bobschofield:

MOON FACT no.42
I haven’t done one of these in a long time.

Does this mean a return to Moon Sleep is imminent? No more tossing and turning here on Earth?

bobschofield:

MOON FACT no.42

I haven’t done one of these in a long time.

Does this mean a return to Moon Sleep is imminent? No more tossing and turning here on Earth?

The similarities between great comedy and great literature never cease to astound me. Kurt Vonnegut uses the exact same tricks as the Birthday Boys and the only difference is the emotion at the end. Incredible.

RUINED BUILDINGSI am interested in dramatic landscapes.From an airplane, you can see places where people could be freezing to deathand you are powerless to help them.Some ruined buildings have doors.The best ruined buildings though,have had their beautiful doors eaten by termites who are dead by now.The shafts of light come in just right through the cracks.The dust is what makes them especially pronounced.The old books are hardly readable;you can only make out a word here or there between faded and torn pages.I have seen…..and in his glowing, beautiful……this is the last thing I write before my demise, dear Anna, but…….tell you that…………..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ekphrasis
Art by Matthew Quick
Source Image

RUINED BUILDINGS

I am interested in dramatic landscapes.
From an airplane, you can see places where people could be freezing to death
and you are powerless to help them.

Some ruined buildings have doors.
The best ruined buildings though,
have had their beautiful doors eaten by termites 
who are dead by now.

The shafts of light come in just right through the cracks.
The dust is what makes them especially pronounced.
The old books are hardly readable;
you can only make out a word here or there between faded and torn pages.

I have seen…..and in his glowing, beautiful……this is the last thing I write before my demise, dear Anna, but…….tell you that…………..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ekphrasis

Art by Matthew Quick

Source Image

It’s too bad I wasn’t alive like ten years earlier, because now I’m way late to the party on watching Twin Peaks and Animaniacs.

HOLESMy family is made of little pinpricks of light.It is like the world is a painted canvaswrapped around a globe of perfect light.And my family is made of little holes in the world.I should clarify:The world is not literally canvas,but the world and pictures of the world are almost the same thing.The only difference is that the latter is permanent.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ekphrasis
Art by Yue Minjun
Source Image

HOLES

My family is made of little pinpricks of light.

It is like the world is a painted canvas
wrapped around a globe of perfect light.
And my family is made of little holes in the world.

I should clarify:
The world is not literally canvas,
but the world and pictures of the world are almost the same thing.

The only difference is that the latter is permanent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ekphrasis

Art by Yue Minjun

Source Image

The Balloon Brothers

tjisadude:

I’m going to write two more A Man and His Dog poems & then move on to my next project, a book called, The Balloon Brothers, something I’ve been trying to develop for a few years now & it’s finally starting to pan out in my head. I hope I can get this published somewhere awesome as an e-chap/e-book/whatev. These characters came to me in a dream & are inspired by a whole bunch of different shit. They’re vigilante brothers who travel the sky by dirigible & the very first piece I’ll write will be called, “The Balloon Brothers crash their first balloon into George Washington’s face.”

get hyped. start printing the t-shirts etc…

New Years is a time for convincing ourselves that the arbitrary measurements we attach to the endless and terrifying flow of time have meaning by boiling down the entire last year of our life into a bunch of little top 10 _____ of the year lists. In that spirit, I present the top 10 Zjoot poems as voted on by you! Reading them again, some of these were actually pretty good poems, and others I must have chosen really nice pictures to put with them. Anyways, here’s the countdown:

#10 with 62 notes is The Wheel Has Come Full Circle

#9 with 63 notes is Sirahn Sirahn

#8 with 66 notes is Gloved

#7 with 73 notes is menthol.hispanic.tomorrows

#6 with 81 notes is Musing #3 

#5 with 87 notes is An Applesauce is a Violation

#4 with 94 notes is 7 Uutku

#3 with 99 notes is an untitled octave poem

#2 with 171 notes is 9 True Facts About the President of the Moon

#1 with 202 notes is Four Uutku

So, there you have it. An ecclectic mix of posts that got a lot of hearts and reblogs. Interestingly, all but two were based on some sort of form or specific method which I guess kind of proves that procedural/automatic/chance writing is better than free-form writing?

I might do another list later of my personal favorite poems from my blog. Because isn’t it fun to be self-indulgent and narcissistic? I’d do my favorite poems from other people, but to boil down so much wonderful content into 10 poems would be impossible and silly.

A VAGUELY PATAPHYSICAL POEM ABOUT THE FACT THAT THERE ARE OTHER THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT THAN THE MOONTo the moon:You are not that special.You are just a big dumb spherical rockwith no water and no plants.You will never be graced with beautiful glass domes.Yes we have come to visit once or twice,but that is not really anything to do with wanting your company;we were just showing off so that Russia and America wouldn’t blow each other up.It’s kind of like hanging out with your boss at a party even though he is really boringBut you do it anyways because you have this coworker you hateand he sure as hell is not going to get that promotion instead of youSo you let the boss show off his dumb moon rocks that he got because he is rich and frivolous.You go to your boss’s daughter’s play and it is not very goodbut you tell her good job anyways.You pretend to be sad when the boss’s wife dieseven though you really don’t care that much.You do all of these thingsslowly working your way up through the companybecoming the boss’s confidant and “friend”while your boss slowly spirals into alcoholism.Eventually he kills himself rather dramatically,leaping out of his office, which is very high above the city.With only mild surprise, you find out that the boss has left the company to youand now you are ridiculously richand everyone wants to be your friend.You feel so alone.You go out and stare at the moon.What the fuck is the big deal about the moonyou think.It is just a big dumb rock.You remember how you used to read all of this poetry in college,how everyone loved the moon for some reason.You look up at the moon and it feels coldyou feel like you are in a river in winter timeand the top of the river is frozenbut below that the water is still moving.You close your eyes and drift alongThe river flows out to the sea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At least I think it’s pataphysical. I still don’t really know exactly what that means. Anyways, this was kind of fun to write, and different than my usual stuff and probably not that good, but it’s nice to branch out a little.
Art by Brian Despain. You should click this link and read the description. It’s relevant.

A VAGUELY PATAPHYSICAL POEM ABOUT THE FACT THAT THERE ARE OTHER THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT THAN THE MOON

To the moon:

You are not that special.
You are just a big dumb spherical rock
with no water and no plants.

You will never be graced with beautiful glass domes.

Yes we have come to visit once or twice,
but that is not really anything to do with wanting your company;
we were just showing off so that Russia and America wouldn’t blow each other up.

It’s kind of like hanging out with your boss at a party even though he is really boring
But you do it anyways because you have this coworker you hate
and he sure as hell is not going to get that promotion instead of you
So you let the boss show off his dumb moon rocks 
that he got because he is rich and frivolous.
You go to your boss’s daughter’s play and it is not very good
but you tell her good job anyways.
You pretend to be sad when the boss’s wife dies
even though you really don’t care that much.

You do all of these things
slowly working your way up through the company
becoming the boss’s confidant and “friend”
while your boss slowly spirals into alcoholism.
Eventually he kills himself rather dramatically,
leaping out of his office, which is very high above the city.

With only mild surprise, you find out that the boss has left the company to you
and now you are ridiculously rich
and everyone wants to be your friend.

You feel so alone.

You go out and stare at the moon.
What the fuck is the big deal about the moon
you think.
It is just a big dumb rock.

You remember how you used to read all of this poetry in college,
how everyone loved the moon for some reason.
You look up at the moon and it feels cold
you feel like you are in a river in winter time
and the top of the river is frozen
but below that the water is still moving.
You close your eyes and drift along

The river flows out to the sea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At least I think it’s pataphysical. I still don’t really know exactly what that means. Anyways, this was kind of fun to write, and different than my usual stuff and probably not that good, but it’s nice to branch out a little.

Art by Brian Despain. You should click this link and read the description. It’s relevant.

MOSSI have said all I need to of geography.Now I can go to sleep,arranging my bones in a small terrarium filled with water,and becoming what grows on them.I do really hope it is algae.I have always wanted to be softand green and beautiful,and have a million catfish gently sucking away my skinwith sharp but toothless mouths.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some recent poems turned into a tiny series and now the series is over. Read the other ones if you want to: [1][2][3]
Art by Ed Freeman

MOSS

I have said all I need to of geography.
Now I can go to sleep,
arranging my bones in a small terrarium filled with water,
and becoming what grows on them.

