streaming

targets in the room
the dead drops down
open hooded tommorrow
drifter bent and cod tied
listening to the drifters float by
flooding the rooves of the sycamore trees
while the T's were left holding up the nails
in a bitten room with rust holding eyelashes
quick as a timbuktu but not quite as fast
never without sugar the chlorine count was down
colonel corpusal didn't know what to do
just went down the ranks counting off
with two by fours and rugs and screws
nothing left to do
just an orange on the horizon
and nothing to rhyme
shadows dipped colas behind screens
motion pictures went into hiding
down the grass root beds hunting for bugs
screens screaming for a cow and a calf
one and a half
half and half
then it was morning
coffee.

denis streeter 12/28/10

that makes no sense

letters crossword
out clutter my mind
numbers reverse
never reaching negatives
breadsticks slide
islands to outlets
walls shift
removing sleeves in pockets
books fall
removing shadows
curtains hang up
trying to fly
light sockets revert
to prehistoric times
dinosaurs fit
in volkswagen bugs
dust drifts
as cavities explore
noon knocks
whispers open
when clocks whine
the moon shingles
nerves wrap
'round noah's ark
when beams sing
moats know we are ready.

denis streeter 12/22/10

Perhaps they will tell

Beauty sleep shadowed the deep
Opening arms to stardusting eyes
Eyelids flutter, indecive shutters
Turning your night sky to think and dream
Tap off drain inside twirling swirling
Your world refiguring day...into night
What will your night dreams teach you
When you wake up in the morning
Just ask the day dreams
Perhaps they will tell.

Denis Streeter 11/5/10

dust in my eyes

you were waiting
i had died
i was living
i had cried
dust in ashes
real bones
rising up for
the unknown
wishes waiting
put on hold
stories telling
said untold
love is waiting
i ignored
i'm debating
being floored
you were waiting
dust my eyes
love is waiting
realize.

denis streeter 11/1/10

before

face off
revealed colors
off colors
burnt green
troubador orange
labrador red
tuscadee dream
left behind
doorsill
dreams love
before your knowing
before your ready
before you die.

denis streeter 10/30/10

Cashier time slip

"Nine forty"
"Out of ten forty"
My watch says ten ten
And I'm left wondering
What time it is
And why the change.

Denis Streeter 10/20/10

Some humor...

I'll let you guess the title.

My poetry is so practical
It can change four tires in one minute
Flat.

Denis Streeter 10/14/10

Pattern maker

Watching planes while driving to work...

Jet stream
Dental floss
Breaking sky
Pattern maker.

Denis Streeter 10/13/10

Go ask Alice

Written on wood work on back of my shoes
Were words "Go ask Alice" just meant to confuse
I dusted my wallet, let dust in my eyes
I hopes I would blink out some sort of surprise
Chameleon shadows dripped to my chin
I pulled out my glass as the shadows slipped in
In two shades of comfort I sweatered the door
Watching as steam engines snort through the floor
In wood works of thought and a termite away
I lept down a rabbit hole mad hatter way
Twas solid as words on the drips of my shoes
In termites of thought was the bottom to choose.

Denis Streeter 10/8/10

Voices

I've already sent this to myself.
Now I'm sending this to you.

Darkwood easters the night while the morning jacket awaits
Slides as two cucumbers between melons
And the meloncholies begin
Oh now you've said it!
The corniness ensues
You're probably going to write about food
Or think you're clever by making them verbs and adjectives
Like "he canteloped down the leeky street"
But how long can you sustain that
Without losing direction, losing your listener
Who has heard your stuff a hundred times
Saying "there is nothing new under the sun."
Just a few clever phrases
A few creative word pictures
But nothing really to say
No plot or purpose
So purpose becomes porpoise
Hoping to distract by cleverness again
Of turning one word into another
They aren't buying it, don't get it, distracted
Doesn't matter...
Write about something real...something that matters
Something you're passionate about...
So others will relate
But I don't or I won't
"Not right now, I'm too busy!"
"I'm too tired! I can't concentrate!"
And the listener tuned out.
So I write this up and send it to myself
In hope I'll read it and write better.

Denis Streeter 10/3/10

Book crazy

Last Sunday I went to the Seattle Public Library Book Sale...last day...everything was fifty cents! I came away with 22 childrens books. I picked up mostly books published in the 1950's through 1970's by authors like L.M. Boston (the Green Knowe books), John Rowe Townsend, Patricia Lynch, John Macken, N.M.Bodecker (nonsense poetry), Philippa Pearce (author of "Tom's Midnight Garden"), William Mayne, Edward Ardizzone, and Bill Peet. Now to find the time to read them! I've also ordered about 15 books online over the last week. I have one book waiting for me at the library I'll pick up today...don't know...it'll be a surprise...and two books to return today...which I haven't even started. Maybe I should quit my day job...but then I'd get lazy...besides I like my work. I could so see going into debt just buying books online. It's truly addictive. I look at the back of some old 1960's Puffin children's book I just read and discover other books that sound great. Then I go online and order them...even though I know nothing about the author. I just want to take the chance of making some new discovery! Of course I also hope all this reading will improve my writing...possibly taking it in different directions. I'm still reading William Mayne's book "The World Upside Down" (1954), his second book. It kind of feels like a metaphor for my world now...having finished Fall Rush at the University Book Store...even though the subject matter is completely different. There's treasure in England's Yorkshire Dales...it could be a fish, a grandfather, a chest of gold...depending on how you look at it. I'm taking my time reading this book. It's less about the plot and more about the poetry of the landscape...the children's relationship to this ancient landscape...as well as the sometimes humorous journey into how children think. So much to read!

Scrap of rhyme

I found a scrap of rhyme
Upon the dusty floor
On forlorn wooden pine
I thought more to explore.
It seemed to take a nap
Though I must be unkind
I gave the scrap a tap
The dust blew in my mind
I felt that rhyme scrap burn
From top of head to toes
My mind a flight a tern
The rhyming turn of prose.
I found a scrap of rhyme
Upon the dusty floor
How could it be a crime
I opened up the door

Denis Streeter 9/17/10

More on L.M. Boston

This is one trip I have to make to England. It is to the Manor at Hemingford Grey...better known to readers as Green Knowe. Diana Boston, the wife of the late Peter Boston, who illustrated his mother's books, will lead tours by appointment only. Check out this website for more information...

http://greenknowe.co.uk/

L.M. Boston

I have to rave about another children's writer that's really for all ages. Lucy Maria Boston (1892-1990), most famous for her "Green Knowe" books. These are seamlessly woven fantasies where the main character is the property of Green Knowe, about 40 mile north east of London...which the author bought when she was 47 and fell in love with. It has a history going back over 900 years. You can still visit the estate. If anyone wants to know where I get some of my imagination from...look here... I've always felt like a late bloomer, so she is especially inspiring. Her first book, "The Children of Green Knowe" was published when she was in her early sixties. The quote below is from a different book called "The Guardians of the House" (1974), at age 82, with perfect illustrations from her son Peter Boston...

If all this had been a dream, it was hard to shake
off, and indeed Tom was very much shaken. Fresh air was
what he needed, so he opened a door that gave onto a
balcony, and looked out. He was high up, and below
him was an enclosed garden he had not seen before.
It was closely surrounded and overhung by yew trees,
which gave the air a greenish tinge like sea water. You
could imagine it as a garden under the sea or as an
enlarged rock pool. The yew tree fingers could easily
be imagined as wrackweed waving under the tide, the
shadowed geraniums as sea anemonies opening under
the fresh flow after a dry day. The walls of the house
could be seen as a dry cliff and the birds passing
beneath him as fishes. Cool, after the steamy jungle.

page 26

I recommend starting with her first book, "The Children of Green Knowe"(1954). You'll soon be hooked under the sea garden of her spell.

