Thursday, August 26, 2010

A silly videos

Confessional (A video rendition of the poem I wrote from Dan's words)

So bad that it's funny.

Here's another one from the words Sean gave me.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Trevor Freedland's 5 words

pigeon, moses, shower, cage, death

Am I running that fast

or is your head shrinking?

I’m out of my cage,

but I don’t feel like a bird.

I am a man—

ignoring red lights

children, cars,

and the crazies

on each corner—

just running and running.

Am I running too fast

because every pigeon

is a tiny cannibal?

They pick away at chicken bones,

reminding me for a moment

that mine will ache tomorrow.

I want to kick the bird meat

out of their bird mouths

but that would take minutes

off my mile time.

Am I running that fast

or is death catching up?

Maybe that’s the sound

ringing in my ears

and the lights I see

when I blink my eyes.

But I keep running.

Running around the city

that never sleeps.

Am I running too fast

because you are turning into Moses

with a new set of 10 commandments?

You would join me

if I left frantic messages

on our fridge.

You would join me

if we were not

our futures,

our defenses.

You should join me.

When I run I am not

my nametag,

or my failures,

or the why and how come.

Don’t panic, don’t be paranoid,

Just run.

Am I running that fast

or have all the leaves

fallen on your head too?

The whole world climbed up a tree

and I’m running at the speed of sound.

I can see how it all began

and if you could see, you would understand.

I’m running and running

around the last corner,

off the last curb

across the last crack

up the last step

into the door.

You smile.

I shower.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Check out my published short story

So the outer monologue published my short story called "Sublet"

CHECK IT OUT, along with all the other fantastic short stories on the site, particularly Kia Carbone's.
Thanks for reading my works, it's extremely appreciated. Send me comments, edits, or ideas!

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Dan Irizarry's 5 Words

magic, gathering, fetus, alchemy, porn

Are we trying to be unlovable?

So many times, it’s: “Love me

but leave me alone…

just leave and I’ll come along.”

In the realm of it all, you and I

are magic but we’re among

the many just gathering,

standing around,

flapping our arms all about.

I knew a man once

who tied whistles to his name

so I bought some bells

and made myself into an endless

stream of static sounds.

My brother is a loud song

through blown-out speakers,

my father is a whittled piece of wood

and my mother is a scream

stuck in a jar.

You’re just a stranger

entering from the west,

becoming more than a shadow.

Everybody needs someone,

and I’ll be lucky enough someday

to hold my belly for company

and talk in a voice hushed

to my belly in a mirror.

Does a fetus hear it’s mother?

Does a fetus know it’s father?

My neighbor has a honeybee

farm and I want to squash

them all, every single one,

with your bare feet.

Sorry about that time

I didn’t have a match

to light that sting

on fire.

You asked once, if

it’s a requirement

for every nun

to have the name Mary?

“I don’t have a sister,” I answered.

I remember when I learned about alchemy;

rather than thinking about how

to turn my toaster oven

into gold, I thought

about my grandfather

rebuilding engines.

Then I thought

about my tired bones

and how the ancient

assembled our future.

If we all woke up tomorrow,

undone, what would be your solution?

To just keep walking?

Just turn on the computer?

Just eat a raw tomato?

We’ve all been here before,


And it will happen again and

again and again.

We’ve all been here before,


And it will happen again and

again and again.

Maybe you would say,

“At least we have porn now.”

But what would my grandmother

say to that?

Jason Voegele's 5 Words

fuss, mess, compulsion, repulsion, compassion

Don’t worry, Mother, it will be better

than alright.

This mess will come out clean

and you will rise up just fine.

People can hear the anguish

and they lend their voices,

they join in the sound

of a life, uncommon.

People hear the hearts

cry out, but they’re not worn out.

Not yet.

Their compassion

builds a foundation for change;

it breaks the world open--

connects continents.

They’re all touching

fingertip to fingertip.

Like the clouds have a way

of blocking out the sun,

our prayers have a way

of blocking out the repulsion

that eats at some sorry souls.

Come on, all you unbelievers,

move out of the way

for those people making a fuss,

for those people armed with the will

to hold the hands of all those

in pain.

What is there to fear?

I’m not an idealist,

I’ve just got the compulsion

to carry those I love

all the way to the end.

Check me out!

I had THREE poems published by the wonderful website

Thanks for reading the first editions of my poetry and misc. on this blog, I really appreciate it and hope to hear from you soon.


P.S. Email me 5 words and I'll write a poem for you!

Scott Greskovic's 5 words

redemption, kingdom, water, remote, protection

Because the sky is blue, the water

looks deeper. I roll my pants

to my knees and walk in

to my waist.

She glares at me as I fall

backward into my new kingdom.

I float down the river

patiently kicking my feet.

And the fishes swim

through my hair

as her muffled screams

echo from the shore.

The clouds pass

in remote clusters

watching over me—

a distant protection

I’ve never felt before.

My toes ach to touch

the muddy bottom,

my head goes under

and redemption swells

up my nose and blurs

my vision.

