Thursday, October 11, 2018

Seven Poems By Robert Beveridge

Robert Beveridge makes noise ( and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in The Blue Pages, Minute, and Chantwood, among others.


stones strike
a broken window

splinters of glass tip
the pavement, clink

xylophones scream


It would be easier
to get through the mud
if you retracted
your claws


wanton wamma wither
intana fop

kazaa kazaa kazaa

and steaks are grilled
over your feces

you shit the world as you whisper my name

Old Wives

Close the refrigerator before
the eggs melt. Check the map
before you insert the uranium
rods into the reactor. Fly
the friendly skies. When you
have to choose between your
favorite pet and someone else’s
nose, yellow is the way to go.
Englebert Humperdinck wants
YOUR autograph. Remember
to sous vide the egg bites
to exactly 135 degrees. Fahrenheit,
of course. Ask your doctor
about euthanasia today! Put
the sheets on your bed inside out
for a novel way to trap burglars.
Sleep, damn you, sleep. Eat
the chocolate first so you don’t
get worms. If you whistle past
the graveyard only the hot ghosts
will rise. A casserole can sure
anything. Slow and steady makes
for the beat barbecue AND orgasms.

Sixteen Days

doesn't seem like
too long a time
seconds tick
hours crawl
sleep will never
ever come

can be encapsulated
in sixteen days

I walk around
the room
pick up a pack
of cigarettes
put it down again

the number of times
this can be done
in sixteen days
is uncounted
and best left
that way

in sixteen days
I will have paid
the rent again
done two readings
gone to a conference
yelled at poets
who are often better
at this game
than I

the only times
between now
and sixteen days
from now
that will go
any faster
are in sleep
or in bed
with a beautiful lady
and neither of these
often enough

in sixteen days
I will have bet
a couple of twenties
on the Travers
likely will have watched
Free House win by daylight
and pay $2.40
to some other sucker
cashed my own ticket
when the longest shot
in the field
the exacta

there are many ways
to win many ways
to pass
which just goes
and goes


25,000 chickens
were her lovers
she, their feeder
their bestial teacher
of arcane

beaks probe
and Betty Lou gasps
in discovery

if her men
will be this good


the searing whiteness
the gateway to the infinite
the whispering pain

the final bleeding

No comments:

Post a Comment