the rattlesnake doesn’t care, has heard the stories about sucking out venom and survival, how the young can’t control the release of poison, sun is out, languid, or perhaps curled up as if, but no, the rattlesnake doesn’t care, sits there on the trail, the protagonist in your story, the one where you fear the fangs, as if that would actually happen, and it could, you claim, show everyone the video of that one man, his hand swollen, they are dangerous, see, i told you, but the rattlesnake doesn’t care, the ground is just the ground, dirt, rocks, summer heat on hillside home, your story is just your story, the rattlesnake doesn’t care, slithers away
Category: Poetry
20 One-Liners After Reading Joe Brainard
Winter
Ice is more likely than snow.
Summer
Sun, sand, and shore, what you thought.
Writing
Is only part of what I am thinking.
Today
Will be like tomorrow, but different.
In the country
Deer cross roads and sometimes die.
Recipe
One part chocolate, one part graham cracker, one part marshmallow, add flame first.
That feeling
When you just know.
Ecuador
The place where a cow fell on me but missed.
Happiness
Is a good Beatles song or a warm puppy.
Money
Do pennies really matter anymore?
Lake
Powell, Crater, Radnor, Tahoe, Champlain
The Sky
Isn’t falling, although it sometimes feels that way.
Carrots
Taste best with hummus.
Modern Times
Everyone has the answer, no one has the answer.
Real life
When your tooth is being extracted.
Loyalty
Is canceling all of your plans.
Something to think about
If you are really really quiet, you probably already know.
Virginia
I am always a young person here.
Human nature
To believe in the divine.
Stars
The phosphorescent paint in constellation stories.
21st Century Greek Scholar
when studying the ancient greeks there are rules: the oracle knows, socrates questions, plato governs, and aristotle examines nature. when trying to be esoteric, mention more details: delphi, the agora, the republic, syllogism. and if that still doesn’t work, forget alexander the great’s library, dusty old books, like the histories of herodotus, instead, go to wikipedia and pretend.
when i left terra linda high school
drive the mustang top down to silbermann’s ice cream, marcels blue moon blasting, five years of teaching completed and they want yearbooks signed, the teenagers, my students. benevolent chaos, i feel like mickey mantle as they hand over pens and pencils for me to scribble words of love on a page. descriptions of what they added to class discussions, how much history they mastered, or their uncanny comprehension of richard wright. they surround me all afternoon, a human blanket, wrapping me in june kindness and melting mint chocolate chip.
Selling Cameras, 1991
survey the merchandise, canon, pentax, nikon, kodak, know the prices, how many dollars to preserve memories? tell the customers about zoom lens, color quality, shutter speed, sell them one by one, talk spanish sometimes, if they are from el salvador, remember the war, they fled that war, try to remember, speak with co-workers, allen, who rides a bike because he lost his license, yusuf, from pakistan, college-educated, has a family, wants to move up to selling televisions, shift from foot to foot, 12 hours standing, 9am to 9pm, too long, scribble scenes for a play when no one is watching, quit before prom, but don’t forget evans department store
When I Think Of Orange
frank o’hara, the color, the fruit, florida, bowl game, john mcphee, orange barons, concentrate makers, tropicana, vitamin c, prevention of the common cold, sunset, sunrise, morning has broken, cat stevens, van gogh, cēzanne, rothko, warhol, after yellow, safety cones, pumpkins, halloween, marigolds, monsoon wedding, dahlias, zinnias, carrots, turmeric, basketballs
Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
song by Wallace Willis, a man enslaved by the Choctaw, but free when he wrote about the band of angels, i’m guessing we all know the spiritual, but not Mr. Willis, another voice lost in time, like Florence Price, first African-American female symphonic composer, her version of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, doesn’t make the radio, or the history books, we can all wonder why
You can listen to the composition by Florence Price here:
when i used to dance
joy of not knowing which hip would move next, right, right, left, or invisible hula hoop, my whole waist doing circles, and the music, weezer, sia, or nelly, always while doing dishes, distraction, chore not a chore, but now no more, cue the sad music, mazzy star or the equivalent, daniel don’t dance, vertebrae can’t play with spontaneity
fugazi
listening to cuyahoga, r.e.m., michael stipe, used to be a household name, like prell shampoo, but now he’s a my generation kind of thing, as in the 80’s, i remember the green tour, when the band went mainstream, didn’t they all try, to get the money, blow up, get bigger, artists and their stage, their platform, grow it, except fugazi, ian mackaye, $5 shows, think about that
Laugh With Summer
The eternal summer laughs, joyce mansour, the name, the face, the poet, jewish-eygptian, born in england, portrait fragments. she was right, the eternal summer laughs, like fireflies, barefoot grass, lemonade, and tanned skin. as tom hanks said, there’s no crying in baseball, save your tears for winter, today we laugh with june.
Daniel W. Polk 