Abstract Art 8

Abstract Art 7

Abstract Art 6

Abstract Art 5

Abstract Art 3

Abstract Art 3

Abstract Art 2

Abstract Art 1

Makes a handy door stopper though...

Bitter Employee Haiku #109

not worth the paper it's printed on

Global Warming Mug

***
Saw at a shop in Stratford-Upon-Avon of all places. Had to have.
Available from the Unemployed Philosophers Guild.
[Damn, check out the nifty watches. I may have to start wearing them again.]

Bitter Employee Haiku #9

Pretty drastic way to revive your career...

Bitter Employee Haiku #18

Ode to My Penis III

Ode to My Penis II, by Mark Sanford

Ode to My Penis, by Mark Sanford

Must have French blood...

Pulitzer winners
not generally known for
their happy endings


***

Dude! Rich and famous
what could you possibly be
so depressed about?

Bitter Employee Haiku #99

Bitter Employee Haiku #48

Bitter Employee Haiku #222

Bitter Employee Haiku #412

Bitter Employee Haiku #36

Bitter Employee Haiku #32

Bitter Employee Haiku #13

Bitter Employee Haiku #112

Stolen from Alison at Provocative Haiku :)

Bitter Employee Haiku #44

adding some crunch the the lunch!

Bitter Employee Haiku #22

Subtitle: either Retail or Hungover at Home Depot

Bitter Employee Haiku #17

Bitter Employee Haiku # 7

Bitter Employee Haiku # 712

Bitter Employee Haiku #62

dinner for four just
$1000 dollars. Sales are
on the loose again.

Bitter Employee Haiku #55

computer turns on
blue screen of death yeah! call IT
go for more coffee

The Death of Handwriting

I'll not miss cursive
untidy cat prints
on the windshield of my car

or block printing
that awkward formation
of idea to occurrence

killed off by the keyboard
and fingers indentured to
a s d f j k l ;

It can still happen for you

maybe I'll weed
ideas, lost chances
it all needs
rooted out.

dairy dreams...

sunday morning, spring
newspaper on front porch
real butter with eggs

Not What I Expected

The soybeans are coming up
A surprise that—
I thought them
Too long on the shelf
For a comeback
But no, there they are
Bright green as they push
Bulbous heads up through the soil
Looking faintly alien
Until leaves unfold
And the broccoli, bless them!
Still throwing out tender shoots
Topped with tiny flowerets
Still a serving for two
About once a week
I circle the yard
Bees thrum on onions and mustard
Gone to blossom, making
Wry-tasting honey, I imagine
It’s finally rained enough
For the jasmines to put out leaves
Fresh fodder for army worms
I make a mental note
To get out the Conserve
My hip aches
As I trip over the hose
My stomach slightly upset
From the evenings too much
Cheap whiskey and Coke
Last night I was thinking
About how cruel youth was
To spend itself
So unwisely
This morning
As I make neat coils of the hose
I think about
Keeping on.

Bottle Dreams

Dawn makes a rainbow of sorts.

Blue and green, amber and brown,

off the broken glass outside your window.

You smile at me, white teeth a shock

in this rainbow world.

The egg runs yellow and oval

in your black pan.

I watch your shoulders

square and round, t-shirt bright white

in the morning sun of another day

that I sit silent.

You fold your hands

and I see in their shape

my heart, lily-white, in your hands.

What the Weaverbird Knows

10,000 years in a prison
10,000 years to cry
10,000 years to remember
Endless time waiting to die

Love came with no promises
Love swept you up from the plain
Love in the end was a devil
And now you are caught in his game

So fly away, fly away, weaverbird
But first sing me a song of home
Sing me a song of the sunshine
While love picks me bare as a bone

For Nada
Who only loved
Too much

Escaping Flatland

There comes the realization

it’s all changing.

Spider veins become spider maps you could move

a horse and buggy around.

Wipe rust off

foggy mirrors

and peer uncertainly

at a face that’s no longer yours.

Time your messages.

Let egos break eggs, open cans.

It’s of no significance.

You can let sleeping dogs lie.

We’re baptized by unnecessary actions.

Take care of yourself, now.

Fine cracks start to appear

and you could fall between them.

You know who you are...

***

romance was her mantra
and each day
was a Betty Crocker cook-off kind of day
filled with spun-sugar confections
of imagination

Do you want fries with that?

I find your bracketing betraying.

Bitter Employee Haiku #89

bitter employee haiku #89

why depend on facts?
let's make all our decisions
based on what you like.

Bitter Employee Haiku # 117

bitter employee haiku #117

you ask your questions
I answer with long emails
seemingly unread

The White Knights

bitter fruit burnt my tongue
untasted by the meek
scorned by the strong
me
somewhere in the middle
spitting out the taste of something
I wish I hadn't bitten
into

5 Oranges for Frank O'Hara

I have brought you
green flowers
Orange seeds fall on your face
like hopeful tears

4 Oranges for Frank O'Hara

wine
held to
the light
turns my world
orange

Who is Frank O'Hara?

Frank O’Hara was an influential New York city poet and curator at the Museum of Modern Art, who collaborated with many artists in his lifetime including Grace Hartigan, Larry Rivers and Franz Kline. My series, 12 Oranges for Frank O'Hara are also an homage to those literary-visual collaborations. Several of them are on this blog.

You can see the rest of the series here but I haven't converted them all yet to something that would work as a t-shirt or product design.

One of my favorite O'Hara poems.

    ANIMALS
    
    
 Have you forgotten what we were like then
 when we were still first rate
 and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

 it's no use worrying about Time
 but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
 and turned some sharp corners

 the whole pasture looked like our meal
 we didn't need speedometers
 we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

 I wouldn't want to be faster
 or greener than now if you were with me O you
 were the best of all my days

More about Frank O'Hara here.

City Poet, by Brad Gooch, is a really entertaining book about the life of Frank O'Hara. And by that, I mean the boy really dishes. City Poet: The Life and Times of Frank O'Hara

There's still hope for all of us