Poem Spam.

by Robert Long

The Muse and I Are Alone

On the usual corner, we're
Up and out earlier than usual.
No winos around: too cold. The Muse
Wears white pants and the usual heavy metal
Jacket. He's pouty, half-asleep,
Turns toward me, his back
To the screaming crosstown wind.
I'm leaning against a video store
Steel grate. Hollywood light bulbs
Race around the window perimeter.
If you looked from across the avenue
You'd see us: a guy with a briefcase
Full of paper and a kid
With a backpack stuffed with books,
Framed by blinking lights,
Like forgotten celebrities.


The Muse Lends a Hand

The wind picks up; my hat blows off my head.
I'm trying to light a cigarette.
The hat hits the Muse in the knees, drops
To the sidewalk. Facing me,
He wears a baseball cap backwards, and looks stern
This morning. He bends, picks up the hat,
Hands it to me. "Thank you," I say.
He says nothing but watches
As I replace the hat on my head.
He turns, searches the avenue for evidence
Of our bus. I feel undignified.
The Muse is always composed;
His role is to trigger creative impulses
In others. He adjusts his bookback,
Steps to the curb, stares
Into the relentless gray dream
Of 7:13 a.m. Philadelphia.
The Muse looks tired of living.
A woman in a dirty raincoat asks me
If the K bus has passed. "No," I say.

Meme-age.

Stollen from all over, but most recently, karotsamused.

Give me the title of one of my fictions and I'll give you my favorite line from it.
My fic are pretty much all right here.

Poem Spam.

Good People
by W.S. Merwin.

From the kindness of my parents
I suppose it was that I held
that belief about suffering

imagining that if only
it could come to the attention
of any person with normal
feelings certainly anyone
literate who might have gone

to college they would comprehend
pain when it went on before them
and would do something about it
whenever they saw it happen
in the time of pain the present
they would try to stop the bleeding
for example with their hands

but it escapes their attention
or there by be reasons for it
the victims under the blankets
the mean counters the maimed children
the animals the animals
staring from the end of the world

'Cause I got nothin' but time...

From wordsofastory:
1. Take the book (physically) closest to you.
2. Open it to page 123.
3. Find the 5th sentence.
4. Post the sentence here and the instructions in your journal.
5. Don't try to find a cool book, just take the closest one.


"Slowly, painfully, the ten dollars was collected."
To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee.