why the butter

it's more than you can catch to winnow the sun
bag slatched and cormer gone
wretch free when the witches are burning and lightning put out the wine
but they always decline when waiting in line
pardon the vegetable when lightning pours
two sticks and an egg mitten glove
it was out with the mix and in with the muffs
tagging for school the opposite bus
listening for magnets in olive slots
toothbrush frayed and washtub dry
spitting and crying in character fries
spoiling the nets and spinning the guns
ops black forward winding reels
one foot left of right
stork stalking baby steps
let her drop, it's not fable
fatal tales schooled
it's not a choice, it's an adventure
reeling the spool, testing the line
one to eat and one to crime
it wasn't suppost to happen
but the high schools dead
oceans of blue indoctrine pink
minutes accept the decline
limnination creation
the doors fled shut open
untoward gestures revived
sots bellow and don't ask why
the butter is wise

denis streeter   8/24/17

craziness

upstage legions of graph reform bit duster cabinets sideways spirited into fly zones shielding shelters from cracker dried spirit creams dressing peanut butter shoehorned by rabbit cucumbers salt shakering bats singing howdy doody shackled to wine yodeled cats dreaming in rose insolent guns of Heimlich maneuvers wandering ghettos trafficking otoscopes in lather street crimes of consciousness feeding scraps of persona nongratin strip mauls of teachers pets mickeys cousins  peet and tabberinth farms dripping bored rabbits sleepy oxygen into hybrid cocoon shadow afternoons contrite sugar snap peas blackberry muffins lather field mice leather bottle tricks blind blanched buttons tricky ditches hiss and moan farming toes blossom botched tea leaves bitter orange rind drying breakfast blind time holes Solomon sought two headed Cyclops one at a time.


denis streeter   7/30/17

In Summer Light

I've only read the first paragraph of this young adult book by Zibby Oneal and I know it's going to be good.

There were peaches in a blue and white Chinese bowl and
a cat almost the color of peaches stretched beneath the
table.  Morning light fell slantwise across the table's surface,
lay like marmalade on the rungs of a ladder-back chair.
Beside the table, sitting straight on the straight-backed chair,
was a little girl, feet bare, hands folded.  Here dark hair
grazed the sharp bones of her shoulders.  Her eyes were
intent.  Perched there expectantly, erect on the chair's
edge, she was like someone awaiting an invitation to
dance.

Zibby Oneal, In Summer Light, Viking Kestrel Press, 1985, page 1.

Read on...

Denis Streeter   5/31/17

wherenaut

the watch burning noses
pulled tongs from the fire
itching tong to themselves
finding floors to follow, itches to ride, films to lice
realize the eyes don't have it, the floors follow the eyes won't
dusty cabbages, forlorn racks, crispy fingers, rabbit toes
it's none of those
it's
star potatoes, ate onions, rabbit flies, ribald ghettoes
the racks are missing.  don't know where to go.  all forlorn.
follow keyboard figures,  finger the way
down this rabbit hole, the mine lode flow
wishing wells know, the washing gets done
the ribald understand, but wont cuss
leftover reads down shore, kindle books burning light
page outmode linus blankets, books bearing masters
splitting the difference
pens and pawns, misunderstanding
watching the prose con the knows
pleas follow the jumpy and contagious  it oxen acts that way.
floors wall open some angle perspectives
sand filling out and up
castle imagines
where we are living
we wonder why
if not, wherenaut

denis streeter   4/30/17

reset the watch - equibelent

dipping down the well
i found a possum shining for tea
it was grey as grass with a ruby red throat
conjuring up something a plum would have noticed
when it was all up and the powder turned green
their lips parted and their horns began to shine
it was a little startled at first, but then leveled off a bit
each spring settling down into some ink and snow
scrubs would grub their rosy wings reaching in dreams
caspers growing from pot holes in brown greens
onions leaning their elbows to harp and pine
lessons forgiving what the sloped news knows
dried as dressings and salmon toad
leaches living off sea bottoms decide to fly
washing in norms dressing in vulgar to find the divine
reading through silt the slide doors opens
two pox, a time table, a sneeze of trees
welcome wells into columns, hooks into cheese
possums of corners never land
fixtures unopened, no one to feed
settles saddle down to a dry cold room steeped in dreams
nobody called, nobody cared, nobody gives a damn
another lesson designed and destroyed
nothing was done
reset the watch
set it ticking

