Category Archives: Micropoetry

Burial plots for frogs: a micropoetry exchange

Every other site this was on has now disappeared. I found (with considerable work) an archived version, and am planting it here just so I can find it! This work was originally done in 2009.


Four months ago, over at Identica, Patricia F. Anderson and I traded poems based on recent news stories. I started off, and we alternated thereafter. I believe Patricia kept a list of links to the news stories we drew upon, if anyone’s curious. —Dave

The mayor of Kiev raffles off his kisses & sells burial plots for frogs. He greets protesters with a song, saying: only God sings better.

*

A Renaissance monk scribes the sacred and the sexy, chortles with courtesans, singing “you are all that is left of me.”

*

Imagine how reporters for the Life Morning News felt when they found their distributor had been taking it straight to recycling.

*

Life, death, that’s right – the morning-shift warehouse worker sliced in the cardboard recycling shredder. It’s over. He is.

*

Exiled from mainland Singapore, the seashore bat lily & pink-eyed pong pong tree take refuge on a manmade island of garbage.

*

Pollinate the elastic plastic, yeah, trashman, jazzman, your absent music haunting the gyre like twisting in the guts.

*

In Lahore, the Movement for Decency bombs juice shops where couples cuddle. Now illicit whispers hide behind Koranic ringtones.

*

In Chicago they resell the chill graves of urban children. Babyland, Babyland, where is your lullaby? Where are your bones?

*

Japanese scientists studying turtle embryos pinpoint the moment when the body wall folds in, origami-like, to make the shell.

*

The embryo folds a tube 2 create the spine. Folds & knots another 2 shape the heart. Some things unfold that are not stories.

*

Even those who bought leases below the cancelled storeys wax wroth at the lost value, no longer the tallest tale in the land.

*

Cher Monsieur Butterfly with his devalued pearls, his mythos worth so much more – the bodice rippers, the diva, so delicious.

*

The Colonel bristles at the word “drone.” Real people control it, he says, be it Predator or Reaper. Let’s not dehumanize them.

*

Buzz was second, but no drone, a real person, he says, touching down on another body. No romantic, he pissed first, he says.

*

On the 40th anniversary of “one small step,” astronauts in a space station unit called Destiny repair a toilet pump.

*

Make destiny a bit closer, space a bit smaller. From YouTube ask astronauts questions. They answer like God from the skies.

*

The wind has died, its spots have cleared up, and the only thing now marring the sun’s perfect day are these 8 circling gnats.

*

The sun naps in the quiet between storms. Jupiter, our bully-proof big brother, wishes we’d learn celestial self-defense.

*

The winner of the Ernest Hemingway contest at Key West, sweating in a sweater, says he only writes checks and text messages.

*

The moveable feast has become transparent film, memory slicing the century into pats like butter. Never enough, the chef says.

*

A man in a gorilla suit runs out the back door with the hibachi chef’s cleaver buried in his arm.

*

Mother of grief cradles her babe in hairy arms, gives suck, turns away from death 2 rub her sturdy flat face against new life.

*

Chernobyl: doves and palm trees on the walls of an abandoned flat. Irradiated wolves chase irradiated deer through the streets.

*

Reject unborn children, damaged children, the damaged thyroid & liver. Reject Pripyat, tanning beds, power plants. Reject.

Tags: collaborationlinked verse Posted by morningporch November 03, 2009, 12:14pm Permalink

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Beginning the Day

Beginning the Day

There are sounds,
but distant.
There are lights,
but little.
In whispers
of snow, wind,
the first bus
of morning
whirs to me,
opens its doors.

Erosion of Scales

i.
bald patches on wings
show where butterflies have shed
the bloom of their youth

ii.
late Spring stars, pastel
green & cream, teeter over
a red passion point

iii.
the sunrise place shows
the price to be received, or
the price to be paid

iv.
fish for dinner means
the dull knife scrapes the wrong way,
scales fly everywhere

v.
the indigo just
shed its skin, gleaming black-blue,
(dry, soft, tasting musk)

vi.
hairspray mists around
teased hair stripped roughly downward
for the school’s Spring play

vii.
dark surrounds the flame
of one lit candle, carried
by a voice singing,
its melody bent modal,
as it winds from old to new

Myelin

Curling into a cocoon
of butter or fur.
Soft.
Forget myelin is the skin
of my numb brain—
when it itches,
feel it everywhere
but where it is.

Myelin Challenge Poem

– PF Anderson, June 3, 2010

This poem was written in response to a challenge from the @MyelinRepairFdn on Twitter.

Making Visible (Momentile, debscott)

When shattering becomes
a thing of broken beauty,

(Momentile, debscott)

it is the very breaking
and brokenness
that reveals the heart,
the structure, the lovely lines,
the labyrinth of meaning
that once was whole and now
is visible.

(Momentile, debscott)

Nature wastes nothing.
Having unlearned this lesson,
people fumble with fragments
of the lost and leftover,
rags woven into
a kind of throne.

(Momentile, debscott)

Mariposa (Momentile, tinydancer)

mariposa, spread
your lashes, lips, your fine tongue
embrace the long line
hollowed with heat, memories,
opening to erasure

Momentile by tinydancer, caption by pfanderson

Tinydancer: Mariposa: http://momentile.com/captions/26579

Dr. Omed’s Tent Show Revival: Momentile Monday – Mariposa: http://doctoromed.wordpress.com/2009/09/28/momentile-monday/

“The gift giver, that old gnome” (Momentile, Coffeebee)

The gift giver, that old gnome,
Whose eyes hold the darkness of skies
And reflect back our own …

Santa's Eye

Original here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/coffee_bee/3955120652/

Momentile here: http://momentile.com/coffeebee/09-26-2009

Many thanks to Coffeebee for permission to use her image in this post!