I’m holding two pens,
one in either hand.
One pen is for me,
one is for my muse.
I can’t write left-handed
but the muse can.
When my wife coughs
at midnight,
the heater burns with
orange light.
Tonight.
I lead with my left,
not my right.
Author: johnbrandall
John Randall is a writer living in Missouri. His interests include camping, running, walking, cutting and burning wood, messing around with magnets, foraging, and listening to podcasts, many of them about baseball.
Landscape: Inferior Interior
There is a tightness in my headAs if my eyes were chewing gum. Today I learned that tequila is not afraid to be its own drink.That is to say, it does not take orders. Not on the rocks.Not(e)s of coconut, pepper, and reminiscent moon. I have not meditated since last month.There is no Monastery de … Continue reading Landscape: Inferior Interior
Ode to RJR –or– The S&P 8
II want to be respectedWhen it comes to smoking.I am not a chimney.I do not burn coal.Tobacco leaf, bronzed,Is strict pleasure.Not a TV set! IICocaine is OKFor gov’t purposes.Otherwise, just missiles and snow.A body.American Shoe.Impotence.This is the age of the stock market —Born and then risen again! IIISomeone moves behind a screen.Not only is this … Continue reading Ode to RJR –or– The S&P 8
How the Radiators got Rich
My body is in
perfect balance right now
but I miss all radiators.
We’ll drink together
(said one radiator to another)
and the heating oil inside us
will go up by as much as
thirty-two dollars a barrel.
They both chuckle like wineslaves.
I awake to the sounds of a coup.
Double Future
When I died my life became
Nothing but a reel-to-reel
Of all the dreams I’d ever had.
Nightmares, wet ones, lucidity and flying.
But when I got through with those, my afterlife
Was nothing but the dreams within the dreams.
And now, with that tape flickering
In the empty silence of a classroom,
I’m wishing I’d had at least one dream
Of a dream about a dream.
Misc. Haiku 41-45
41
My favorite poets
Had their own problems—
How reassuring
42
This is just an act
Me sitting here stoned and drunk
In the chair
43
Hey, aren’t the zinnias
Pretty?
Let’s have another drink
44
As I watch The War,
I decide to skip dinner—
The battle of my bulge
45
Bare nail in wall
Where my painting hung—
Now I see the sun
Grain
Night as hard as
The table we sit at.
Once wood the
Table grew old,
Became a table.
Night, pressed,
Becomes morning.
Icebergs
1Hello at the margins.Hello Inuit suntan.That feels very dense to me, water.Grilling heat, goon of history.The ceiling fills with iceBut falls as rain.Oil is the new old gold; again. 2My legs acheWith the memory of beerThis time last night.Altocirrus when I close my eyes.In October it's still too hotFor a comforter. 3Man has changed the … Continue reading Icebergs
Misc. Haiku 36-40
36
Hark! The dog makes the sound
Of someone interested
In my poetry
37
Getting drunk
To the story of Enron—
Alcohol flows like gas.
38
Untamed land
Just waiting to be explored—
From the five hundreds…
39
Swimming the halls of fortune,
Beset by the winnings
Of the greatest generation
40
Macadamia nut
Dusted with imperial
Gunpowder
Misc. Haiku 31-35
31
Flushed Rhine has risen
To welcome our arrival
In the wine-land
32
Skyline sky,
Skybleached sky.
How many times I will describe it
33
Coin empire,
You’re running out of coins—
Guess how I paid for you
34
Sky more blue
Or clouds more white?
What haiku at this height?
35
Heels on a cobblestone street.
Oh, I can’t help
But looking
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