<b>D' Steel(e)</b> <em>Society of Poetics</em>: December 2007

D' Steel(e) Society of Poetics

A Society of Progressive Poets founded in Washington DC

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

breaking poem

this just in:
man writes poem
in form of flash
news report
(details at 11)

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

121807 life

life is a fight
against time
(also, that barn
party sounds cool.)

japan's missile defense

the final war
will not be
2 men
2 countries
it will be
2 buttons

Thursday, December 13, 2007

educate yourself

Monday, December 10, 2007

120807 Saturday Night in Augusta Maine

the inside of
the olde beale
street bbq is
modified so
that it doesn't
damage the
historic warehouse/
industrial interior.
The bar's only
separation from
the dining area
(I am the only one
at the bar), is
its direction (
the dining area
is filled
). I am sitting
eating, writing,
no not writing,
reading, eating,
writing, leaving
have one more
drink and leaving
pay for the last
one in cash around
$1 tip is 20 percent

when life gives
you lemons
at the olde
beale street bbq
in augusta maine

Lemonade made
every glass

where is
riverfront bbq?

Only blocks from
my house, after
the steps
several brews on
tap most made in
Maine because it's
hard & it's easy
to get away
in Maine

muddled indolence/sad advice/

How do you become
a man?
You lie to yourself
and lie to yourself
until your are
made of stone

How do you become
a woman?
Same way

Thursday, December 06, 2007

sun is coming

melting snow off rooves
icicles dripping, drip
sun is low, low
melting snow off trees
birds aren't singing
Spring ain't springing
tis the season
there's no reason
sun should stay away
so bright it's blinding
snow is shining
glaring in my eyes
my beard is growing
my mind is slowing
trapped beneath
the snow the sun is melting
rhyming rhyming
lala lala
sun and blinding snow

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

maybe I should regain

my faith the way
I hang my head over
my plate when I am
finished, it must seem
like I'm praying, my
sighs are, could be,
confused for realizing
or an enlightened
understanding, my
solitude in Maine,
however, can be
confused for nothing
else but a miserable
attempt, a botched
that has lead to
a, my, mental breakdown
not even a good
breakdown, one worth
having, like the
good artists (creeley,
bukowski) have,
my series of
unfortunate events leaves
me able to perform,
sustain like the oily
one-legged pigeon
you kick at out of
disgust, who sadly
hasn't died
pecking, crawling in