it's not always genuine

the seats filled with chlorophyll, the nights with wey
no one knew what they were doing
the apples mixed with the pears, tortoise with the hare
all the buttons were missing, nothing was sewn up
sometimes the words run out of juice
it's like that with wandering
stew and walrus root, crab and pie
do the Dungeness dance, but hold it down
it's not always this way
farms add color and fly
night clothes in winter dressing
filled with papyrus wings
folding origami
the arms solid the night fall
the room is there, yet empty
the toes are missing as the light shivers
a hole that reads and discovers
it's not always a genuine place, but a place for rest
the toes reach out to touch me
I'm in another
everything has been said before, but that's alright
an arrogance of pieces
wordfully wrong and wordlessly right
sliding uniqueness into this whispery world.


denis streeter    6/25/18

baby steps

the lens marks in time clasp passages
sendings upstream in Casanova's know
the sides need hiding, absorption
figuring leaves the mind dwindling
fighting those trestles that worm the mind
standing in sinks of gathering grav
filtering strains before they're gone
the titles grow, but not the reasons
sensing less each gathering show
tongues grow, feeding frustration
depression settles to ruin the soul
times afoul, shaming traffic 
beyond the cliff a rope toss
the lettering derse in verdant praise
fallowing fallout string theories in mind
elevator drops seize and follow
latticed tea, the letters shrunk behind stew lines
rabbits follow each horse's breath
strewn between shadow hoppers
cross-hatched in a sea of crow
loggering algorithms
dust jackets fill each tank
yellering fondly between intervals
lapsing controls behind distant stares.
the bridge feels iffy
lozenges before snores
the counter grows
pride before poor
they're done before you know


denis streeter   6/23/18

it'll be gone before i read it

actually i did read this at poetry, so the title is the joke.  
i write a new one each day, so if you've read my work you'll know they're the same.


all the tractors live in rows
all the runes remain dormant
the sausages rind in wilderness shine
the herring never gets a hearing
washing up to shore apples
the peach got creamed but that was its' goal
flashlight in the wilderness snow
all the weddings smashed
wondering where to go
traveling one land to the next
apples in a row
in the evening pie we slaughter
mixing vowels not defined
intuit the bad
that doesn't make sense of anything
the tulips are sad so it doesn't matter
twisted of logic extracted from mind
it isn't that rage was developing
it was always there, but then gave up
some listless despair hiding in filters
not wanting to reckon
a complete shutdown
needs regeneration
i'm not there.  just a figment of a place disappeared.
the shelter is gone, the apple left behind
reach for the bunkers they're not there
just a figment of a repetitious mind
thought for the slaughter
how much better it is to share
nobody wants to go there
some shade of destruction
and in the final edit it will be deleted
because uplifting is the order of the day
substandard is the rule of night
although it's all day long
and rationalized by numbers
or words and actions
is it the thoughts that make it true?
or is it the depression settling in
that intangible beyond definition
the jumble of words spit on the page
flowing
the slide given the slip
it doesn't matter if they're happy
they're just there, ready to get hurt.
or analyzed to fault exchange
it's why the explained can not be shared
too many inverted pains
and the lucky get sick for dinner
when the pants get left in the exchange
reaching for that bag of elements
they're incomplete but who cares
it's real as iron and copper
fusing elements to create others
it's no good to ban
everyone should have the choice of good or destruction
it's the rationale that's incomplete
that sues and sends to court
oh what it is to settle
the rumors fly, it's not enough
so many meanings it's not funny
what is the funny bone but pain
and the washing up to shore the shame
eat your vegetables go to work
it's not enough
you feel bad
it's not enough

denis streeter     6/10/18

north south ova east west

it was on between two sides of the pole
one north one south
east west were still hooking
the trash is out, the hooks in play
take a snap shot
all the onions arow
wander the toilet bowl
gathering fancy wherever it left
over the curtains it rolls
a treasure of cooking between the lines
an android of reason
distance shed between shelter
a totem pole, a light, a gasket
read when the lights went out
freezing the tires between shutters
smelling racks when erasers will do
all out of control
weasels are friendly except when they want you
then they get hungry
caverns turn to shutters, earthworms to dust
trails made, travails for crossing
winter born, spring sent
washing the pie with the worms in between
there wasn't much flavor
the caps were down when frying
capturing the spirit but not the essence
the tin mixed with apple
a plum in between to stir the rum
still a rummy idea for an egg beater
the sandwiches are dusty
pull in a drawer and get sanded
the trays as wide as the owls long
the rats and mice and bunnies scurrying
said one pole to another
"don't you think this is a tad
north south ova east west?"


denis streeter   6/2/18