Community Poetry Project

Purpose: To get poetry out to people who might not ordinarily be exposed in different ways. In short, to shove poetry in faces - but in a friendly way (quoting the great Kevlar Mc"Fear"son).

Project: Creating "appetizer" cards to entice readers to learn more about poetry. Just a nibble, a taste, to leave them wanting more.

Synopsis: So, it might not be the most original idea, but I pulled together 30 cards, painted a picture on the front (so people wouldn't think it was garbage and throw it out) and sticker a few lines of poetry on the back with a link so they can read more. My intention is to place the cards inside of library books - those that poetry people wouldn't read (like mechanical textbooks, science books, biographies, etc.).

Photos of project putting-togetherness:

stickers of poem-ness!

gotta have some india ink

fun paintings to capture attention (yes, i'm no artist)

dear blogger, why don't you let me rotate photos?

finished product

lookit all those great poem-y cards!

Delivery: Sneaking into the library like a ninja with squeaky shoes, I crept up to the Vernon Okanagan Library branch's second floor and wafted into the non-fiction sections. My first target: Biographies! Here I met an interesting challenge - avoiding artsy-type biographicals, as presumably these people have had some exposure to poetry.

Funny story - I was so intent on getting this project completed successfully that I didn't notice that the bathroom I used on the way out had urinals ; )

My first target:

"AHHHHrnold says, read this poem, fool!" - Wait, that's Mr. T.

Good 'ole Arnold. Next I thought "who else probably isn't expose to a lot of poetry?" Answer - sports people! Probably a bit of stereotype, but alas:

Ahh, nothing goes together like poetry and baseball

Nearby I located another source of poetential new poetry fanatics, anime readers! Hop out of your crazy righty-lefty reading books and come check out some Emily Dickenson!

hi-ya!

My quest continued...books on knitting, books on pets, my card pile dwindiling by the minute as I kept an eagle eye out for crafy librarians who could sabatoge my plan.

My final stealthy submission:

Cancer and...flourine? I might have tried to
match the poems to the text a bit better...

Maybe a bit macabre, but I thought if anyone needs a bit of distraction, it's probably people with cancer, right?

GO POETRY!

Blert, Blort, Blabbart

I found Jordan Scott's Blert half fascinating, half...hem. I get that it's an exploration of the sounds that Jordan may have difficulty with in spoken language, but is that an excuse to cram words where they don't belong?

Example, p36:

Broca's
camel clutch
grapple thalamus flux
box tonsils fresh black box
tongue scatter suckle polygon
syllable collar pop
mullet split end
leg lock glottal
lip off

What in the hell? What is a camel clutch? A syllable collar pop? Who the hell knows!

Here's one I found interesting and felt I could get behind (p32)

I take the spoon out of my mouth. Open wide. Wait for trill. Open wide. Will not mumble, will not slur, will not dread the word, will not chew gum, or put gobstoppers, lollipops or toffee in my mouth before each vocal tilt flirts cuckoo. If you brace a megaphone to my throat, you will hear a tiddlywink blink, a lark rustle in the ripe corn, and my esophagus blunderbuss - exhaust in your glossary.

I guess my hang up is that I like things to make sense, I have trouble when things intentionally do not make sense - but that doesn't mean it's not good.

P.S. The cover is cool ass.

Bowler

the man stopped us

with a creased palm

framing his face

was a floppy

hat battered

ageless the

kind of hat you’d

find on the titanic

worn by bilge pumpers

as they fought with

panic rising – wet

the color of a blackened sea

this man, this

relic of olden times,

cracked

a toothy smile wished

us a good morning

Ging

(Sorry about missing last night - it's been a bit of a rough week and I fell asleep!)

My dog and I
are two of a pair,
my mousey brown,
her golden hair -
or fur, I mean (that's
her, not me)
And then there's
how we both like trees.
Me the green, the
freshness and peace -
her to urinate and
mark her place.
We love affection,
scratches and kisses.
On many occasions
we're referred to as bitches.

(needs more but I ran out of inspiration)

Negative

No one writes about
falling out of love
the drift - continental
masses edging apart
It takes less work to
watch than trying
to push two fractured
souls back together.

No one writes about that

No one writes about
losing your soul mate
one bickering argument
at at time - pieces
nibbled away until
only a shell remains.

No one writes about that

No one writes about
the slow loss, the
bleed, drip drip drip
as your dreams are
pushed aside and
you melt away
until nothing remains.

No one writes about that.

