Jeff Harrison
3 poems
**
Rome, Yes, But Spare Virginia's Face The Roses
plenty Virginia, yet Rome
is still grey of brothers, so,
lulled Virginia, numberless certainty
serpent-knotted, swiftly thousand
by thousand by thousand is Virginia,
is adder-tongue, rose, the mirror
& go adrift, lips, have your long answer
without pacing pieces shrill beyond gentle,
have your thousands you'd reign by bronze,
elaborate smites, & so drip, then, rose, drip down
**
Red Bell
a storm of quotation marks
now rests in puddles, you've
lost all coyness, Wormswork,
that you must storm down...
you'll not lay devised marks?
we're confined to mouthfuls of
quotation marks which have
nothing to do with Wormswork's
warm-blooded grandeur... when
the storm struck we were long past
flinches, and certainly unprepared for
running and hiding... our mouthfuls
WERE to be distributed to a still-wearier
crowd that waits on that red bell
announcing the arrival of a storm of
quotations marks... if that crowd has
not more luck than us, then the next
crowd's crowd perhaps... even with
our forebears, village errors broke apart,
yes, yes, whenever they thought of us,
and we've learned to think ahead even more
--> the marks puddle in the trench we've dug
above the elm-tops... a comma? 'twas recess...
**
Touch Succinct
only her tales-beset crypt wraiths over the humor inferential human
masterpieces from end to end cloaked Absolom-like
a murderer's occurences: Solomon whistles up phantasms for the curious
achieving the Touch Succinct, with off-hand covered rustling dogs
the diabolic Mr. Hole emerges shabby and hideously dead
now the wasp weavings have a pen-wiper (Virginia's Reading Rat)
pair Virginia to Abelard, we whose referent also winged Here...
abundantly could we sentence, daringly we flew manuscripts on
the way out, not every Virginia is a curator's metaphor
she'd probably portray you rising with shotguns, and
hire the French to marble the foot escap'd of listening
to further blind the blind, further eyesight's built of lines
who will write the food in from the garden?
I injure meter with a hundred uses as pregnant today as the political!
keepest thine crotch well-sugared, we'll practice all quotable blood true to
theatre, hasn't Dryden been the fiction ever since?
you may beg a dachshund as a replacement for Adam's fruitfly,
you, peewee of the snort, you of a digging dénouement!
**
return to sawbuck 4.4
**
Jeff Harrison has publications from Writers Forum, MAG Press, Persistencia Press, and Furniture Press. He has e-books from Blazevox, xPress(ed), and Argotist Ebooks. His poetry has appeared in An Introduction to the Prose Poem (Firewheel Editions), The Hay(na)ku Anthology Vol. II (Meritage Press), The Chained Hay(na)ku Project (Meritage Press), Sentence: a Journal of Prose Poetics, Otoliths, Xerography, Moria, NOON: journal of the short poem, Dusie, MiPOesias, Big Bridge, and elsewhere.
**
Rome, Yes, But Spare Virginia's Face The Roses
plenty Virginia, yet Rome
is still grey of brothers, so,
lulled Virginia, numberless certainty
serpent-knotted, swiftly thousand
by thousand by thousand is Virginia,
is adder-tongue, rose, the mirror
& go adrift, lips, have your long answer
without pacing pieces shrill beyond gentle,
have your thousands you'd reign by bronze,
elaborate smites, & so drip, then, rose, drip down
**
Red Bell
a storm of quotation marks
now rests in puddles, you've
lost all coyness, Wormswork,
that you must storm down...
you'll not lay devised marks?
we're confined to mouthfuls of
quotation marks which have
nothing to do with Wormswork's
warm-blooded grandeur... when
the storm struck we were long past
flinches, and certainly unprepared for
running and hiding... our mouthfuls
WERE to be distributed to a still-wearier
crowd that waits on that red bell
announcing the arrival of a storm of
quotations marks... if that crowd has
not more luck than us, then the next
crowd's crowd perhaps... even with
our forebears, village errors broke apart,
yes, yes, whenever they thought of us,
and we've learned to think ahead even more
--> the marks puddle in the trench we've dug
above the elm-tops... a comma? 'twas recess...
**
Touch Succinct
only her tales-beset crypt wraiths over the humor inferential human
masterpieces from end to end cloaked Absolom-like
a murderer's occurences: Solomon whistles up phantasms for the curious
achieving the Touch Succinct, with off-hand covered rustling dogs
the diabolic Mr. Hole emerges shabby and hideously dead
now the wasp weavings have a pen-wiper (Virginia's Reading Rat)
pair Virginia to Abelard, we whose referent also winged Here...
abundantly could we sentence, daringly we flew manuscripts on
the way out, not every Virginia is a curator's metaphor
she'd probably portray you rising with shotguns, and
hire the French to marble the foot escap'd of listening
to further blind the blind, further eyesight's built of lines
who will write the food in from the garden?
I injure meter with a hundred uses as pregnant today as the political!
keepest thine crotch well-sugared, we'll practice all quotable blood true to
theatre, hasn't Dryden been the fiction ever since?
you may beg a dachshund as a replacement for Adam's fruitfly,
you, peewee of the snort, you of a digging dénouement!
**
return to sawbuck 4.4
**
Jeff Harrison has publications from Writers Forum, MAG Press, Persistencia Press, and Furniture Press. He has e-books from Blazevox, xPress(ed), and Argotist Ebooks. His poetry has appeared in An Introduction to the Prose Poem (Firewheel Editions), The Hay(na)ku Anthology Vol. II (Meritage Press), The Chained Hay(na)ku Project (Meritage Press), Sentence: a Journal of Prose Poetics, Otoliths, Xerography, Moria, NOON: journal of the short poem, Dusie, MiPOesias, Big Bridge, and elsewhere.
Labels: 4.4, jeff harrison, winter 2010/2011
