posts tagged "poems"

Jordan Castro & I wrote think tank for human beings in general together in 2009. It is now online in its entirety to read, annotate, & ‘pyong’ at Poetry Genius.Physical copies are also available here.

Jordan Castro & I wrote think tank for human beings in general together in 2009.

It is now online in its entirety to read, annotate, & ‘pyong’ at Poetry Genius.

Physical copies are also available here.

monsterhousepress:

TWO POEMS by Ryan Starinsky from THINKING OF EVERYTHING 

STARMAN POEMS
READING FUCKING POEMS / SNIPPETS OF SCRAWLINGS FROM MY NOTEBOOKS ON JULY 15TH WITH CHICAGO HOMIES AND BELLA, YO

READING FUCKING POEMS / SNIPPETS OF SCRAWLINGS FROM MY NOTEBOOKS ON JULY 15TH WITH CHICAGO HOMIES AND BELLA, YO

monsterhousepress:

* FORTHCOMING FROM MONSTER HOUSE PRESS *
Dearly beloved Columbusite Ryan Starinsky’s first chapbook of poems / prose poems, thinking of everything, is forthcoming from Monster House Press later this month!______________________________________
* TWO POEMS FROM THE CHAPBOOK *bike lockwalked outside [of Bat Chapters while the last band was still playing] and her bike was locked to his bike [which was locked next to my bike that didn’t have any bike locked to it] so i left, biked home.KRANGduring that second, i could feel my head weighing heavier; the tide, strong and slow like a locomotive approaching another stop. my eyelids open and close, soft like doors, undocumented to all but myself, as if we were meant to remember each moment when we actually realize something we hadn’t known before.what i see now are things at ease, things that rest and never bleed. these things keep me here staring, a small voice reminding me to do something, like change the clocks, sound of an older man yearning for his untroubled body back, his sharp mind; the way he remembers himself—even still defending wars and friends, telling me he believed in them.we’re walking on a tangent in a field of flowers wearing the sun’s skin, where everything just looks beautiful. (sure, once a vision of the long haired mailman now crossing the yard, pretending to blend in.) what will just be when we know where we’re going, when we walk with purpose. i remember when you stood in another room describing us as tumbleweeds. the last words i can remember feeling. you were blunt, you were true and i bought it. after that though, things felt different, the silence was enough to know who you’d been talking about.having the time to focus on the darkness, hiding that reverence you let brush against your arm, never trying to hold it in your hands. like finding a cartoon birthday card of a kid holding his father’s axe, reminding me of when i was young and untouched, buried in a shoebox. we belong to our minds.

monsterhousepress:

* FORTHCOMING FROM MONSTER HOUSE PRESS *

Dearly beloved Columbusite Ryan Starinsky’s first chapbook of poems / prose poems, thinking of everything, is forthcoming from Monster House Press later this month!
______________________________________

* TWO POEMS FROM THE CHAPBOOK *

bike lock

walked outside [of Bat Chapters while the last band was still playing] and her bike was locked to his bike [which was locked next to my bike that didn’t have any bike locked to it] so i left, biked home.

KRANG

during that second, i could feel my head weighing heavier; the tide, strong and slow like a locomotive approaching another stop. my eyelids open and close, soft like doors, undocumented to all but myself, as if we were meant to remember each moment when we actually realize something we hadn’t known before.

what i see now are things at ease, things that rest and never bleed. these things keep me here staring, a small voice reminding me to do something, like change the clocks, sound of an older man yearning for his untroubled body back, his sharp mind; the way he remembers himself—even still defending wars and friends, telling me he believed in them.

we’re walking on a tangent in a field of flowers wearing the sun’s skin, where everything just looks beautiful. (sure, once a vision of the long haired mailman now crossing the yard, pretending to blend in.) what will just be when we know where we’re going, when we walk with purpose.

i remember when you stood in another room describing us as tumbleweeds. the last words i can remember feeling. you were blunt, you were true and i bought it. after that though, things felt different, the silence was enough to know who you’d been talking about.

having the time to focus on the darkness, hiding that reverence you let brush against your arm, never trying to hold it in your hands. like finding a cartoon birthday card of a kid holding his father’s axe, reminding me of when i was young and untouched, buried in a shoebox. we belong to our minds.

OH REALLY, WITTGENSTEIN?

OH REALLY, WITTGENSTEIN?

I’m reading poems in Cleveland, OH on Saturday April 6th with Ryan J. Eilbeck as part of a Monster House Press showcase w/ musical performances from Delay, American War, Lost Jon & the Ghosts, & Canting Arms at Bad Racket Studio.  
[Fabu Event]

I’m reading poems in Cleveland, OH on Saturday April 6th with Ryan J. Eilbeck as part of a Monster House Press showcase w/ musical performances from Delay, American War, Lost Jon & the Ghosts, & Canting Arms at Bad Racket Studio.  

[Fabu Event]

jordancastro:

my second poetry book if i really wanted to feel happy i’d feel happy already (black coffee press, 2013) is now available to order via amazon

Jordan Castro is my friend and is good and his poems are good and he is my friend.
jordancastro:

‘YOUNG AMERICANS TOURING AMERICA TOUR’ flyer, by richard wehrenberg, jr.
alexmussawir:

facebook event: http://on.fb.me/13sEhEz

Reading in Columbus next Thursday, March 14th.
Come hang!

alexmussawir:

facebook event: http://on.fb.me/13sEhEz

Reading in Columbus next Thursday, March 14th.

Come hang!

Certain poems and lines of poetry seem as solid and miraculous to me as church altars or the coronation of queens must seem to people who revere quite different images. I am not worried that poems reach relatively few people. As it is, they go surprisingly far—among strangers, around the world, even. Farther than the words of a classroom teacher or the prescriptions of a doctor; if they are very lucky, farther than a lifetime.

Sylvia Plath, “Context”, from Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams (with thanks to sketchofthepast)