poetry

July 18, 2014

Sleeping late on swaddled mornings analogue in the fog, just green dream of cypresses and lines of pines in sagebrush hills – “Can’t keep a garden here” mom salting snails and slugs dirt clod back yard, artichoke’s all thorns fox tails and cat thistles on the bulkhead dogs yelping around a mole mound – playing […]

April 2, 2014

pausing to admire the cherry blossoms from my basement apartment a puppy’s head flies up to snatch at branches – I didn’t get a picture, but this really happened. – Jon Oropeza

October 27, 2013

The Morning They Gave Up On The Year By half past ten the walnut was stripped, and the men at a quarter til noon – having given up on it – had packed the place wearing sweaters and caps the long wood tables bent over bowls steaming octopus stews glasses of Txakolina slightly effervescent gold […]

August 28, 2013

Wallace Stevens’ 1919 poem: Anecdote of the Jar I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it, And sprawled around, no longer wild. The jar was round upon the ground And tall and of a port in […]

March 16, 2013

The task is simple enough: Take two numbers and sum’em. Three steps from Hello World. Only I am Devver Genius. Why stop at the solution? I’m adding value. A login. Three page reg. New features, translate the numbers into words in 78 languages. Satisfaction surveys. Blast emails. Integration into every CRM ever made. You’ll get […]

September 20, 2012

DANSE RUSSE If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees,– if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: “I am lonely, […]

December 1, 2010

When we go dark, it’s either because we have nothing to say, or because we’re too tuckered out yakking our fool yaps off in another arena. The latter is the case for me right now. A photo (mine) and a poem (Wallace Stevens) will have to suffice. G’night all. Japanese maple at ‘the farm’, Port […]