Meanwhile, A Poetry Reading
Why are you looking at this frightening picture of me with henna in my hair? Oh, I have my reasons. Do you wanna hear ‘em?
Exercises Ordinaire
It is a deference you make,
a concordance you set
between you, and your gravity.
Then, rest.
Servante
No one watches correctly— the conjurer makes sure
all paying eyes stray to the glint of his large amber ring—
Frank O’Hara, I Hear You
blooming in my head this morning while the jackhammers
kick the asphalt six feet below the windows next to my bed.
The Hobby Shop
Today is like a rare curiosity behind a glass case
in the old dusty hobby shop that never looks open—
A Secret Spring
And some days, but not others, I am walking through the drying linens tucked away from the street in Mrs. Kormos’ backyard,
Keepers
Walk in any direction of this place and you might hear
tarnished bells rung by the stealth of silent men
typists clacking love letters for a dollar a page….
Improvisation
Forget everything you’ve learned
as you breathe into your hands
on this cold morning. <3
Ode to a Writer, Immersed
You read Virginia Woolf. You read Hermann Hesse.
You swim, word-weighted,
through the aqueous shadows
of a late afternoon.
On the Other Side
This poem was written by (in order of contribution): Courtenay Bluebird, David Mark Alvírez, Dawn Novak, Donna Essex, Sparks In Shadow, Professor J., Axxman300, Ernest, and Bob R. Bogle.
An Exquisite Corpse for the Silly Season
To commemorate the official start of the Bluebird Blvd. Silly Season—which will go through the end of August—I thought we could play a game.
A writing game!
Have you ever heard of an Exquisite Corpse?
The City Aquarium
perhaps I still stand in front of the glass tank—
and the seahorses still converse in the flowing grasses.
Interregnum
—while that other me, the one I’ve been expecting,
sits at an outdoor cafe with an old pen and a new notebook.
What I Said the Night You Wanted to Go and Catch a Movie—
Wait. Right here at the center of the square at five o’clock a gent will arrive with his dog and his accordion case. Wait.
Si Vale Valeo
These are symbols,
greater and lesser, as am I, with my hands in my pockets,
my north-south face fixed erect as a map that leads
to the end of a sentence—
Bowing to the Afternoon Rites
Noon is a rite. I bend to a white plate, where a sliver of a tomato curls at the center of a finished lunch. The dogs leaping for the back door at one p.m. is…
Invictus Maneo
i. On that night in the movie theater, the screen flickered and dropped to black. We were ushered out by a voice, a dancing flashlight. For blocks and blocks, we walked home…
This Early Hour
I stand chest high in the lake with my arms wide open at this early hour. The water is as smooth as the stories you used to tell when I was small. It…
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