Tag Archives: poetry

Burning In The Rain by Richard Blanco

You can read the text to this week’s poem by clicking here at the Poetry Foundation’s website. This is a reading I tried hard to get right. I think this recording I did here is pretty close, if not quite perfect.  I hope it’s perfect for you too. Not that I’m bragging about how great this recording is or anything. I said at the beginning of the month that I’m not very good at this. Well, that was just me trying to set low expectations, so we could blow you away with our poetry readings.

On another note, there’s a lot of talk going around about poetry during tough times or poetry in other situations. Poetry is a lot like music. It can set the mood for many things. And maybe there’s something to these poetry recordings too. Also, I don’t care what David Orr says, poetry is not pointless if it means something to you.  Anyway here’s your reading:

All Your Horses by Kay Ryan read by Micah Bauman

All Your Horses
Say when rain
cannot make
you more wet
or a certain
thought can’t
deepen and yet
you think it again:
you have lost
count. A larger
amount is
no longer a
larger amount.
There has been
a collapse; perhaps
in the night.
Like a rupture
in water (which
can’t rupture
of course). All
your horses
broken out with
all your horses.

Novelty Novel

So, you’ve written me a novelty novel.

A book I shall never read

or likely even open.

I shall never flip passionately through the pages.

I shall never gaze the pages, read the words that may seem to protrude from within.

My head will never be filled to the brim with each of its sentences.

My brain will never process its letters.

You’ve written me a novelty novel.

It sure looks elegant from the outside,

but the inside I shall never know.

The cover looks nice and gaudy,

but, I should not judge it by that alone.

Okay, so that’s today’s poem. I just want to make something clear. I may be posting less of these soon. The only reason is that I want to one day actually submit some of my work (poetry) for publication. I also really want to start working on some short stories at some point. Maybe a novel… Some of the short stories and poems I’m going to work on (and I really want to work on some…) will be posted here on the Monkey Prodigy blog. I was born an amazing writer (at least, that’s what I’d like to believe). I am definitely getting better every day. Recently, I am more confident than ever in my abilities. I will not, however (this I promise you) allow any of my work to suffer by allowing my brilliance to go to my head. The precocious primate, I mean Monkey Prodigy, doesn’t allow foolish things like that to happen to him. I am entirely grateful to everyone who reads this blog on a regular basis or has even read it once or twice. It is my hope that you will continue to follow me… and you will continue to bask in my sheer brilliance… because face it, compared to a lot of today’s poetry I am a shinning star of enlightenment. Maybe, I sound a little conceited. Maybe I am, but no one will ever be able to say I’m not proud of what I do. I refuse to write something that I or people I care about are ashamed of. I apologize for this excessively lengthy monologue.You’ve probably stopped reading by now  (wouldn’t blame you) you know what? I’ve clearly said enough (maybe more than I should have.) Goodnight and thanks a lot for reading.

Diary Entry 666 (those aren’t sixes, they are actually upsidedown nines)

Marginal Note: This work was originally written by Edgar Allan Poe. It was never published due to the fact that he knew it was terrible.

Stars will not fall

Stars will die out

I’ll never adjust my eyes to absolute darkness

So, baby, light a candle…

as I try to feel my way around…

Oh, shit I tripped

help me out here, Bethany.

Marginal Note: This is not a serious work.

Osmosis

NOTE: I’d like to provide commentary on this poem at some point, but am too busy and tired at this present moment (wait, can there be an un-present moment? I don’t know… I need sleep) .

did i run away?

I left the altar

because my life wasn’t rearranging

(at least not there)

I tore down all

my old photos

because they needed changing

I shouldn’t generalize

but, it’s funny the way things seem to travel

every place that i unravel

 

A quick and breezy draft

Okay so here’s a second draft of that poem. I think I may post a few more as you will obviously be enthralled by my spectacular editing process. If that is not the case, go away I don’t want you here. Just a note: I know there are spaces between each line that shouldn’t be there. I don’t feel like fixing it right now.

As my alarm clock rings

not surprising me in the least

am I ready to leap out of bed?

should i leave my warm bed

on which i lie or should i come clean

i scrape the crust from my eyes

liberate my body from my

seemingly sometimes suffocating sheets

but should I go somewhere

with friends or with enemies…

Should I leave this house to scorn

to see sights unseeable

stare into the face of public indecency

experience the ear shattering cries of infancy

unsightly pedestrians

or would i run all the way (half way) back

home: to live, laugh, love, or lust

shall I simply stay in bed

and stare at the ceiling

marvel at the stains and wonder

how did they get there?

something to do with a light switch…?

I’m not sure.

I could sit inert and ensconced

upon this mattress in all its fortitude

or the world outside could just wait.

Oh, and I would like to wish a happy birthday to the Dadpoet. In fact I don’t just wish. I demand. I don’t care what sort of calamities happens during the last few hours of his birthday. He’s going to go to bed with a smile… even if it’s forced (*wink).