Short fiction that finds itself actually being something else.
See what Aldous Huxley said about the essay at Wikipedia.org. As for poetry, who can say?
Sorry About Your Poem
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I’m sorry I did not understand your poem.
Really so incredibly sorry.
You held it up to show that it was printed in a shape.
You were very excited and so was I.
I hadn’t really caught the title,
but you were so happy, I let it go.
I’m sorry I did not understand your poem
The shape was a nut, maybe an acorn I thought.
There were winter scenes and images
of bright eyes, longing for special treats.
Then I understood it was a dreidel,
and your cousins Nathan and Sahara,
were celebrating the joy of Hanukkah!
Not two hungry squirrels at Winter’s Solstice like I thought.
I’m sorry I did not understand your poem.
You cried then, and told me the shape was a heart.
A heart, your heart, you said
because this was a love poem, written because
you loved me, or used to think you did.
I felt horrible making you cry and for being such an oaf.
Then I was crying too, and laughing crazy.
Because I had always loved you, and never thought you’d notice.
I’m sorry I did not understand you poem,
but now I do.
click-clack
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Night skies seen on razors edge, a dubious godly gift.
Perfect vision astronomic distances so clear.
Sightless in close mangrove swamps,
Other focus monsoon blur.
Semaphore crabs never shunted. Information passed each day.
marauding marabou mouths -beware-click-clack-beware.
wicked waders watching -beware-click-clack-beware.
sudden beak-death near upon us -silent-cautions-click-clack-stillness now.
rest now -click-clack- rest now-unaware.
Cadet Waxwing at her station, far point long departed.
Looping orbit long ecliptic from so very far away.
panic is our news! oh-danger is for certain-click-clack-danger now we see!
falling falling they are falling! no-no
too fastly downward very wrongly!
plummet homeward much too fast
speeding orbiter now seems damaged! did you see it? looklook double quick!
object impact? hostile actions? click-clack-mayday-mayday-in the sky.
crew soon all be burning -click-clack -frail and falling from so high
sound all warning quickly! click-clack-click-clack-fast-fast alarms now please!.
Fading double image flickers off, then on, and off again
Sky brakes they are screaming!
Hull shudders long and groans
Atmospheric glancing bounce!
did you see her? Did you see her as she passed?
intent upon the helm, so quiet in the vast.
pulsed in time-time, then back out out out……..
green-screen green-screen they have saved her!
crew removed from peril click-clack-shut alarms now please,
orbit re-established click-clack-check for damage (what had happened?)..
ceramic hull cooling cool now click-clack-masks discarded breathing slow start.
Starboard porthole she is dreaming, face pressed to the glass.
She looks with longing for her crab friends far below.
Ocean is so blue today (she sing-song sings)
So blue. so blue today, sings Little Waxie.
do you feel it? click-clack
she dreams now in the sky.
by-Doug Mathewson
(click-clack)
I would like to thank Jonathan Lethem for the inspiration for this piece. I am completely in awe of his writing. This prose poem comes from his novels “Chronic City” and “Girl in Landscape” which are very fine indeed. Also I would like to apologize for how poorly this is formatted. Everything the crabs say is indented and in italics. Some how his is beyond the scope of WordPress.
Filed Under Poetry & EssayGran’s Car
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Gran’s blue car was
never out in a storm.
It hardly ever got wet.
Church and doctors.
Fridays the market.
That’s all.
Till a year to the day
after Grampa died,
and she drove it off a cliff.
By-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & EssayStation To Station
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On the sidewalk,
by the pay-phone,
someone dropped
a thousand peso
Golden Garcia
and I used it to call you.
That must have been
enough.
Connecting me
and Mexico City
with you
and Oklahoma City,
but there was only
your machine.
You visit your Mother
on Sundays,
since she got sick.
I felt so foolish
not remembering,
suddenly unsure
what to say.
I didn’t leave
a message.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & EssayTable For One
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A table for one is just no fun.
Traveling on business you learn.
Tired of hotel restaurant’s snappy themes:
* Pumpernickel Pub
* Captain Flapjack’s Galley
* Blarney Stone Buffet
Break the cycle I said to myself!
Go to the nearby “Hard Rock Cafe.”
Have pizza with Elvis and Elton,
(Little Betty Boop won’t eat a thing!)
Quickly seated, so few solo nook request
Would I have a monster bacon-burger with a Gene Simmons?
Maybe a cherry-coke with Norma Jeane,
(her skirt blowing wildly between breathless sips.)
My table was between the restrooms,
Behind the coat rack, but it had a theme!
The obituary of Maureen Starkey,
Liverpool hairdresser and first wife of Ringo Starr.
Conversationally we were well matched.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & EssayReprieve
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Unexpected early dismissal from jury duty
left me on my own
midday midweek midtown
used book store cafe near the court tantalized me in
juror parking was free so I still had ten bucks
clerk with race-car tattoos and vertical hair
took my six of my dollars
for a poetry book and a scone
scone was pear and almonds
book was Richard Garcia
both were great
reading and eating in a sunny spot
playing out my own alternate lives
with sailor me lost at sea
when cowboy me moved to town
disco me died too young
astronaut me who never took off
royal me without a throne
monastic me who suffered alone
the afternoon was passing
time to head home
the evening was still open
for us to decide who to be
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & EssayAlong For The Ride
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When Mom or Dad drove; he played cowboys and hot-wheels in the big back seat
At grown-up parties they would leave him to sleep back there
(He pretended to sleep afterwards when they fought)
Never needed his license; just rode in back and went with friends.
Married young he took the back seat to her.
Back seat to the mortgage and bills.
Back seat to the kids.
Back seat to the job.
She meet someone and off they drove
(Leaving him to clean up the mess)
Kids gone now; all grown up
New job these days; travels more
Big cities mostly – don’t need a car.
“Cabbie, take me home will ya?”
“77th Street , near West End Ave.”
“Take the long way there”
I’m tired and
It feels good here in the back.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & EssayRetina Refraction
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my one eye half open
notices your door half open
framing you in back-lit silhouette
I smile and return to sleep
your image now burned
in the silver solution
of my memory plate
for ever and a day
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & EssayIn Seidel’s Eye
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you protest it is ludicrous, being our age
after so many years together that
I find you intensely alluring
utterly fascinating and
so passionately desirable
“but I’m old” you protest,
dropping your china blue satin robe
in our candle lit hotel room, glaring your challenge
“look at me damn it, just look!”
I do, and take you in my ropey old arms,
gently stroking your lovely grey hair,
being so grateful that such a beauty as you
would love an old train wreck like me.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & EssayBad Coffee
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Brunt Coffee Hot,
Burnt Coffee Cold.
Served Up At The X-tra Mart
Tasted Nine Days Old.
Dislike It Hot.
Dislike it Cold.
Matters Not To X-tra Mart,
‘Cuz It’s Sold Sold Sold.
by-Doug Mathewson
Filed Under Poetry & Essay