Henry & the Nightcrawlers » Manzanita

Natural tides

admin — Sat, 30 Nov 2013 17:05:14 +0000

Big Bog
Little Bog
Natural tides
of Cranberry Juice
La Jus de Oregon
the juice of
weird and musty
backroad shacks
peeping through the trees
one mans swampy crop
another mans mediocre sauce

In the puddle of a lake

admin — Sun, 06 Oct 2013 16:54:45 +0000

Reflect my soul
in the puddle of a lake
in the eye of a sunfish
or the skin of a toad

Dig my heart
into a sandstone crevice
down on the shores
of my childhood pond

Take the leaves of
late summer
and scatter them around
my old aged self

Guarding the plains of Nestpatitas

admin — Mon, 30 Sep 2013 16:52:45 +0000

A crazy place this is
in the wet
of winter Jainland
in the darkness
of my hut
hunting for hares
or the neighbors dogs,
guarding the plains
of Nestpatitas
and things in that vein.

Marmalade

admin — Mon, 23 Sep 2013 16:52:41 +0000

Marmalade my
quintessential spread
who arms are
always open
in my lonely mornings

Fruit of the bush bean

admin — Sun, 01 Sep 2013 16:50:05 +0000

I picked the fruit of the bush bean,
bundled it into my shirt,
tossed the soft ones to the hens
and ran the bean marathon
with just enough for one

the young sweet greens
par-boiled in the fog
just barely peppered
yet edible and friendly

Manzanita

admin — Tue, 13 Aug 2013 16:49:04 +0000

In the fog of manzanita
I’m able to hide
and pretend I’m the only one
and that the forest stretches on
as does the sea

metallics and dust

admin — Tue, 23 Jul 2013 16:48:08 +0000

In the work week my heart hurts
and I taste some painful things
metallics and dust
and sweat stings my eyes
and boredom hangs around
and wonder wanders through

I eat the lawn

admin — Sun, 23 Jun 2013 16:41:53 +0000

I eat the lawn
that gets too long
with my grizzly bear
who hugs the ground
and spits smoke and dust
while my eyes get red
in some motel
where I pick up trash
in the parking lot

Budget soup

admin — Thu, 23 May 2013 16:51:27 +0000

Pull the cheap strings of cheap dreams
and poach the eggs of chinese ducklings.
cheap beans in the simple soil
freshly picked by the cheap labour.
the hot sun sends cheapness into the roots
of cheap fruit which then is blended
into budget soup.

Olde Eaves Trough

admin — Sat, 19 May 2012 17:58:13 +0000

Olde Eaves Trough
weds with young
Drain Spout
to shuffle
Rooftop’s moisture
to the river
down below

say “wu”

admin — Fri, 18 May 2012 08:00:23 +0000

All the ticks of England
sleeping really soft
in the deep grass nest
say “wu”

take a break belling tolling boy

admin — Sat, 12 May 2012 00:55:18 +0000

take a break belling tolling boy
the glory of god is in the sickly pigeon
that one who shits upon your gate
and murmurs right through lent

non-socks

admin — Thu, 03 May 2012 00:53:25 +0000

Sunshine slithers down my shins
towards my non-socks
to rest upon
my non-delusional hairy toes

One evening in the old Victoria

admin — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 00:44:51 +0000

Misty mannered
priests and pals
sip pints and pints
in evening, Old Victoria

Joshu dancing

admin — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 00:43:37 +0000

Joshu dances with
Zecariah’s daughter
in dampening mist
and subtle comfort

The pumpkin tree

admin — Sun, 01 Apr 2012 00:40:41 +0000

The pumpkin tree

feels find today

buying groceries

from boulangerie

bathe not the grater

admin — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 00:25:15 +0000

No! I think to her:
bathe not cheese grater,

purrr

admin — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 23:36:35 +0000

Yaa, the pigeons purr

in the real sick way

that sounds too trashy

to be some nature borne thing

trawler breathes

admin — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 18:52:27 +0000

O, the lifting sky

the trawler breaths

beneath/along the stream

inside monochrome fjords.

Powdery white stuff

admin — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 16:48:36 +0000

Powdery white stuff on the walk
kicks like dust,
sticks a bit to the
toe of my boot

troubleshooting guide of the Royal Sabre

admin — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 22:36:36 +0000

Let’s

admin — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 07:05:01 +0000

Let’s move with the

delicate machine up

the old man’s hill

where we’ll get all fussy.

sawdust down my pants

admin — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 19:24:55 +0000

I’ve got rocks in my sneakers
and sawdust down my pants
dog hair on my jacket

there is hay in my hair
barley in my eyebrows
dirt on my pants

the dog is slobbering in my hand
the horse in breathing in my nose

haiku attempt from the ferry boat

admin — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 06:27:58 +0000

use a hand brake
or roll off the beat
to aqua death

Match sticks

admin — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 12:15:04 +0000

Match sticks
are being struck
then dieing out
leaving that smell
that matches leave.

But before they die
they make love
with candle sticks
who take their fire
and let it soak
and burn right through
until nothing is left
but a cold hard puddle.

Soup

admin — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 07:10:21 +0000

soup she comes spitting fire
slurping down the bitter root
then the stock becomes much thicker
softening gently the starchy fruit

from kingdom come
comes tomato cans
marching down the alley way
sitting nicely upon your hand

the juice comes out
sporting shades
and bends down through
the chinese maze

susans cat feels much better
it’s the bitter end of a long
drawn out
sickness

Hot Baths (girl drinks red wine)

admin — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 06:56:03 +0000

She lays in hot baths
under the baton of Shubert
in the Caves-des-Papes

And as she reaches up
some rolls over the edge
and hits the water

And as she puts her head under
some rolls over the rim
and hits the floor

But the wake as it slaps the tile
is drowned by Shubert
from the next room

And her hair floats
in the dark water
and fans

blues from the orient

admin — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 07:03:33 +0000

Itay woke up from a bad dream, hard

he couldn’t get back to sleep
and the next day he had to work
but not until eleven o’clock in the morning

but at seven the construction would begin
and no one can sleep through that

he sat up late listening the neighbors
and Yusef Lateef’s eastern sounds

sleep came to Itay like finely ground coffee
dripping through the sheppard’s crook
of Lateef’s bassoon

milked along, watered by spit
from the boot through the bocal
to the double reeds and down his throat