Kelp in our sea

Shadowing kelp skins under onions of water
The porpoise snout the way through caravaned debris
Orchestraing tombstones of laughter while the rest were afraid
Oceaning waters of ourselves
The rest were tumbling dice
Somewhere between chance and faith
And darwinian survival
Oceaning ourselves to others
Our ways of difference seen afresh
Kelp in our sea, drifting, seeing
Possibilities, potential made real
Reaching beyond our grasp
Within the reach of others.

Denis Streeter 9/14/10

Untitled

Stung by a dust jacket
Don't judge a book by its cover
If it isn't worth the read.
Once you start you have to finish
No matter how long it takes
Those are the rules
Stung by a dust jacket


Denis Streeter & Scott LaRose

Geraldine McCaughrean

I want to highly recommend "The White Darkness" by Geraldine McCaughrean. I found a sale table paperback copy at the University Book Store. It is the first book of hers I have read...and she's been writing children's books for years. I wish I had discovered her sooner. This book is for all ages. The main character is a 15 year old girl who has fallen in love with the long dead Antarctic explorer Titus. She carries on conversations with Titus, which I know sounds really weird and mentally unstable, but it's incredibly intriguing and oddly humorous. When she goes to the Antarctica with her genius uncle, a total mystery himself, she find herself depending on Titus more and more for her survival. Full of surprises, beautiful descriptive writing of Antarctica and powerfully imaginative...storytelling doesn't get any better. I'll probably end up spending big money for a signed 1st edition British copy of this book. I've already loaned out my sale paperback copy.

I also highly recommend her book "The Death Defying Pepper Roux"(2009). This is a completely different type of book...a darkly humorous adventure by an excellent storyteller. Here's the first paragraph...

On the morning of his fourteenth birthday Pepper had been
awake for fully two minutes before realizing it was the day he
must die. His heart cannoned like a billiard ball off some soft
green wall of his innards. This had to be the day everyone had
been waiting for--and he was terrified he would disappoint
them, make a poor showing, let people down.

I checked out this book from the library and loved it so much, I ordered a signed British first edition online for big bucks. Trust me...I'm stingy when it comes to parting with my money...but oh my...what a book!

William Mayne

This is probably the first of many posts I'll write on William Mayne. Who is William Mayne? He's probably the best writer of books about children since 1953...when his first book was published...and has averaged about 2 books a year until his death in 2010...writing well over 100 chidren's books! He never compromised his writing style to fit some mold. He wrote because he had to write...it was his gift...his particularly genius. After having read about 20-30 of his books...and I intend to read them all...I'd say his greatest gift was to let his writing and plots unwind using all his senses so that you are experiencing them with the same unique freshness of the child and their landscape...a kind of poetry. The sad thing about his books is I think very few children will appreciate them today. He does not tell you what is happening, he lets you discover it...which can be rather difficult. Perhaps his best audience today would be poets, artists, and book critics. Here is the opening paragraph from his book "A Swarm in May" (1955):

John Owen stood in a narrow street full of narrow
shadows: they stood in the corners of every beamed and
overhanging house-front. There was light and dark up to
the saw-like stepped edge of each tiled gable, and beyond
that a blue night sky with very small shivering stars.

I've been gradually ordering his books online...and was thrilled when one arrived today! Few of his books are available in the library. Now his books are unpopular...no publisher would touch him. He was convicted of 11 counts of sexual abuse to young girls in 2006, sentenced to 2-1/2 years in jail at age 78, and put on the sex offender list for life. He was a bachelor nearly his whole life, having married briefly, and preferred the company of children over adults. I was shocked to hear of this dual life, but his writing is excellent. You have to keep things separated...there's his life and there's his writing. Try reading his "Hob and the Goblins"...excellent fantasy. I also recommend "Low Tide", "Drift", and "Antar and the Eagles"...all available at libraries. Most of all, pick up anything of his that catches your interest. You may find yourself addicted to his writing style, in spite of his personal history, and buying book after book online. They're cheap! More later on William Mayne...the best children's writer you've never heard of.


