Monday, 29 June 2020

lassila


for nowt
the moon and a sandwich
in the backpack

late summer flowers
a crack appears
in the pencil

stopping to pick hops
your hands become the ipa
from three summers ago

a fisherman waiting for the train

dying moths
covering the linoleum
pencil shavings

your passport photo fading snapdragons

a flock of geese pass over lassila allotments for a moment all the gardeners stop and look then silently they agree to work a little longer and harder this evening

Sunday, 21 June 2020

monkeys ain't shit birds 4ever

I keep having this dream where my glasses break and I put them back together. And the mood of this whole dream is that time is moving very slowly independent of my tasks and it all loops over and over. Ok. When I wake someone has always left a note beside the bed and it reads -  monkeys ain't shit birds 4ever.

Saturday, 20 June 2020

πŸ’¬πŸ

Aaaaahhh. That’s no way to talk to a pear.
Aaaaaahhh. That’s no way to talk to me either.
Aaaaaahhh. That’s no way to talk. 
Aaaaaahhh. That’s no way to bicycle.  
Aaaaahhh. That’s no way.

Friday, 1 May 2020

πŸ‚πŸŒπŸ‘ΊπŸŒ•πŸ•‘

enough moonfull
she takes the bat
out of her ear

the astrology 
of a q-tip shutout

karmic waves
surf’s up
don’t I know it

all your fingers 
as olive brine

salty licks
if I could I would
blissfully dance

deepening spring
a cow becoming footloose 
in thick mud

dropped stitch in time
the cowl appears in newcastle

from grainger market
he carries the stottie cakes 
through a thick fog

prove it, prove it
the cartesian baker calls

sitting on mars
an evil demon flicks yeast
towards earth

Ray Caligiuri, Beaverton, Oregon, USA
Michael O’Brien, Helsinki, Finland 

a dishwasher can be a hard thing to get used

A dishwasher can be a hard thing to get used. The rowan berries start to ripen. I say to the chamomile tea bag. I make chamomile tea with a chamomile tea bag. I decide to dissolve a dissolvable multivitamin. I drink the dissolved dissolvable multivitamin instead of the chamomile tea. Let’s dirty all the dishes I say to the chamomile tea. We dirty the ones with fish prints first. 

Sunday, 19 April 2020

a whistle of crows feet

do you finally sink without the moon?
neptune orbiting seven drain plugs

are you dancing this weather?
in virus air bluer sky fevered dreams

will half-baked clams reclaim the beach?
the perigee of muscle memory, blindly, of course

pointing towards the abyss - does this make my butt look big? 
that huge crack produces the kindness of strangers

might I impose for a whistle of crows feet?
lip balm, that's the night, buddy.

sergeant or colonel, lieutenant? 
beer battered the humvee explodes a chicken

is the last string quartet sanitized yet?
the gel like apparition of grandma's dinner says everything

brussels sprouts, you know what time is, right?
when last checked the calories left me behind

how does a slow burning bush receive absolution?
marshmallows - what the jumping cow became 

two choices wise guy - obama or omaha?
a surfeit of clouds blinks out the mind’s eye

Ray Caligiuri, Beaverton, Oregon, USA
Michael O’Brien, Helsinki, Finland 

make the morning

winter darkness 
too big for a house 
the lion

an outside dawn light
ants ravage the pants

moving hills
with uncertainty 
we make the morning

source of spring
bounced back by
the river’s tribute

upside down 
the crows pay in r's

the past murdered
a cow settles
for chewing ennui 

Michael O’Brien, Helsinki, Finland 
Ray Caligiuri, Beaverton, Oregon, USA

Monday, 20 January 2020

after the hunt
melting into a hanky
the marshmallow

_-_-_

on a patch of frozen grass a frozen leaf

_-_-_

the sound of wet tires on wet asphalt

_-_-_

reconciliation 
you turn 
a tarot card

Saturday, 18 January 2020

sticking out of the
‘fighting animal testing’ bag
a yoga mat

_-_-_

yellow blue drying on my shins salt water

_-_-_

god
underneath the houses
a river

_-_-_

nightmare the heat between an ice cube and a finger

Thursday, 16 January 2020

in agreement 
with the moon 
the moon

_-_-_

the cuckoo’s call you become a statue

_-_-_


Thursday, 9 January 2020

oilfaced cow emojis


Faced with a bitter north wind, do you stand behind or in front?
rainbow oilfaced cows ripple in field rut water

Why pull the world’s weight though midnight eyes?
metal detector metal detector a field bound by cow emojis

When the time comes will you replace your spleen with a carburetor?
only if I crank the shaft without the flight of bluebirds

Who drags time for the murder of crows?
His head full of clichΓ©s the farmer hits repeat on the Mac DeMarco song

Another one? asks the veterinarian hiding behind time and crows.
without fear or consequences he quickly plows into them

Is it time yet to beam up the scarecrow scout?
three miles to.... next exit the alien's green thighs 

On the cover of the autumn almanac is a photo of a lost explorer,  will you doodle a willy on his head? 
with a pig’s bow tie I hoe semicircular cornfields

Next you’ll tell me there’s no gas left in the pump house diner?
Softly he wipes his mouth with the paper he wrote this poem on

Michael O’Brien, Helsinki, Finland
Ray Caligiuri, Beaverton, Oregon, USA

hair of the dog

whiskey over ice
this morning
the softness of birds 

a glimmer of sunlight
on the rusted tractor

out of poverty
between barley sheaths
an armed robbery

just for the thrill of it;
faster, pussycat! kill! 

counting death masks
you ask the wind
to blow the other way

all over town
the scent of the cannery
the crash of waves

building a mountain
out of rocking horse shit

worn thin
enough to be real...
sometimes

through potato soup
you read about the war

in refrigerator magnets
a poem;
hair of the dog...

Michael O'Brien
Clayton Beach

Wednesday, 1 January 2020

Daily Ablations


Why do the birds sing my morning coffee?
innocently you spread your legs over a blackbird's tongue

Sowing racism into a traffic jam - which radio station do you become?
finding no excuse make toast with the mourning

What do you make without unintended silence?
after saluting the muskrats we take lunch with red circles 

Late for something, do you eat the sky or become a Patagonian village?
a sugar high blue driveway pine cones fall and crunch

Do the pheasant screams spoil your lunch?
indigestion you become a hand gun 

Seven crumbs or the Andes, sir? 
price hiking turns a blind eye toward the sandstorm

Why all these ambivalent water meters?
seven minutes late for happy hour Handel sews his eyes shut 

When exactly will you beat me to death with a copper pipe?
the after tea earthquake opens heart fault lines

Who accounts for dinner seaweeds rise and fall?
drunk on nothing my rib cage becomes a seahorse 

If a child fakes a fart do you fake a sniff too?
under satin sheets the cannon shoots confetti

Ray Caligiuri, Beaverton, Oregon, USA
Michael O’Brien, Helsinki, Finland