Archive for the ‘Ashley Roach’ Category
Posted on Friday, April 8th, 2011
Blood Diary / Deer Song Loneliness sneaks, succeeds only when full on blood and berries – the feast of the lonely on a Saturday evening. On a Sunday, no one answers. Framed in suntan and a problem: there it is – the lonely. Every other is another I used to know fully. In the deer [...]
Posted on Friday, April 1st, 2011
Row toward. Swing. Birds are in my body. Recovery. Huffy with dream. Cold cream. Bloody lamb- are you bred to be a gentle bee? Recovery. Cold dream. The birds. Body.
Posted on Saturday, February 12th, 2011
We left our town in arboreal disarray. Pretty mess! We left, to the river. Woods that sing the air- oracle dog white-eyed whining (leave for the river leave
Posted on Friday, January 28th, 2011
Memphis Song I will turn in Memphis. Hear its heavy lungs. I will not lighten its load. It will not call my name. Ask for it. Ask til it remembers your name. Ask for the singing of your heavy name. Black lines hold up. White lines too. Bloodbread calls your heavy name.
Posted on Friday, January 21st, 2011
Writing Song Tuneless singing, humming humming. Blood or bread, black lines hold you up, white lines too. Cradle it and spit – make text. Ask for the poem as the morning asks for you. Ask for the singing ask. Ask until the word loses meaning.
Posted on Friday, January 14th, 2011
Train Dream (Crusoe in America) An island blooms inside, bloody, a flood of islands. Capture the islands – American as hell, American as trains running through bedrooms (where we go trains will follow (when I first, when I first heard train crash clatter, I thought America was ending)). Was I absent from the ocean? Pack [...]
Posted on Friday, January 7th, 2011
Back Catalogue – Lovers (page one) Table of Our Discontent INTRODUCTION: CHEMISTRY – with extended footnotes by the ed. I. French Kissing II. Conversation, Entertainment a. Values? b. III. Poetry – The rhetorical question? PART ONE: THE BODY POLITIC a. Gender and PDA b. Categorized: The way you looked sleeping in on Tuesday. PART TWO: BETTER [...]
Posted on Monday, November 29th, 2010
Early Dark Song (Revision) Aching jaw. How to ache, the belly knows. Plant the rosemary. Dark just grows. Oh aching night – a cauldron of thought, a mouth full of snakes.
Posted on Friday, November 12th, 2010
Early Dark Song Jaw is aching, the writing slow. How to ache, the belly knows. The jaw can’t find a way. In habit unsure. Dark just grows. Oh aching, come and make me a cauldron of thoughts (a mouthful of snakes). Shantih shantih, come and find me, I am lost. Inhabit the missing light.
Posted on Friday, November 5th, 2010
This is another older poem. At the time, I felt like this was really close to Poetry. Now it reminds me of my tiny one bedroom apartment in Hattiesburg. The Weight Control is a ventriloquist. Kitten, hush this mittened mouth. Better To bend the morning back. Monday, you do yourself too well. The weight is an open [...]
Posted on Friday, October 1st, 2010
Salted Apples Salt engages the palate- a way to purge the sweet of a misnomer red delicious or a too soon watermelon, pale to the rind. I understand it: skin and sweet, tongue and seed, peach fingers kissing, reaching. You play piano. Keys dip under fingers pressing. The chords are salted apples – Gershwin, honeycrisp [...]
Posted on Friday, September 10th, 2010
Because the muse up and left me this week, I decided to share a poem I wrote in workshop at the lovely young age of 23 about up and leaving my muse. At the time, when I didn’t know what to write about, I would confer with Gertrude (sometimes Mildred), an older jaded imaginary woman [...]
Posted on Friday, September 3rd, 2010
Beatline Road Corn silks and carrot peel – feed the maggots. Mealy pale meal – we could eat them. Show me something new, September. Little leaves rooting. The good feeling of roads. Yesterday we saw the river. Oh longing! Crooked Creek – hot spots cold spots minnows. In my strapless black swimsuit I pretend at [...]
Posted on Friday, August 27th, 2010
Paper Girl Morning makes tough. Heavy thighs. My eyes, my sore feet. Holy basil and toast. Fall just folds summer up in slanting sun – an origami bird burnt, paper sun phoenix. The whole world is windchimes. Sleep just folds me up.
Posted on Friday, August 20th, 2010
Domestic Sinister The relief of stretching flesh, the turning of fall – lantana begonia. Caterpillar. What will you do if your bird bones break? Gutted and uncomfortable. But some new ones are beautiful and sing! Gorgeous clementines with purpled poppy lips. I fear the worst and want for you one that sings (in the narrow [...]
Posted on Friday, August 13th, 2010
Stroke Call Giver away of things, mender, meddler of family weight. Now still, stroke-bound, not giving. Loss and guilt – typical: a grandparent grown tiresome with the giving away of unwanted things. My house is not unlike hers, the hand-sewn quilts. She was busy despite her failing hands, always doing. I like to be still. [...]
Posted on Friday, August 6th, 2010
Submissive, In Charcoal originally printed in Product 19, 2004 The professor traces the rising warmth of my spine with the dull end of his charcoal. He addresses the artists: Notice the contrast between the line of her shoulders – here – and the roundness of her thighs – there. The breath inside my still-life pose [...]
Posted on Friday, July 23rd, 2010
Kudzu Restless as the interstate, it creeps one foot a day – an exponential reach that sings. Suburban nostalgia ignites a sparkler in my belly: glorious green ruin! Near this hill is a house rendered in kudzu: the furniture arranged, the piano waiting for fingers. “Death is always at work,” I remember. Invading the invasive, [...]