Wednesday, July 13, 2016

John Sweet Poetry

John Sweet sends greeting from the rural wastelands of upstate New York.  He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the need to continuously search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest collections are A NATION OF ASSHOLES W/ GUNS (2015 Scars Publications) and APPROXIMATE WILDERNESS (2016 Flutter Press).


feels like a dream of
dying, like i’ve lost my name
in the sunlight

the water is glass, the glass
is chrome, and all sounds reach
us from great distances

the canyon leads to the ocean

the house has no walls

has no ceilings, no roof, and
when you open your mouth
i can no longer hear what
you’re saying

when you drive away, i
can no longer taste your smile
in the back of my throat

the great flood

man on fire in the
back yard,
sunlight and birdsong

children in tears but
this is to be expected

send them to bed
without supper

drive down to the
store for more beer and
another pack of

come home to find
every room empty

but no, this is not a poem about katherine linn

before i became who i am now and
before we became hopeless,
this is what i want

summer or even fall but
not winter, not ever

no phone calls bringing me the
news of my father‘s death

no pale blue rooms
because there has never been any
beauty in regret


ice forms here
even on the sunniest days

animals chew off their legs to
escape the traps we’ve laid and then
bleed to death on the sides of
anonymous hills and can you
laugh at the irony?

will you allow your children to be
sent off to wars that can
never be won?

will you vote just because you’ve
been told that it’s the
only way to create change?

jesus christ
open your fucking eyes

a letter from dismas

cold blue skies and dead
                        trees and
        all the wasted days

a god who makes no sound
which is just another way of saying
a god that never existed

gotta turn towards the obvious
at some point
and learn to embrace it

gotta stand on
your own skinny legs

your parents fuck you up
but you move on

the drugs leave you empty and
the sunlight burns your eyes
and what if one minus one
ends up being less than nothing?

the truth is that truth is neither
a friend nor an enemy

the world of skin and glass is
a gift
just waiting to be stolen

my hands always claimed to
know this before my heart

the last great day

couldn’t stop
laughing at the
animals left there
dying in pools of
blood couldn’t
stop breathing
couldn’t run or
sing just stood
there in the late
afternoon sunlight
holding you and
kissing you and
and laughing and
all around us
the sound of

No comments:

Post a Comment