a guerrilla literary performance

We wrote free poems for the Hambidge Center Auction, as we’ve done before. The many artists, musicians, arts administrators and supporters of the arts in attendance was highly receptive to and excited about what we do.

I am a Hambidge fellow and free poet Jimmy Lo has a fellowship in August. Please consider supporting Hambidge…

Zac Denton, Nick Charis and I wrote poems from 6 until 10 pm, with near ceaseless demand. See the photos, and following them, (because we had so many requests) some poems that we had to email some to people after the event.

not necessarily a sibling. someone close. or at least of the same spirit. a person influencing your own person-hood. countable. dependable. and reliable. able at least to be there. or in the room without being really in the room.

or not – a rival zygote. trouble for you. not chosen but forced into your world. with problems and cantankerous scratchings.

if only all sisters could be sisters.

topic: sister (by Nick)

troika of the canine breed. snapping at each other in mangy tumult. though smarmy for snacks and slobbering with panting excitement. three standard sizes show the range of growth. sharing a common ancestor the wolf. and always eager to wolf down. bone toys and random tchotchkes or gummy gewgaws into shreds. wet and growling at who-knows-what with furled brows. or flying with fluffy glee into long-missed welcoming arms, legs and freely hanging appendages unknowingly vulnerable. for heartfelt snarled wrangling and hungry gruntled sniffing.

topic: 3 dogs, small medium large (by Nick)

Road not taken (by Robin)

Sometimes, driving in my
car, I arrive at my destination
with hardly a memory of the
journey: Habits, routines
imprinted thusly. It’s a bad
way, I’d say, to be.The auto-
pilot, the sleepwalk are not
the same as the daydream,
or the wanderlust of youth.
“You must change your life.”

Bird dog (by Robin)

Floppy-eared, pink-tongued,
muddy-pawed: you are my
delight. I like to see best
bounding forth from under
brush soaked in rain and
sweat, your soft-sided mouth
clasps so gently one small
dove, its feathers hardly marred.

Garfield (by Robin)

Some cats have all the
answers; you are one smarty-
pants: plump perfection.

Guinea Up! (by Jimmy)

A rot of a guinea in new
spandex is so winning
all the kids are like ‘Gimme!’

but such things are earned
like a spot in Guiness’s book
that out of a crowded many

the world can hear more distinct
sounds with a flap of ear, or two beads
for eyes that dart around

a blur–a bur in my new brown coat
doubles as a pet of my palm.
Here, have this food or fowl, a stalk

of something, whatever do you eat?
Corn on cob, or cream of wheat?

Doggerel (by Jimmy)

A treat to teach a new trick of the trade-
shows to snuff and snout, that, up crotches
climb like vines can, crotchety-like, with wag
of tail accompanying sit or stay, bang-bang

you’re dead, roll over and shake my hand–
in January you take a poop in the CVS bag
I use as a handwarmer on the way back
(the dirty little secrets that live up

to the shame in my eyes: I’m just like a dog –
always reverting to that undomesticated pup
stretching for the droop of teat, yawn
and yelp for the closest leg to hump)!

28 Days L8R (by Jimmy)

Not even the shortest month
ravaged with ravishing plans
is short enough for the conjugal goal
Tho it might not be for the honor
of being christened christlike
on the nuptial bedsheets that appeals
but one where the daily load of dishes
becomes a relief from the backdrop
of planning out the color of table cloths
for all the aunts who never RSVP’d.
Ah the vows, the garter, the bouquet!
Toss it here, I’d like to be done with it too
in fewer words and fewer days than 28,
the bride & I’d be miles and miles away…

Dog Days (by Jimmy)

Pros and cons are for amateurs, not pros
who always know to never dabble in dog-like
devotion or to commit to a thing as a puppy,
puppy-love, or the pet peeves that come

from inevitability, familiarity, and a few
other ditties. At least the boyfriend’s trained
(minimally) with respect to the potty, tho’
his mouth is another matter… but sometimes

matter over mind is the way to go, at least
the objections forthwith are immaterial.
My brand of logic takes circuitous routes
around the block with a poodle in a puddle

and leashed to the least thing–a woman
never forgets and never let’s go.

“adolescent werewolves” (by Zac)

just like you or me, they’re only younger
wilder, and freer, those bearded babies
so hither and yonder thru the night;
though daytime finds them at the mall,
in twilight will they make a racket,
such cursed creatures great or small
it’s all one can do, a silver bullet to pack it,
but just like ol’ Teen Wolf himself,
these folks have skills, OMG, LOL,
their texting skills the elves surpass,
and no one pities a gangly lion
but younguns, so beast-like rendered,
still must for a hall pass ask

“today and tomorrow” (by Zac)

time, like twine,
forever fraying at the
edges, so incomplete
and fashioned for the
spending, tomorrow beginning, today
ending, but ne’er halts
a moment, when intention’s
shoulder turned, impermanence
wherefrom yearned

“random encounters” (by Jon)

Every instant a billiard ball
collision vectoring in clear, re-
lentless math, while a fraction-
ally miniscule unknown spins
off as quantum of never-known.

The ever-present glittering hall
of awareness, clutched dearly
to body to still it, makes action
a play we write as time begins
ticking off in repetition, full-grown

monotony, each to each. Head tall
computers even there see
no end to order: time’s impact on
a circle’s span to edge length hints
not at a bird at rest, but long flown.

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