I do really hope it is algae.
I have always wanted to be soft
and green and beautiful,
and have a million catfish gently sucking away my skin
with sharp but toothless mouths.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some recent poems turned into a tiny series and now the series is over. Read the other ones if you want to: [1][2][3]

Art by Ed Freeman

LANDFORMSI can be your mountainsand all of your river and streams.A home for all of your little animals.Open the zoo and they will live in mein harmonykilling and eating each other.I will be a whole oceanand throw rocks at your aquariums.I am using my biggest images for you;landforms have power over us because they are larger than us.I want to be as big as an isthmus,which is not that much to ask I think,but right now I am only an atoll.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
art by Tierny Gearon

LANDFORMS

I can be your mountains
and all of your river and streams.
A home for all of your little animals.

Open the zoo and they will live in me
in harmony
killing and eating each other.

I will be a whole ocean
and throw rocks at your aquariums.

I am using my biggest images for you;
landforms have power over us because they are larger than us.
I want to be as big as an isthmus,
which is not that much to ask I think,
but right now I am only an atoll.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

art by Tierny Gearon

A SEARCH1.The sun is a batteryand we are the feathers of the battery of the sun.I cannot find my spare matches anywhere.Have you seen them?2. Guppies, microphones and triangles are not that differentYou are not that different from a jar filled with weasels.In this dimension, a glass picture frame has the power to control the worldand I am still looking for my matches.3.Be an airplaneBe a buildingBe a cartwheelBe a dentist’s officeBe the fishtank in a dentist’s officeBe a plastic plant in a fishtank in a dentist’s officeWe could keep going,but I think we can agree that neither of us want that,so why don’t you give me my fucking matchesso I can start you on fire for stealing all of my fucking matches.I know you took them, shithead.4.When all of the pencils have finally meltedwe will find a sad pearland we will give it to our collective grandmother5.I assume you have eyes.I assume that you are wasting them.6.Alright, whatever, just forget it.I’ll just go out and buy some more matches.I’m sorry I yelled at you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Art by Beth Hoeckel

A SEARCH

1.
The sun is a battery
and we are the feathers 
of the battery of the sun.

I cannot find my spare matches anywhere.
Have you seen them?

2. 
Guppies, microphones and triangles are not that different
You are not that different from a jar filled with weasels.

In this dimension, 
a glass picture frame has the power to control the world
and I am still looking for my matches.

3.
Be an airplane
Be a building
Be a cartwheel
Be a dentist’s office
Be the fishtank in a dentist’s office
Be a plastic plant in a fishtank in a dentist’s office

We could keep going,
but I think we can agree that neither of us want that,
so why don’t you give me my fucking matches
so I can start you on fire for stealing all of my fucking matches.

I know you took them, shithead.

4.
When all of the pencils have finally melted
we will find a sad pearl
and we will give it to our collective grandmother

5.
I assume you have eyes.
I assume that you are wasting them.

6.
Alright, whatever, just forget it.
I’ll just go out and buy some more matches.

I’m sorry I yelled at you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Art by Beth Hoeckel

A POEM ABOUT AN OCEANThat time we went to carnival I remember There was a mask man selling animal masks.You bought a bunny one.I tried, also, to buy one, but you got the last one and the guy gave me some other animalA chicken or a lizard.It wasn’t really a big deal, but it sort of set the tone for the rest of the night.Buildings refused to catch fire. One of the dancing bearsbroke his hip and then they shot him.Some of your friends went in the catacombsso we went in there too and the skulls creeped me out.I left.I witnessed a murder.I walked a couple of blocks away;the street lights are off, and there are still canals here.I jump into one and swim.Eventually I reach the ocean,where it is much darker than on land.I watch so many things get eaten and it is terrible.I laugh sometimes at the difference between open ocean and my dumb uselss body.I go to the beach and laugh at the swimmers.I just want to be a fucking astronaut.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Guys i wrote this poem real quick but i think i am late to the bunny carnival. Sorry vipe.