I swim like a sea creature

and she weeps

like the willows.

The water begins

rushing me farther


Pushing and pulling.

My kingdom crashes

around me.

My body strains

with the pressure

and her fears are realized.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Sean McGurn's 5 Words

defenestrate, obfuscate, eyeball, amplifier, steak

It started with a steak.

A big raw pink steak, bare

of seasoning, sitting

on the chipped plate,


while they fought.

Having grown uneasy with the silence

they begin throwing daggers

at each other. Dull daggers

over not picking up her shoes,

over his empty beer bottles,

over their bills and cigarettes.

It started with which seasoning

to flavor the steak

and they thought “I love you anyway”

was the end of it.

Then the pan was hot.

He slid the meat into the heat

and the sizzling and popping

filled the kitchen.

She leaned against his back,

kissing his neck, softly.

Moving past the fight

moved them to the bedroom.

Their hot and steady

breath replaced the popping

and sizzle sounds.

Smoke seeped through the hallway,

into the room

up their noses

down their throats

and into their eyeballs.

Obfuscating their perceptions.

Naked, they run through the house.

The stove engulfs in fire.

Spreads quickly to the counters,

the fridge

the floor.

The bookshelf spits

a blaze of blue and red and orange.

The couch becomes an inferno.

They throw everything left out the window:

the dog

the guitar

the amplifier

the table

the chairs

the box of love letters.

The sirens echo through the streets.

They stand holding each other.

“I will throw you out the window,”

he says then kisses her.

Together, they look down

at the pile of their life.

She climbs onto the sill,

grabs his hand.

Becoming the definition of defenestrate,

they fly

with flames at their backs.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Max Garcia's 5 Words

salmon, shinola, shit, sunshine, & sacrilegious

Summer showers through the night
erased the humidity that had for so long
filled the city from the subway
to the tip-tops of buildings.
And the new day felt fresh
on his lips, fresh in his lungs.
The sunshine radiated through
the neon trimmed clouds.
As his salmon colored boots
clickity-clanked on the cracks
in the sidewalk
he thought of his daughter
raising her hand
for kindergarten roll call.
He thought of his wife
stirring the cream into her coffee.
The smell of the trees in Central Park
urged him to change his route to work.
Stepping onto the grass felt foreign,
as if he never had a childhood of his own.
With the car horns now honking behind him
he began to run.
He ran until his heart thumped
up to his temple and he stood
starring into the pond. At his reflection.
Not thinking about his boss,
not thinking
about the dog shit he slid in.
His eyes resembled his father’s
except the distain had not yet
sunk into his pupils.
The clouds darkened above him
and he didn’t know if
it was the humidity sneaking
back into the air or the echoes
of his father’s words sticking
to his skin.
“To marry this woman is sacrilegious.”
He shook the voice from his mind,
dropped a penny into the pond
and walked back toward the street.
His boots became streaked with green
as he dragged them
through the dirt and grass.
He scuffed his way to a shoe shiner.
And again his father’s words rested on his ears,
“This is sacrilegious,” the little man said
with disgraceful shoes in his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Lucky for him though,
he loves the smell of shinola
because it makes him think
about his wedding day so he smiled.
It makes him think about his funeral too.
He felt drops of rain begin soaking
into his hair.
He tossed the rest of his change
in the bucket.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Questions for my Brother

Inspired by Karl Haendel’s Questions for my Father

Why do you hate black people? Did you ever get praise from a teacher? How old were you when you found your dad’s stash of Playboy? What did you really do to go to jail? Do you still play the guitar? Do you remember the night terrors? Or putting pillows over my face? Or the knives through my mattress? What was the first drug you ever did? Did you want to hit your fiancé when the baby came out half black? Do you have any other brothers or sisters on your dad’s side of the family? Do you love them more than you love me? What made you stay and take care of the baby girl who wasn’t yours? Why did you steal from me? Did you fantasize about killing mom when we were young? Are you happy? What was it like dropping out of high school? Are you mad that I graduated college? Did you hit your fiancé when she was pregnant the second time? Where you addicted to meth the way mom said you were? Why didn’t you move back into the house when we were young? Was all that freedom at your dad’s good for you? How do you feel about the way mom raised me? How old were you when you finally got your driver’s license? Do you have any STDs? How did you feel when the second baby was born looking just like you? Did you stab a man outside that bar? Were you scared he would die? What are you most proud of? Do you sleep on a comfortable bed? In a comfortable home? What made you decide to keep your daughter after the adoption family was chosen? Would you kill the man who raped me if I told you who he was? Do you vote? Are you a Republican? Have you ever won an award? Why do you drink so much? How many times have you cheated? Are you sorry for scaring me so often? What if your daughters dated someone like you? Do you still eat the whole box of cereal in one sitting? Are your hands always dirty? What about your conscious? How many cigarettes do you smoke a day? Have you ever driven your daughters in your car after drinking? What made you stop talking to me? Do you remember what I look like?