Disclosure...hmmmm

While I did find the premise of Disclosure of interest, I don't really see how it fits into the Poetry genre, unless one is to look at each page as a line as part of one poem? It struck me as a sort of archaeological experiment - unsheathing each single piece of evidence to paint a picture of a person.

I enjoyed some of the juxtapositions of pieces - a job rejection letter from 2004 next to a certificate of award for a golf program in 1976, or an award of $900 next to a tick-ridden lab report. It reminded me that, as a child, our accomplishments seem like such enormous events - but in reality they are nearly always of little or no consequence in the broader scheme of life. It also made me realize how much what we do in life is controlled by others - jobs, vacations, houses, purchases, etc.

Would the text have been better in chronological order? Perhaps it would have been easier to paint of picture of Dana Lomax, but it wouldn't have been as artistic? I like asking questions that I don't answer : )

Bill O

You're a goddamned liar, Bill O'Reilly,
   dodging bullets, hurling insults
Too ashamed to face the truth - you lied
   hiding behind vitriol and condemnation
   a coward

You're a goddamned liar, Bill O'Reilly,
   throwing stones in glass houses
Not even, houses made of bone china
   so thin you can't breathe without breaking
   shards all around

You're a goddamned liar, Bill O'Reilly,
   we already knew in our hearts
A hypocrite, a puppet, a showmaster
   selling self as credible while tearing
   down your betters

You're a goddamned liar, Bill O'Reilly,
   passing off opinion as fact,
Is it your opinion? Did you drink the Kool Aid?
   biding time while ghostwriters churn out
   tomes of dissiumlation

You're a goddamned liar, Bill O'Reilly,
   you blame semantics
But no one on Earth could ever mistake
  your meaning, a protest and war zone
  no the same thing.

You're a goddamned liar, Bill O'Reilly,
   made your bed
   watch you fall


 

DST

[you can see how I'm feeling today]

Eff off, Daylight Savings Time,
what is the point of you?
I am no farmer, no baker,
no candle-stick maker.
Who needs to get up at the
ass-crack of dawn?

"Spring ahead," they say.
What a joke. It implies rejuvenation,
replenishment - instead it
provides bone-crushing exhaustion.
You are a jester, Daylight Savings Time
you do not save anything.

Walmart Bitches

[Semi-inspired by Daymian's "Two Words: Shut the Hell Up"]

Frosted tips
   manicured nails
Teetering on
   Nine West stilettos
With no name
   cereal boxes

I see you,
   Walmart Bitches
Empty brains
   empty lives
You can dress up
   a pig, but it still
                              oinks

[Might follow up with "You're a Godd----ed Liar, Bill O'Reilly]

My Randomness

Let's see how far I get before I can't think of something:

1. I have an office supply fetish. I don't like to have sex with them or anything, I just really like them. Especially rollerball pens and notepads. I'm constantly coveting pens and notepads.

2. I will spend a multitude of hours online shopping for the best price, but I loathe regular shopping and avoid it at all costs.

3. I find I work better under pressure, I am also a procrastinator. So I'm usually super stressed out and barely meet deadlines.

4. I have two kids, two dogs, and one cat. I'm pretty sure the cat is related to Satan. His name is Percy Jackson.

5. My last cat was super sweet. Percy is more likely to bite you than let you pet him. He also likes to chase other people's dogs down the street and tries to ride on the top of the car when we're leaving. If he's actually being affectionate it means he's run out of food.

6. I can't stand having cold feet but equally can't stand wearing socks to bed.

7. I've been to Las Vegas four times, Disneyland four times, Hawaii twice, Mexico once, Costa Rica once. I'd really like to travel more but it's hard with kids so mostly we go camping.

8. My least favourite chore is picking up poo in the backyard, followed by mowing the lawn.

9. One of my pet peeves is when people leave their shopping cart in the middle of the aisle and wander off to look for something, you feel so awkward moving their cart out of the way, like you're breaking into their house or something.

10. I am neither a bad driver nor a good driver, although I did once back our pickup truck into a Purolator truck (it was a funny angle!!)

11. Movies where people pull out their teeth give me nightmare for weeks.

12. I used to work in Vancouver. One of the places I worked at owned a box at GM Place. Most of the time we'd get tickets to see the Grizzlies (basketball) because the Canuck's tickets were reserved for wooing clients - but I did get to go a few times. I didn't like it as much - people want to talk to you and all you want to do is watch the game and swear, but your boss is right there.