Here's another favorite William Mayne quote


http://denisianpress.blogspot.com/2011/09/sly-humor.html

Yeard

January februaried
March apriled
May juned
July august
September octoberd
November decemberd.

went missing

the day he woke up
day missing
getting ready
for counseling appointment
writing check, place in pocket
turning on music
but it's all wrong
the blues
rain falling
oh well
the day he woke up
day missing
thinking of phone calls
bills to pay, but
it was some other day
10:40
he read his watch
it was 13 minutes fast
he was 1 day fast
turning on music
but it's all wrong
the blues
rain falling
the blues
wait a minute
they only play that program
sunday mornings
10:40
missing church
not monday
day missing
day writing
day reading
went missing.

denis streeter 8/22/10

Dialect

I've been reading William Mayne and Alan Garner recently...two brilliant writers who have an amazing sense of place, language, dialect...of the old places in England...brick layers, farm communities, coal miners, storytellers...of the old ways...

It whar a lar larky whimble
Shrouded ten brick high wandin' sor-west
Table roun' drinkin por soppy
An da flies dancin' himmel
Bar up da korner
Shadow shack gon
Livered shy round blister bent
Up da bedpost an bye
Dreamin
Blundergone.

Denis Streeter 8/20/10

denisku

poetry students think
a pterodactyl is
a poetic form

denis streeter 8/8/10

Reaching

Slippers sneaked pillows through cantelope floors while
Filling my muscles through ocean cream doors in the
Hopes of revisiting whales through snores washing
Snorkels of tuna through cavity shores as I
Fished up my snorkel with cantelope fins and went on
Breathing under tomatoes and gin hiding
Sandwiches hidden in snorkels of fear with the
Snores whale watching in oceans of tears when the
Tridents went hiding my spine with my spleen while
Watching my canvas in case I turned mean but I
Spun on my spleen and I tickled my spine and I
Puckered my lips when the shores came benign in my
Mind I re-camphored the floor from below when the
Hopes of tommorrow filled icing with snow in
Depressing my dreams I reflected awake while
Smelling of camphor collecting in cake in
The fields of birthdays nor slumber nor wake in the
Shadowlands wandering giving and take till
Depression fills in as I'm filling myself with all
Sugars and salts in the freezer and shelf till I
Exercise demons to flush them away thinking
Controlled temptation the very best way with
Community calling and searching me out when
I'm outside myself as I flop like a trout while
Resting and working I'm trying awake in the
Flowing and flopping to communicate through the
Ice floes of time and the sunny day thoughts and the
Haywire thinking that gives me distraughts as I
Reach out my room reaching outside myself as my
Reality reaches outside my shelf.

Denis Streeter 5/23/10

Fickled foughts of funny

This is a fun nonsense tongue twisting piece I wrote last year that I still enjoy reading aloud.

The tilted bed inside my head reverted inside out
I led the peas of twisted keys outside my door to pout
The cheese of keys were made to please the sunny days too cold
Too cold too old too oversold too bottom blistered bold
Too bold to bother badder batter batting balls in buns
In bunning batter bawling badder pickled peckled puns
The puns the ones of pampered sons sent sickles signing south
The south the mouth the truth comes outh I know I asked a trouth
A trouth a tribble bent a nibble bounding by a bite
A bite a bibble senseless tribble bible bounding bike
The biking bending bible biting kiting kicking cur
Bowed bumblingly but bibley concurred to call me sir
To call me sir I must concur bent bibled beds aside
Aside to hide I must confide to please formaldehyde
To please formaldehyde tis said depends on your preserve
Preserve deserve some kind hors d'oeuvre consuming to conserve
Reserve preserve this final verve by bilking milk and honey
I senseless serve some pun preserve in fickled foughts of funny.

Denis Streeter

Denisian Press

This is an experiment for me...and the first blog I've ever set up. What you will see is poetry, comments on books, my current state of mind...and I'd love to hear comments from you...but be nice...