Archive for outlaw poetry

05.12.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , on May 12, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Them (a poem by C. X. Hunter)

I stole anything useless
made my lair in the basement
diddled in the junk
on the floor in the closet
listened to show tunes
on a wooden radio
licked the dust from the windows
hid from the crow
hid from the bluebird
imagined bugs in the plumbing
dreaded the ring
of a big black telephone
feared I might be related
to a family of monsters
went without sleep for
fourteen years

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04.26.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 27, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

First & Last Fearpoem (a poem by Wallace Berman)

If only we can split
Before the curtain drops.

The Man swings close    bust eyes
Ace with dozen heads racked
His funk his down home fink
I’m clean my    buzz has its base
From the juice of the Czechoslovakian
Nectar: Tequila.

04.25.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on April 25, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

The States (a poem by George Tsongas)

it’s an
amazing
place, where
no one enjoys

life

but they
all want
to live

forever.

04.04.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on April 4, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Factory Still Life (a poem by Ron Kolm)

Eduardo, my night shift partner,
Shovels another load
Into the blazing furnace.

He cups his nuts
As the flames spew out
And circle around his face.

His eyes glow
As he tells me a dirty joke
That goes on approximately forever.

03.29.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on March 29, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

Write a fucking poem (a poem by Mike Golden (no bio found))

every fucking time
you don’t know what to do.
You’ll have a body of work
despite yourself.

03.16.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on March 16, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

First & Last Fearpoem (a poem by Wallace Berman)

If only we can split
Before the Curtain drops.

The Man swings close    bust eyes
Ace with dozen heads racked
His funk his down home fink
Im clean my   buzz has its base
From the juice of the Czechoslovakian
Nectar: Tequila

02.25.2008

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , on February 25, 2008 by Ryan Sanford Smith

A Real Poem (by Jack Micheline, from his book Sixty-Seven Poems for Downtrodden Saints)

A real poem bites the wind
And kisses stars
A real poem is not in a book
It’s a knockout
A long shot
A shot in the mouth
A crack of a bat
A lost midget turning into a giant
A lost soul finding its own way
After a generation of mediocrity and vipers
A real poem
Kicks the politicians in the ass
Kicks the poetry politicians in the balls
It is too hot to handle
It is more dangerous than war
It is a firefly
A rainbow for all