13. I once won an Xbox at a racetrack while heavily pregnant. Yup.

14. The week after my daughter was born we drove 8 hours from Vancouver to Trail to look at houses. Not a fun drive.

15. Cream of mushroom soup reminds me of vomit.

16. Last year I biked the KVR trail from Kelowna to Penticton. It was 80k and took just over four hours.

17. That last one sounded like bragging, sorry.

18. I hate it when people post motivational phrases/photos on Facebook, like they're saying "hey you, I know you're a lazy sack of crap, perhaps this will get you motivated!".

19. Spelling and grammatical errors drive me insane. More so when it's a company - it's like they don't even care that it makes them look stupid.

20. Example: Tim Horton's radio ad where the guy says "I carefully roast and grind those bean with care" - really? Carefully and with care? Arg.

21. However, sometimes they can be funny. Although not really a grammar error, Kraft was paying the commentators on Sportsnet (I think) to say "brought to you by Kraft Pourable Dressings." This funny thing was that no matter how hard they tried to pronounce the P in pourable, it sounded like horrible. But it did bother me - are dressings normally not pourable?

22. Alright, almost there.

23. Most people tell me years after first meeting me that they though initially I was a sarcastic bitch. But they grew to like me, I suppose.

24. I'm really not sure what to do with that information.

25. My dad taught me how to play Scrabble when I was pretty young. He didn't want to play anymore when I started to beat him regularly.

Yay!

2500 Things...

So, I was really prepared to hate 2500 Things About Me Too - probably because that's my approach to most things and the size of the book was off putting (the dimensions, not the number of pages). I read the introduction first (which I normally skip) and it brought up some interesting points about the flightiness of online communication. It's not printed, so it almost doesn't exist, or it does briefly when it's being read and then poof! off it goes into the ether. Not only do we not remember much of what we write online, but we also forget what we've read as well.

The lists themselves were fascinating on a few levels. One, that they did truly seem random - if it were me I'd be tempted to edit out the less interesting or more offensive items, but here Matias Viegener has left them all in. Second is the meta-writing, how Matias often comments on the writing process itself and how difficult it is, as well as how hard he's trying to avoid narrative or excessive sentiment. If it's that hard to avoid in a list, it must be near impossible with other types of writing.

Throughout the lists there were certain recurring themes. Several were related to Matias and made sense as many of his items were recounting past or present events. His mother, his stepmother, his dog (I'm only halfway through, no spoilers!), his family's flight from Germany to Argentina to the US. Many of the themes are sad, which makes sense as it's the sad things that tend to stick with us, but there were a few funny/interesting themes as well, such as his love of certain fruits and couches.

I also enjoyed his references to great thinkers (Freud, Barthes, Zizek) - since I've read them too I felt like we were somehow talking to each other. He seems, at times, a very deep thinker:

- "Heterosexual didn't come into use until "homosexual" was coined (p66)
-  Did I make this up? Is it something I saw in a movie? That's how I remember it, like a movie. (p62)
-  Taking photographs is a way of controlling the gaze instead of being its focus. (p78)

Overall, I thought it presented an interesting cross-section of a person, in a different style than a straight memoir, which for all you know may have been written by a ghostwriter and heavily edited. I could have gone without all the sexcapade anecdotes, but that would mean he was hiding part of himself, so I suppose it was necessary.

Hopefully I'll get together a small list of my own soon. See you Thurs!

I.Y.L.M (really rough draft)

If you loved me...
you'd put down the
fucking toilet seat
seriously, just once
please

If you loved me...
you'd know all the things
I hate, like
being breathed on,
utensils scraping plates,
or anything licorice

If you loved me...
you'd write me a story
about a teenaged reanimated corpse
lovelorn, shopping for
a grad dress, but her
appendages keep
falling off.
It would be a
ZomComPromRomDram

If you loved me...
you'd stop trying
to change me
and remember
what you fell
in love with

If you loved me...
you'd stay
no matter what

If you loved me...
you'd go
so at least
one of
us was
happy

[oops - that took a bit of a turn at the end there :( sorry! ]

Could I Flarf Now?

I really want to try a flarf drama, but I'm not sure where to start. So, I'm going to start here I suppose, with some dialogue.

Two people, one on a computer, one in a comfortable chair reading a book.

A: Kennedy was a speed reader, did you know?

B: Yes, and Hitler was a communist.

A: He was lying for Jesus.
A: I keep dreaming of people getting attacked by squirrels
B: Crazy squirrels, but not as bad as coyotes in cars or stories about wrestling action figures.

A: What do woodpeckers want?