denis streeter   4/10/17

flounce

all warning otherwise went out the window
looking for a sinner in flies
there was nothing in the daffodil
nothing in the eyes
just a torrent of empty song
and a beaver to sing with it
must resist it sounded wouldn'd
but I didn't
it jumped me
I went into the pantry and grabbed a wooden spoon
feeling rather beat up
the cookies went into oven
feeling baked

all city dogstreams go down center
where the dogs began to fly
out the noise indoors
the kings began to flounce
don't know what they're flouncing for
don't know what it means
it know it's not from fleece, flace, flounce
it's not Germanic
it's not a fluid ounce
it's not a doorway

don't move around impatiently to my annoyance
the flounce picked up its spatula and walked away
forgetting he was a wooden spoon
another wooden actor on a decked up stage
too early for laughter not enough for crying
get off stage!

okay I set the hybrid aside
not enough information for the sandwich
tmi you know tmi!
you squash that banquet right quick!
there's not enough juno in that snow!

yah well...you got me there
I was an elephant in a past life, now I'm a donkey's ass
are you subhuman if you don't care about politics
there's no I beg your pardon
that flounces the scene
except of the flouncy kind
you do the arithmetic!
time coach!

I wish you were ashaft already
I'd set you aside before
now my taffy is gone
traded for my choosy sugar
only a batchelor would know
drafting for more but not a beer cabinet
request the floor
must resist the door, but there it is

damn shoe fly again
thought I'd sent it to Costa Rica
instead it came back with a salmon
I didn't think there was any salmon there
I didn't ask

google is an oddstrument
its present tense is not gargle
right in front of me was a spade
I dug down
flounced about

denis streeter   3/18/17

blasphemarium only kinder

sentences counter to why
shy in a conundrum way
wayward enough to cry
teetering on tocks
the spread is low the length is wide
doesn't explain who captured who
just a desk of the labyrinth kind
gesture to blow over snow
the rabbit besides
trackless the x resurrects the y
gallonteens the distance
beneath splinters
those lily white lizards of y
all bedroom sweat as noise
what the bears thought neutral
the knives thought wise
drifting in place
with the fork and spatula
waiting for a rooster rise
so wide you could follow him
behind dry buckets
thrown in the fire
the crayons melting
where the mitten cries
behind trowel doves
the trounces try
the moon center stage
worshipping acting cult
a streetcar named desire
a mesmerizing tailor
the clock fast forwards
it's nine not ten
or is it the other
the rocket clocks back
"there's no more snow your egos on fire!"
rest in that stream to impale
interpolates it's not wise
more believed in
that shotgun glass
receiving its marrow
upstage in laughter ducts
behind medicine counters
two bones chew in lab
there was no time for supper
only it's aftershock
spilled in the question y
labspeak in charlie board cry
reaching the distant bone
jester in twine
washing up for noon
the table sets arks on the counter
a wishing bone for tea
to elephant the room
labs for a doctor
washing for school
inside a drum.
the polar express
bisects each mind
splinters control acting blind
two thoughts in molecules
molecular devices
attracting encounter
watching the nose grab whys
honk its horn whilst passing by
it's up to the dressing
what's it addressing
thrown a curve in blithering blather
what the coat left behind...
missed what it said
watching the irony fly in circles
watching for dad
mending my window strawed in plaid
squalid on the counters
waiting for grads to fly
that censorless design
caught in the crack hole
chocolate by design
floors in catapaults decide
where the lens blinds
it's not an office affair
the lines are grinding
cicero declining
waiting by the counter
sadness unknown
opens the snow
petrified
the roads are freezing but not past cold
not what you pretended for
those rose of thorn
the Christ behind
squalid in the hole
between the eyes
it's creamier than I'd like
finding dead center
impound along the y
colder than spice hotter than try
in a cross-dressin design
placing scruples where the bottom dries
night disappears
defining
yesterday morning
meant to be kinder.

denis streeter   3/11/17