Inhuman Swill : Poems

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May 8, 2013

What changed?

You used to be such a sweet boy.
What changed?

You used to tell me everything,
Ask me all your questions.
You couldn't wait to show off
Your times tables.  At age three.
Which you worked out for yourself.
What changed?

You used to climb into my lap
And rub the buzz-cut fuzz
On the back of my head.
You used to ask the barber
To cut your hair
So it was just like mine.
What changed?

You used to show me your stories,
Talk about your friends,
Tell me what was on your mind.
You used to let me point out
When you were straying
From the straight and narrow
In deed or in thought.
What changed?

You didn't used to keep to yourself,
Skulk around the house,
Stay in your room,
Use that gutter language.
I didn't used to need to drink,
Or use this belt on you.

What changed?

childhood | poems

April 9, 2013

The trade-off

Maggie Thatcher's dead,
but so is Roger Ebert.
Always a trade-off.

death | deaths | haiku | poems | politics | roger ebert

April 8, 2013

Signs of spring

cigar aroma
wafting in from the golf course
signals that it's spring

Signs of spring by shunn, on Flickr

golf | haiku | poems | spring

March 20, 2013

Vernal equinox

I saw the first
red-winged blackbirds
of the year
this morning.

Sixteen degrees,
west wind fourteen
miles per hour,
wind chill two.

I know it's the
first day of spring,
but I still think
they were confused.

birds | birdwatching | poems | spring | winter

November 7, 2012

Tasting notes

Malt
Caramel
Subtle peppery undertone

Juniper
Crisp pine
Grapefruit aroma

Chocolate
Mellow hops
Rich toffee notes
Freshly baked biscuits

Clean desert aroma
Citrus weed
Tangy cactus spine
Horse blanket

Slight nuttiness
Hints of bourbon
Smoked rubber
Magnesium flare

Coconut oil
Disintegrated cork
Essence of latex and sand
Porcelain overtones

Back alley rainwater
Wisps of mousetrap wood
Gunpowder residue
WD-40

Battery copper
Flop sweat
Gumballs
Revenge

Rocket fuel
Interplanetary dust
Venusian methane
Tears of loneliness

Half Acre

The topic of this poem was suggested by Kevin Swallow.

alcohol | beer | poems

October 7, 2012

For Ella, on her ninth birthday

How can you live with a dog,
with its lifespan of ten to fifteen years,
and not realize how quickly the clock
is ticking?

dogs | ella | poems | time

October 4, 2012

Time is not on my side

time is not on my side today

instead it's hanging above me
like a Damoclean sword

or gaping at my feet
like the very jaws of hell

no, time is not on my side today
unless time is a spear
piercing

poems | pressure | rat race | time

September 17, 2012

Telegraph

This poem was written for Tina Woelke, a donor to the Chicago Writers Conference Kickstarter campaign. One of the reward perks available was an original poem composed by me on a topic of the donor's choosing. Tina chose "reading," and I debuted the poem at a special edition of Tuesday Funk on Friday, September 14, 2012.

The telegraph was not invented in 1836
but three thousand years before Christ,
when the first writer took up a pointed stick
and traced out on papyrus the careful,
casual chain of coded symbols that
transmitted meaning across time and space
directly into a brain equipped to decipher it.

The telephone was not invented in 1876
but over five thousand years ago
when the first writer took up a pointed stick
and scratched out the vibrations in clay
that tickle the tympanic membrane of the heart
with thoughts conceived in days older than dirt.

Telepathy was not invented in 2170
but forty thousand years before Christ
when, by the light of smoky torches,
the first writer poured out his heart
in ochre, hematite, and charcoal,
unable in any other way to express
the experience of stalking a god,
and slaying it with a pointed stick.

books | poems | reading | writing

September 7, 2012

Grand motherfucker

My apologies if you've already seen this. Months ago—way back in March, as a matter of fact—I conceived of a poem that would incorporate hiphop-style rhymes with science fiction storytelling and would be called (as I knew even then) "Grand Motherfucker." I would write the poem sometime over the spring or summer, then perform it at the September 4th science fiction edition of Tuesday Funk.

I made a few notes, but somehow I managed to not start working on the poem in earnest until late in the morning of, er, September 4th. I worked furiously for the next few hours, finally suturing up the last rhymes at around 5:30 pm. The show began at 7:30.

Better late than never! Here's how the poem went over last Tuesday night. Or perhaps how it went down. I hope you like it.

comedy | hip-hop | poems | poetry | rap | readings | science fiction | videos

June 29, 2012

Things seen while biking on the Lakefront Trail

milepost 0

a bike towing a dog with its hindquarters on a cart

a totem pole

a line of hand-holding kindergartners being urged by their teacher in French to move quickly across the path

statues of chesspieces

volleyball players ripening like wheat in the sun

a golden retriever running full-tilt to the edge of the lakewall and leaping far out over the water

so many drinking fountains, but never when I want one

a red-winged blackbird blocking my access to its drinking fountain until I'm standing right there

a cellphone-talking hipster's Smart Water bottle and Starbucks coffee cup blocking my access to a drinking fountain until I'm standing right there

a sexy blonde runner next to me at the multi-spigot fountain moaning so loudly between slurps that I have to put it out of my mind and ride away thirsty

Navy Pier

an gray-haired man on a bike who knocks a younger cyclist into some tourists on that crowded bridge over the Chicago River and doesn't stop to apologize

the Field Museum

the Shedd Aquarium

the Adler Planetarium

a flying saucer parked atop Roman ruins, or rather Soldier Field

a guy who looks just like Starburns from "Community," down to the top hat, but with normal sideburns

an Orthodox woman walking with conviction in the 90-degree heat

geese that never flinch no matter how closely I pass them

a beached yacht rocking on the shore, emergency trucks all around

a Chicago Police boat searching the water

a man walking backward up a hill

a hundred feet of the pathway ahead covered in drifted sand

the Museum of Science and Industry

a broken fountain spraying water thirty feet

the turnaround at milepost 18

the same man an hour later, still walking backward

the Chicago skyline like a tiny sapphire city

my wife, her mouth stained orange from an impulsive snow cone

bicycling | chicago | poems

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