Archive for the Uncategorized Category

attached to (black and pink)

Posted in Uncategorized on April 29, 2017 by GJK

sneakers, black and pink

with white laces, slink

sexily across the scratched

umber hardwood floor;

sneakers attached to

vigorous feet who

sensually bend and glide —

strides of an angel.

feet are Sunflower’s;

she has Sunflower sneakers.

GJK

23APR17

[mutant sonnetized haiku]

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with apologies to J.R.R.T.

Posted in Uncategorized on April 12, 2017 by GJK

the immortal Robert Jordan is

my best dead friend.

regarding fantastical pantheons

i must

insist

that he

is profoundly supreme

(and almost entirely inimitable)

throughout all illimitable, incomprehensible time.

GJK

12APR17

4.8.2017

Posted in Uncategorized on April 8, 2017 by GJK

human  leash  canine

tethered spirits ambulate

humans  chains  corpses

GJK

4APR17

(yes this is a protest poem yes this means stop the war,

stop the violence without and within)

the English language is a gibbering imbecile

Posted in Uncategorized on April 5, 2017 by GJK

fire up the machine and start

going down

the lists

the scribbled notes

on envelopes

and matchbooks,

index cards

and torn-off portions

of cigarette packages

grab it all

throw it in a pile

on the musty couch cushion

and go

without thought

glancing thru the detritus

of last week, last month,

maybe even last year.

and don’t forget to include

today’s list encoded upon your palm,

the marker strokes barely legible

thru the grime and sweat

of the day’s contortions

a smeared, bleary reminder

that you are alive.

go thru it all

for your own sake

(to slake that ephemeral thirst)

you are a writer

and you matter,

even though your tools

are puny, pathetic

and downright stupid.

A thru Z

in every conceivable combination

and permutation in not nearly enough

to express what you feel.

but you try.

you are almost as stubborn

as me.

GJK 5APR17

The 1st Step, or, God’s Love

Posted in Andrew Larsen, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on April 3, 2017 by GJK

WRITTEN BY

ANDREW LARSEN


If we use we’re going
2 die!  No need 2 cry,
(I didn’t make this up!)  Go
2 a meeting, “reach out!”  Call
someone.  (Whatever it takes!)
2 not pick up, call Sally
even though he’s a guy!
(Whatever it takes!)  Whatever
it takes!  When we STAY
ALIVE it helps the newcomer.
It would B a bummer IF WE
WEREN’T there 4 them, wouldn’t
it B the same as killing them?
Upon this morbid reflection,
it is worth the clean
connection.  Clean 4 another
day.  It’s good 2 B OKAY,
it’s good to be OK.

by

Andrew Larsen

24JULY2016

Menominee, MI

no-name poem-ring

Posted in Uncategorized on March 6, 2017 by GJK

old, old, old… great but not quite there or right; there is no perfection…

poems by GJK

——————

no-name-poem-ring

 

[dj spooky is flowing from the speakers]

——————

within the pen-named ego-aura of gjk

i let it all go

i let it all float away

there’s that tenor sax i’ve been wanting

there’s that beat man

that beat man

that beat woman over there

knows what is what

and what ain’t worth her time

there’s that bass that upright bass

those finger-plucked notes of tones

of tomes of pomes of books of jazz

yas yas yas

there’s a nod to the jack kerouac-e

(hear it as jack care-oh-wacky)

madness spookiness angels and light

and dark and paved moons of planets of suns

of systems of galaxies

holy moses holy cow holy god holy human holy

john coltrane was right

‘n’ what i’m talkin’ ’bout is

outta this world

set the controls for

the heart of all hearts

the mythic hart of old

that cannot be slain by…

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stones and stumbles

Posted in Uncategorized on March 6, 2017 by GJK

for Maus and me and also
no name poetry
milwaukay riverwest
Michael bret n me and you
and Sleepy too… yo Sleepy !
AND, dedicated to Calvin Grandaw

poems by GJK

waiting for you to call me back

i stumble upon a stack of notebooks

written in my hand,

the hand of me from two-thousand-and-three

and 2001

and many other years.

it is heavy,

that whole stack,

heavy as stones piled precariously close

to the edge of a creek in the night

where shadows move

the shadows of young women and men

who walk slow and talk soft

and mostly sit

listening to the night

the water

the owl

the engines from the city

that surround this peaceful place.

i don’t remember exactly who was there

but some of them could disappear at will

all they had to do was sit still

and my eyes could no longer see them.

so now i am there,

no longer awaiting your call.

i see you in a shadow

as a satyr

as you and he

once saw me

by the dock of…

View original post 60 more words