B: Probably the same thing as marmoset babies - vanilla ice facts.

A: What did you get up to today?

B: I couldn't afford a vacation in Mexico, so I watched the Spanish channel all day and ate some undercooked chicken.

A: That's the food Satan eats, along with tuba video game theme music.

B: Ugh, that's worse than veins in bananas after microwaving

A: Where can I buy lemonade flavored crystal meth? 

B: Get the fuck off my phone Steve

A: Tell them other bitches funny songs. I’m the one dumb as a 62 ounce slurpee drink.

B: Must be nice to get married and finally know who the number one suspect in your murder case will be...

A: Life is basically one long, terrible date with yourself.

B: What's a positive meaning of ‘he doesn’t look like a serial killer'?

A: Is that what happened to Lou Diamond Phillips?

B: No, it was goat shoes and real godzilla sightings.

A: Funny, I thought it was a tentacle pregnancy egg.

B: That might be why my left buttcheek bigger than than the rights buttcheek, since the number of wrinkles on forehead equals number of inches of penis.

A: Elves are assholes.

B: That's a crafty unicorn made out of real hair, next to the taxidermy monkeys for sale.

A: I've always wondered, why do blueberry unicorns cross the milk chocolate river when they could just fly to the other side?

A: They're carrying a book with an immigrant and an armadillo.

B: I dreamed unicorns coming out my fingernails, having nightmares about Morgan Freeman?

A: Not my fault your ugly. [intentional mispelling]

B: Aliens gave my cat a beard.

A: You mean I’m not a reptile. I think my imaginary house is being recycled.

B: That's accidental lesbian in an elderly miniskirt.

A: Midgets that are tired of being hit on need a mouse riding on octopus.

B: Shhh... I'm trying to find zombie chicken porn.

A: Did you recently date Taylor Swift, only to be dumped and have a song written about you? You may be entitled to compensation. Call now.

A: I’m nuts about you, scrotum.

Musings about concrete poetry

After submitting a concrete poem in Kerry's class and receiving critiques (arg), I was curious about how many people brought up how they weren't sure how to read the poem, whether left to right, clockwise/counter clockwise, etc. When I look at concrete poetry (and why I like it) I view it as an adventure - you can read it one way, then come back and experience something completely different. I don't wonder, "Why didn't the poet clearly illustrate how this should be read..." if you know what I mean. Curious what other people think - does it bug you when there's no clear way to read a poem?

For illustrative purposes, here's an example:

(From wp-blogs.moundsparkacademy.org)

Surrealist Funeral

eyes on artist children’s poles,

disabled flying dark condemns dust

into wandering by lonely sky

—altitude rises, the sun worms

becomes odd

the saecula, fallen away, hangs

the rush wail golden, clouds supersonic

driving rainbow by rush moonlit blessing

obtain enter wail, clear flawless

becomes earth, descended

the deafening mourners impudent

though tears not a coffin cloud

his artist’s torrential maiden

a naked drifting fog

distorted sky heart though wilderness watch

from earth sadness ceasing

pulled down through saeculorum

goddess striking time

lifeless earth lonely

than heart in thunderbolt

stratosphere, blasphemous, melted failing

hastens mind

leaves body



*Based on text of “Funeral of a Surrealist” by Su Ben, then cut up using Cut Up Machine, then edited and rearranged

