Saturday, September 11, 2021

Work

It's a strange world
What do we become
At the end of the week we want to forget
All the unpleasantness
Watch tv
Like Abbot and Costello Meet Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
Aquaman
It's a waste of time
I could be doing something more productive like reading
But writing seems to do more
Of a chronicle
I'm not sure it makes me feel any better
It just makes me recognize more of what I'm feeling
Why I hate work
When I'm not at work, I think about going back to work
How will I deal with that
It's a matter of withstanding mental blows
From customers who smell blood and dare you to make mistakes
So they can punish you
It's true, most people are fine
Perhaps it's all in my mind, but I don't think so
Ultimately it comes down to yourself
How do you protect yourself
From being constantly watched for mistakes
Authority is basically made of stupid rules
Or demeaning principles
You are an actor
The world is watching
It's wearing you down
You need to recharge
How you recharge is up to you
Where will you go
What will you do
Is there prayer
Or Jesus
Or God
That will make everything better
Or just bearable enough
Perhaps it's observing enough
Where love breathes through
There's safe passage

Denis Streeter   9/11/21

Thursday, September 2, 2021

Sawhorse

Customer:  I'm looking for a sawhorse
Me:  How much saw could a sawhorse saw if a sawhorse could cut saw.
Customer:  Laughs, then says "Huh?"
Me:  No answer.  It doesn't make sense and I'm not sure it's funny.
Me:  I direct him to tools.

Denis Streeter   9/2/21

Sunday, July 11, 2021

reason for this

daftness barms 
no alarm
of foolishness
a catapult away
drinking wine
a sashay
a trope
wanders sly
inbred with paint
on the horizon
felt a splash
deter a whale
out to sea
in a sieve
leaking a mountain
of grease
gas lit on empty
as you might expect
busy
in that ordinary way
business supplies
weighty
foster in rank
removing itching
from semaphores
dangerous banks
deck and ocean
not all bad
it's a place
where happiness
subsides
dungeons
are fakes
roadmaps
draw doors
let them in
rats on skewers
blistered things
grab my
petit fours
ounce our roundings
blank our ships
more to that
wide enough to go
traffic flow
gets in the way
guidance 
sets you free
i don't know
i'm still here
drinking in me
sophomoric
teaching
turning gravestones
into flies
not sad so
busy overnight
chasing them out
set bed aflame 
or not
wandered toes
fasten doors wide
toothpaste in
flour awry
and it goes
on
knows
on
until
it stops

denis streeter   7/11/21



Tuesday, June 15, 2021

flight

breath
breathed into silence
a broken wing stripped clean
hollow bone
egg glue creation
an instrument
flewn of ancient 
flute through
true to its
its what
its form
laughing 
bone draws sky
music from hollow
shift ears eyes heart
mind an empty shell waiting to be filled
searching wisdom 
bone waits becoming 
depth fills tiny holes
an ocean gladness
fills mind
flewn ears eyes heart soul
senses one
capture them
bone holes music
you can fly
you can sing
you can know

denis streeter   6/15/21

Inspired by David Almond's book Bone Music

Tuesday, June 8, 2021

poetry in motion

a kind of learning
i don't know what it is
a kind of transforming
i don't know what it is
leads me to strange places
rooms i wander
circular directions
take me home
to where i am more myself
whatever that is
ever since i was a little boy, i always wanted to be
a philosopher
theologian
thinker not betrayer
no judas in me
i've lived a life not knowing who i am
a teacher of sorts, in the pure sense
i learn from them, they learn from me
just not an automaton 
i want to speak my mind and not muffle it
there's the rub
does it make you employable?
know your strengths
know others
then you can know yourself
but does that ever happen?
this introversion not good for me
i must dance
i hear music that moves my soul
and in the dance i forget myself
there is nothing but perfect motion
bluegrass
deeper livelier than anything i know
poetry in motion
and with that poetry comes wit
is it?
or song
singing connectedness to each situation
through my bones
that feels eternal
universal
completely myself

denis streeter   6/8/21

Tuesday, June 1, 2021

A kind of respect

 

Worms may be savvy 
Their burrowing ways
Moles for reflection
Turning upward
Is it religion
Is that the right thing to say
Heaven opens
Is that a sunrise
Interpretation
Seems like such a flat word
Intellectuals use to put you down
But not under
Worms search metaphors
Find them flavorless
We are not worms
They reside in us
Take samples of us
Destroy us 
In our eden
Is worm the snake
Choose your context
Bury or cremation
For mother i chose cremation
Twice
One for her body
The other for burning pictures of her dead body
Sis took the pictures
A sort of proof of her death
Burning pictures a kind of respectful ceremony
Backyard by the old garage
A letting go
Although
She dreams inside my head

Denis Streeter.   5/25/21

Thursday, May 27, 2021

not haiku


under sunshine corridors
bees are singing
doors  are clinging
set them aside
jazz plays on
jangled rhythm
settles into groove
disappears
sharp notes listen
minor keys
cleft it out
wander gardens
sneeze
disappear
nothing but vapor
hinted tracks
heckled hens
pay the piper
a logjam or two
disappears
under sunshine corridors
bees are singing
cleft it out
a salvo or two
keeps it interesting
not exceptional
not haiku

denis streeter    5/27/21