anemic, bullemic, all the starving children in Africa, who
malnourished could die of chronic obesity. Decapitation,
scooping up organs after traditional Japanese suicide.
It's too much pressure on the brain, kind of cannabalistic,
freezing to death, slipping
on ice maybe
busting a vertebrate.
Whatever you do, don't get squashed by a tractor. Coughing
up blood, tuberculosis bubonic
plague (all been done before) Don't be so lazy
think of something new
osteoporosis blood clot,
bed sores, Africanized bee stings,
Asian bird flu, charged by Rhinos on safari
I mean, it feels like some kind of mass extinction, this global warming, what with
giant meteors from outer space. Say the sun explodes,
you die in your sleep or maybe it's
exocution by the state (official)
carbon monoxide poisoning (boring)
nuclear holocaust (boom)
strapped in the gurney (?)
Kicked in the groin by religious
fundamentalists. I don't care what
they say. When we kiss, it's electric
(a kind of stabbing)
a gentle, slow death torture
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Country Music Poetry
A beer in one hand,
A Bible in the other.
Drivin' to the prison yard
To visit my ole mother.
Those welfare checks
Were a government tease.
They got you mostly everything
'Ceptin' what you need.
Knockin' off the corner store
Seemed the thing to do
To equalize the landscape,
To back off the screw.
So, momma, I don't blame you-
For doin' what you did.
I'm gonna always love you
'Cause I'm your only kid.
This here cake is meant for you
And all that is within it,
Bless the holy name
Of sweets and 90 minutes
Of filing through the steel
Blowing away shavings,
I'll meet you at the tracks
Just beyond the bayou.
I'll bring whiskey and a Bible
Slake your thirst in a revival
We all gotta do what we all gotta do.
Love Poem to my Wife
If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt
And amphibious Alisa,
I would ever so gently
Put you in my pocket
With a folded, wet paper towel,
And we would down to the Reservoir
And spend all afternoon
Sliding underneath rocks
And playing Marco Polo,
If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt.
That's good, huh?
Master of all I survey...