** Photo Credit

101 Excuses

1. Because wine
2. Because I said so
3. Because I love you
4. Because I hate you
5. Because my mother made me
6. Because friends don’t let friends drive drunk
7. Because peer pressure
8. Because I’m broke
9. Because I’m sad
10. Because it’s raining
11. Because I’m tired
12. Because I have a headache
13. Because poetry is hard
14. Because it’s cold
15. Because Obama
16. Because life sucks
17. Because life is awesome
18. Because I need it
19. Because I want it
20. Because I have to have it
21. Because I’m sorry
22. Because it’s late
23. Because I’m late
24. Because it’s yours
25. Because we’re done
26. Because lame
27. Because looking at the sun causes blindness
28. Because it’s national vomit day
29. Because you’re weird
30. Because I’m unique
31. Because I have to
32. Because I want to
33. Because I need to
34. Because heartbreak
35. Because snow days
36. Because I’m bored
37. Because bilingualism
38. Because it’s time to go
39. Because procrastination
40. Because clichés are so last century
41. Because I’m stalking you
42. Because I’m afraid
43. Because I can’t
44. Because I won’t
45. Because you saw me
46. Because you left
47. Because I was switched at birth
48. Because I have to go to work
49. Because I have to stay home
50. Because global warming
51. Because climate change
52. Because polar ice caps
53. Because Jesus is my co-pilot
54. Because lactose intolerance
55. Because Ebola
56. Because bacon
57. Because I got high
58. Because the Internet
59. Because I can
60. Because you are mine
61. Because I’ve fallen and I can’t get up
62. Because then the terrorists win
63. Because America
64. Because free speech
65. Because homosexuality is a sin
66. Because homosexuality is population control
67. Because who cares?
68. Because it’s natural
69. Because I can’t stop
70. Because history proves it
71. Because science says so
72. Because the repubs are racists
73. Because Bill Nye the Science Guy
74. Because water expands when it freezes
75. Because it’s none of your business
76. Because you need help
77. BECAUSE YELLING
78. Because everyone poops
79. Because you’re cat’s an asshole
80. Because I need a drink
81. Because you’re prettier when I’m drunk
82. Because that’s mean
83. Because I didn’t mean it
84. Because yes you did
85. Because don’t be so sensitive
86. Because doors slam
87. Because windows open
88. Because feelings get hurt
89. Because you can’t handle the truth
90. Because you can’t fix ugly
91. Because your prettier on the inside
92. Because the heart is a muscle
93. Because it’s outside the box
94. Because no pain, no gain
95. Because it’s outside the box
96. Because be kind and rewind
97. Because it’s all about the bass
98. Because you’re beautiful
99. Because we are family
100. Because Karma
101. Because

Annoying Diabetic Bitch - Now with 30% more rapey-ness!!

Don't get me wrong, I like a good dirty joke as much as the next gal, and I do get with flarf your primary tool is what you find on the Internet (and as is evidenced here, 99% of all people on the net are super gross) - but why does it all have to be about rape and vaginas? Seriously, things can be funny/flarfy without having to include all that, at least not all the time.

The poems I did enjoy, however, usually included references I recognized (Start Trek, celebs, etc.) or interesting juxtapositions of terminology, such as including Marshall MacLuhan and Marilyn Manson in "Fetish Model Life Partner"

The biblical strategy for choosing a fetish model life partner
is to seek Jesus in prayer.
You just need to be ready for His direction.
You must abide in Him.
Then again it may be easier
if you could find a dolphin with a foot fetish,
and make him into Jesus’s personal sex slave.
Then again, this begs a question:
what would the Jesus I know do,
when confronted by Fetish Model Life Partner Jesus?
Would he fight him?
Then again, "anyone who tries to make a distinction
between education and entertainment
doesn't know the first thing about either" —
Marshall MacLuhan.
Then again, all I want is to be Jesus
at the Fetish Model Easter Party.
First I'm laid out on a pink marble slab,
with only a wisp of loincloth about me,
and then my fetish model life partner,
who is Jesus,
and sounds like a flock of geese passing gas over Brooklyn,
chokes me until I begin to worship football equipment.
Then he helps me with my pig training.
I am the writer/fetish model/cultural historian wife
of Marilyn Manson.
I am sinewy with an elk fetish hole cover
and the restlessness of Adlai Stevenson
who carried on a messy pussy blowjob affair
with farm animals despite pubic lice.
I am Corn, the famous Italian fetish model,
a 5 ' 10 " metal vocalist/student-goth,
with long dark blonde hair and blue green eyes .
Im curvy and told that Im very pretty.
Fetish model pretty I guess . . .
but whatever.
I heard that Fetish Model Life Partner Jesus
had a dream girl for several thousand years
and a tampon fetish.
Does that make him a filthy commie?
I sincerely hope not.

There's some crazy imagery going on here - she's Jesus, but her partner is Jesus (who sounds like geese passing gas - now there's something) chokes her and helps her with pig training (if you read her blog there's an interesting story about a neighbor's pet pig, wonder if it came from there?). Throughout the poem there are a lot of recurring themes: Jesus, animals, fetishes, religion/ideology. This use of theme gives the poem a more cohesive form than other flarfs I've read which are basically just a bunch of random search strings pulled together so it definitely captured and held my attention as I wanted to see where it would go.

Other than a few other poems and a few snippets of parts of poems I admit I don't get it - using flarf to find something interesting/different to write about makes sense, but to me a whole book of flarf doesn't make sense, or maybe it just makes me sad to have this small window into humanity and find out what they really think is important. Namely, undergarments, sex(duh), rape, and Paris Hilton. We're doomed.

