10 poems

[Guest]

The last two days I have had poetry on the brain (and a lot of other things) because I'm sending some poems out and the submission guidelines say I have to send 10. Anyone have any ideas?

Here are a few from the closet that have yet to see the light of day. I don't think they'll make the cut though.



The Writer Drunk Stutter
by McCutcheon

I can write I tell myself
I just can't write too well
I have to work it
Work it hard
But I have to write
It's in me
Even if…
I can't spell
But I have a word processor
That helps
Hemingway said, ‘writers write
they don't speak'
That speaks volumes to me
since I mumble incoherently
John Fante was Bukowski's God
And maybe Bukowski is mine
If that isn't setting my deities too low
(lowbrow, boozy, beat-up)
I don't know
But why am I always drawn back
to Bukowski's poetry and prose
more than say Hemingway
who is my idol?
It's all an accident
The way it happens
And the reason I write
is because I have to
full of prepositions
a weak side
to fill the void of my life
and to get to the questions
that don't have answers
to get
well, sota answered
and so I write
that makes me a writer.

Good or not?









Record Store Girl
by McCutcheon

I come in with my head down
Eyes red, headache
And I hear the music
That plays in the store
I try to recognize it
I usually do
When I don't and I like it
And even if I don't like it too much
I go to the counter
And I ask what it is
I hope it is you that tells me
usually I plan it right so it is

I buy used vinyl
And sometimes I leave
with good deals
but I mostly come in to see you
with your long dirty blonde hair
hair I like
like a young Kim Gordon
not the style of the moment
that black shine of Karen O.
Maybe you aren't so trendy
That would suit me fine

Your frame is thin, fragile
But I can tell when you move
That there is something under your T-shirt
Heavy breasts bounce around
I'd like to take the nipples
And lick them
while listening to albums
back home in bed
each of us with drink in hand

Music and sex and us
Sex and music and drinking
Is what I think of
Since I never say hello




Chocolate Milk
by McCutcheon

When I haven't eaten all day
And I need something to fill me up
To give me sustenance
Nourishing courage to walk outside
Power to walk past the headlines
From the news bins that line the sidewalk

Oh the atrocities!!

Chocolate Milk from the brown cow
always does me well
I'm glad I'm not lactose intolerant
Because Chocolate Milk is what allows me to face the
Intolerable we see everyday on the street
And in this world
I say yes to Chocolate Milk

On Wisconsin!! Thank you Wisconsin!!

[mccutcheon]

short poem about the BB of BB log in

fuck
fuck
some people wear tready shirts
that spell FCUK
they must think it is funny
I don't
fuck
fuck
the login
that's not funny either

[mccutcheon]

Burnt Face Jake--

Your last one was super fucking good. When I read it I thought that might be one of the best fucking poems I've ever read.

[bfj]

cool man that warms my heart, looking forward to riding the wagon with you during christmas.

[bfj]

I like the subject matter of some of these poems, for instance "Record Store Girl" seems to be the best. However what is hurting a poem like this is lack of structure and choice of timing to emphasize points. Here is how I would have worked with this material, i think it helps it read better:

I come in
with my head
down.
--presenting the lines this way seems to make me feel the movement of the drooping head because the brevity of each line forces your head down. The period puts a finality of hanging your head and leaves it there for the reader.

eyes red, head aching
I hear the
music
playing in the store.

--i changed headache to head aching for a sense of parrelliism (sic?) body part + adjective, body part + adjective, i seperated "music" because of its importance to the place.

I try to...
recognize it;
I usually do.
When I don't
and I like it,
and even
if I don't like it too much
I go to the counter
and ask
what it is.

-- I added that pause after I try to to recreate the pause in action of trying to recognize the music, followed with a quick assertion of " I usually do" the next three lines I broke up to mimic the way you speak McCutcheon. those quick statements and additions of your thoughts that make you, you and contribute to your charm...

yeah so that's what I see missing in this poem, try reading them aloud and listen to how you read it, how you time it, and then restructure to match the way you want it to sound outloud.

Chocolate Milk is better paced but could use a little bit of fine tuning.

as for The Writer Drunk Stutter, I like this and think it works well but I would be hesitant to submit anything about writing. I once heard a song by a New York folksinger titled "Songs about Song Writing Suck." I kind of agreed.

cheers Mc

[mccutcheon]

Thanks. To each his own. I only have one way to write poetry. red eyes and headache meant a hangover, which ties in with the drinking later on. keep writing.

[sara]

tips from my former creative writing instructor to mc --
(and i do have to say that my instructor was a bitch that everyone hated, but I loved her and got to write poems with her at her house with wine and cheese, so take that haters) read your stuff out loud

okay! and punctuation, she also said, is a good thing. Like:
I have to work it,
work it hard.

which i like.

(has anyone ever read Flowers for Algernon, the part where Charley goes nuts with the punctuation -- it makes me laugh)

[sara]

hey, thanks! I just read NYC scribbles, and you are really right -- do you want me to tell something on my own kind -- okay, one of my kids said he would vote for Bush because he was a good ole boy -- no joke, I was like, dear god, we do need to keep prayer in schools.

do you want my poem from that yucky day?
okay:

Untitled
11/03/04 -- 11:13
I grieved
over the death
of my dignity
11/03/04 -- 11:15
I dried my eyes
And went back to working
On being a woman and giving birth
11/03/04 -- 11:50
My students came back to class, and I taught them how to read.

[Guest]

I like it your poem a lot Sara. Maybe we will make a hard copy out of ole Pax Acidus someday.

Anyway see I sorta hate poetry and I tried to give it up but it comes in spurts, like love, anyway I spurt it out, like a one-night-stand and never go back to it. Since I do this why do I bother to send it out? All the smart asses are asking. Because of love once again. A girl very special to my heart told me that she thinks my poems are like no other poetry out there and that it is my best work. I kissed her and said, everyone has a right to their own opinion baby.

[mccutcheon]

fuck
fuck
Sloth
Log in
is brokin'
Sloth
Fuck, fuck
very much a,
fuck