A POEM ABOUT AN OCEAN

That time we went to carnival
 I remember 
There was a mask man selling animal masks.

You bought a bunny one.
I tried, also, to buy one, but you got the last one 
and the guy gave me some other animal
A chicken or a lizard.

It wasn’t really a big deal, 
but it sort of set the tone for the rest of the night.
Buildings refused to catch fire. 
One of the dancing bears
broke his hip and then they shot him.
Some of your friends went in the catacombs
so we went in there too and the skulls creeped me out.

I left.

I witnessed a murder.

I walked a couple of blocks away;
the street lights are off, and there are still canals here.
I jump into one and swim.
Eventually I reach the ocean,
where it is much darker than on land.
I watch so many things get eaten and it is terrible.
I laugh sometimes at the difference between open ocean and my dumb uselss body.
I go to the beach and laugh at the swimmers.
I just want to be a fucking astronaut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guys i wrote this poem real quick but i think i am late to the bunny carnival. Sorry vipe.

A POEM ABOUT A LAKEThe way we are all so entranced with the moon. How the dictionary should be arranged by word association. Butterflies and then hair. Tubas and then lightbulbs. Fish becoming stew. A man, and the expression of surprise on his face, and his wife, and the wooden stake he finds himself impaled on, and her, crying briefly, and then accepting this, and then living, and then dying, later on sometime. Now I am dying and I can feel it. Now I am breathing and I can feel it also. It is impossible to tell the difference between being in a lake and not being in a lake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Art by Anitaa.

A POEM ABOUT A LAKE

The way we are all so entranced with the moon. How the dictionary should be arranged by word association. Butterflies and then hair. Tubas and then lightbulbs. Fish becoming stew. 

A man, and the expression of surprise on his face, and his wife, and the wooden stake he finds himself impaled on, and her, crying briefly, and then accepting this, and then living, and then dying, later on sometime. Now I am dying and I can feel it. Now I am breathing and I can feel it also. 

It is impossible to tell the difference between being in a lake 
and not being in a lake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Art by Anitaa.

A Man & his Dog (05)

tjisadude:

Cooper & I are coming
out as addicts. The moon
is too beautiful a face to live in
& not be consumed by its white
lake. We just can’t stop eating
our tails eating our rears our
breath doesn’t sound like men
concerned with drilling their
diseases into other people &
that’s reason enough to stay
where we are. The difference
between a shattered moon
and a shattering silence
we share
depends on which
ghost we decide to hide
inside: the crater we’ve
chewed into a hole we’re
always running through.
How many homes can we
call moon? There goes our
president riding a moon-
cycle with birds for wheels:
he’s always six feet high
and rising
. His pizza-mouth
is homemade don’t forget it.
His palace is made of wolves
hurled
by one man on earth.
A man with hair like upside
down mountains
. A man with
hair like moon-juana leaves.
A man with hair we want to eat.
 

I waited a few days and now I am reblogging this because I must. TJ 5ever.

I have a good idea topic word thing for you. You ready? Here goes... Pineapple Farts. I smelled some smells before that smelled like pineapple farts. This sounds trollish but i am dead serious actually. Maybe you can use it for a poem.
Anonymous

sheepwithasword:

Oddly enough, my first instinct was not to think of this as trollish. I wouldn’t want to write a poem about a fart I haven’t smelled, but I would love it if you, kind anonymous stranger, would write about it and let me know when you’ve posted it! Or send it to me!

image

FOR ANON

There are certain lines running through things;
ways the universe is an expensive necklace
made of crappy beads

The same spiral that exists 
in such yellow sweetness
as the pineapple
Exists also in that bitter nautilus
that dragged your lover deep into the ocean.
And all of the humans are factories,
sending methane gas spiraling into the troposphere.

Now you are blind and you are following your nose,
climbing a spiral staircase.
You have been climbing for hours or maybe days.
You are not sure how much longer until you reach the top.
You suppress the dangerous question of why.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Presenting my surrealist take on the soon to be infamous “pineapple farts” prompt.

Artist unknown, unfortunately…