Popculture Genocide

This is not a self-portrait, I do not actually
look like this...okay, Devon?

(my attempt at My Life type stream of consciousness, with a bit of humor - because we all need humor)

Innocence killed by girl in red dress, shame a popcorn trial weighed by syrupy desolation of massacres. Longing for days of little people and yellow brick roads, morality a compass. But frankness earns no friends, scorn worn a lion's mantle (out of the eater came forth meat out of the strong came forth sweetness). I am the eater, all consuming burning destroying a one-woman Armageddon. Saved before credits role by secret government project; genetically-spliced-polar-bears or carbon-consuming-killer-bees, why can't mosquitos eat Ebola? Worry about earthquake zippers while gossiping on the latest Brangelina adoption. My doomsday bunker stocked with powdered milk, lactose intolerant so literally shitting to death, waiting for Terminator-esque rescue, helicopter blades skimming while acid rain eats the forests. Success is keeping a plant alive, but either meaning is fruit matter.

Jen Currin's "The Ends"

I enjoyed how Jen takes a look at mundane things - riding in a truck, an interview, writing - and incorporates them into a cohesive mosaic of a person's life. Rather than trying to strive for extraordinary events, she helps the reader feel more connected, as if they are friends sharing everyday stories over a cup of coffee.

"Black-Purple" was one poem that stood out for me, as the second line "Of course every tree / is half-human, which is why / their cries disturb us" gave me chills - what if trees are half-human? What does that make us, murderers? The overall imagery of the poem, with trees crying, being lost, people as trees, gives us an interesting view of peoples as being part of nature, rather than the common view of humanity as something seperate or superior.

There was also this interesting connection of colors and objects or ideas throughout the poems:

bruise / ice / dusk / blue / tree / purple / shadows / moon

The use of colors helped to spark the imagination - almost like you could "see" the poem, rather than just read it. Jen connects colors and concrete imagery, but in a way that is unique (red grass / purple trees) as well as combining this imagery in an unorthadox way: "my mother was once a tree...the road is a scarf." It made me think more deeply about the poem and what the author was trying to say, rather than skimming and moving on.

w(h)ine

arguing the value of adultery

as if determining the

placement of a comma

Feeling pride in mediocrity

The uniqueness of

overscheduling

Scathing jealousy between

working or raising

Planning unwanted vacations

to prove prosperity

The sacrifice of self for

a whole unknown

Terrified of failure

impending loneliness

holding onto tiny fingers

pulling from grasp

Pride in ageing

underneath creams and botox

Sipping red wine

lusting for cool sheets

Bemoaning the cost of gas

in the face of genocide

Each thought one

step closer

to

Arg

I can't find my goddamned keys,
the kids are screaming for
McDonalds. They don't even
like the food, just the toys.
They're eating sawdust for
cheap Chinese plastic.
My dog eats organic,
gluten-free while I
consume my weight in
trans fats and punsish with
cayenne-pepper water
and semi-starvation.
Eschewing public events
for Facebook updates, 500
friends and counting but
no one I actually would
recognize on the street.
Hobbies are a luxury,
free time is guilt.
If a clean home is a castle
then we live in a slum
but I can't summon the
energy to change the vacuum
cleaner bag or find something
for dinner.

My Life: Lyn Hejinian

http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/hejinian/mylife/

First, would a few line breaks be so hard? The format makes the poems terribly hard to read, which detracts from the experience.

I found the poems to be disconnected - I couldn't find a theme from one thought to the next. For example, here is an excerpt from As for we who "love to be astonished"

You spill the sugar when you lift the spoon. My father had filled an old apothecary jar with what he called "sea glass," bits of old bottles rounded and textured by the sea, so abundant on beaches. There is no solitude. It buries itself in veracity. It is as if one splashed in the water lost by one's tears. My mother had climbed into the garbage can in order to stamp down the accumulated trash, but the can was knocked off balance, and when she fell she broke her arm. She could only give a little shrug. The family had little money but plenty of food.

Sooo...sugar, then a jar with sea glass, and her mother climbing in the garbage can, then no money. It sounds like random musings. Maybe I connect poetry too much with prose, expecting it all to be about the same thing, or maybe I just can see the connection but there is one.

Baby Haiku

Writing poetry
Is like having a baby
Create, birth, then disappointment

Moodle Rant

I log in, it freezes
sends 5 emails instead of one
takes me 10 minutes to
find my schedule
Dear Moodle, I hate you.

Chair Haiku

It is hard to sit
On the hard black plastic chairs
In poetry class