I take it back

The link below, is not necessarily an "absurdist" blog. Disregard that. I don't know what type of blog it is... all I know is it's got a bunch of my new poems and it's the one I use most often now. Okay. Toodle-oo!

Absurdist Blog

http://drawerfullofjetplanes.blogspot.com/

Moonshine and Haiku's

Here's a little word play mixed with the poetic form of the Haiku. I took "nicknames" of moonshine (who shot sally, white lightnin', and brown mule... another is painter's piss, but I didn't include it) and added them to the haiku's. For some reason, mixing moonshine and this Asian form of poetry seemed a taboo, but also strangely relevant. In some aspects, Appalachia is quite like rural Japan and other East Asia countries... at least I think so. The title comes from the name of a moonshine maker by the name of "Popcorn." He's an old, codgery man with a big, unkempt white beard and overalls... pretty stereotypical of what you would think someone from the back hills of Appalachia would look like. But I found him endearing and these Haiku's are for him.

Popcorn’s Haikus

who shot sally and
seven brown mules daily named
father white lightnin’?

there was a brown mule
who shot sally with a gun
known as white lightnin’.

white lightnin’ struck down
a man high on his brown mule,
who shot sally once.

Deep Image/ Surrealist

I'm currently in a class labeled "Writing Deep Image Poetry." It's a fascinating class and something that has eluded me as I think most of my poetry to date tends to be cerebral. It's been wonderful to delve into this style, though I may not be anywhere close to fitting into that category. I know I have entertained myself and re-awakened a love of poetry in me.

Vive

He draws the hills in meditation
with the lead on his tires.

They are thin, not unlike
the pencils used in
standardized tests.

The hills come smooth,
and rugged, with animal skin.

Leaves pass in a blur,
his morning and afternoon:
squirrel’s tail.

In his calf muscle
are deer with full racks
and frost.

E.E. Cummings

Please note that the structure of the poem has drastically been changed due to some wacky thing with this Posting program on this blog.

Buffalo Bill's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death

Upset

I would like to point out that I think what this dumb blogger does to the form of my poems is disgusting.

I think every one of these poems I've published on here have been altered in some way (if not grossly).

Just take that into consideration as you read.

Francis Bacon's painting Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X.

This was the subject of my latest poem.

Brick (white)
Matthew London

I know you sat on a chair
and that you had a face
quite like all the rest of us.
An arm, a leg
they keep on
moving.

Most men on a Sunday morning
are less than you.
So, what are these God-lines I draw?
Stroke with this brush,
thistles
could have been made from horses
horse hair,
that is how
it once was.

Know this,
I can’t make you like God did.
I will allow you the purple
and a grey-matter throne
to rest on
for me
though.

Despite a triumph with
gold stamped coins
and
an ornate dome for your
Basilica,
you’ll lose your eyes one day
flesh as well.
Still
I won’t be able to see you
as plush velvet on the inside of you r coffin,
but who you speak for
will
without a doubt
notice a change, back to what you are.