Discourses In Poetics: A Reductionist Poem By Thomas L. Vaultonburg

Discourses In Poetics

How does one become
A poet the Master asked.


By ignoring the stream's babbling
And the willow's mumbles?
The Acolyte replied


No!
Answered the Master (a stream)
By paying no attention to 
The wind's folly 


But the newly minted poet
Was already chasing the moon 
Across a drunken horizon






Shall the poet speak
Of suffering
Asked the Acolyte


To the Master at
His opium pipe






How do I capture
The poem asked
The Acolyte


Like packing the bag
of an unwelcome guest
The Master rejoined


But I'm not going anywhere
Said the Acolyte


The Master frowned






What is the purpose of the Poet
Asked the Acolyte


Silence.
I am attempting to access
Your bank account
Said the Master.

Seven New Poems By Thomas L. Vaultonburg

A Poem I Also Title "The Donner Party"

After an Evening of Reading Richard

Brautigan's Poetry

"What's for dinner?"

"You."

"No, I meant what's

For breakfast."

Avocation

since you never

had time

to behold

this particular

downspout

I went ahead

and did it

for you.

Be Careful

Closing the door

Behind you

The words

You longed for

All night

Ricocheted off the wall

And fell

In a dusty corner

Where thay can

Do no harm.

Day 12,562

The Cleveland Indians

Played well into the night

Against the Texas Rangers.

My game was cancelled.

Escalator

The old regard the

Escalator's efforts

With disdain.

No one meets them

At the top.

I'm Not

writing the poem

titled

"personae vitae"

no one

wanted it.

Jack

He wants to fly

To Jupiter

He starts by crashing

To Earth

Now he's

Got it.

What The Man In Front Of Me Might Have Said Had He Been a Poet

What The Man In Front Of Me Might Have Said Had He Been a Poet

Two Painted Deserts

Of strolling chaparral

And an ocean of calm

Satisfying contemplation.

...But this is NOT

What he said.

-Thomas L. Vaultonburg

Available Now!!

New Poem By Thomas L. Vaultonburg

Come For Me

(for Jesus Correa)

Come for me

In darkness

Like all cowards

Come for me

When I am starved

And deprived of

Comfort

Come for me when

I am crazed

For want

Of a woman's lips

Come for me

When my days

Have outlasted

The portion in my

Beggar's bowl

Come for me

When I have

Watched the mongrel

Suffer in the ditch

Come for me on

Lorcas's birthday

And Akhmatova's

Wedding night

Or Bastille Day

Come for me

In my darkness

And I will show

You how

I write poetry.

New Poem From Thomas L. Vaultonburg

Recently I was declared insane by the state. Why did it take them so long to figure this out? Being nuts has it's perks. If people see you shuffling down the streets mumbling to yourself they just say "He's nuts." If you're a poet being legally nuts is actually a job requirement. Here's a poem I wrote to celebrate being declared non compos mentis. Please visit my website Zombie Logic Press

I Am Insane

I am insane

Because I will not

Chase your dollar

Through fields of

Wild Foxglove

I am insane

Because I bay at the

Bloodmoon

And will not bray

At beer commercials

And do not obey

Your traffic signals

I am insane

Because on my switchboard

All calls to Allah, Yahweh,

Jehovah, Zoroaster and

Santa Clause are all

Answered by the same operator

I am insane

Because I held up

The Bank of America

With a holdup note

Composed of haikus

And demanded only

The teller deposit

My .12 residual check

I earned for appearing

On The Banana Splits

As a child.

I am insane

Because to me

The difference between

A story and a true story

Is less important than

The difference between

Schlitz and Blatz

I am insane

Because I interfere

With the re-uptake

Of your serotonin

Re-uptake inhibitors

I am insane

Because in the elevator

Of my psyche

There are buttons labeled

Pluto, Cucamonga,

Kokomo, Sheboygan, Padukah

Algonquin Round Table,

Deep Night and Help

(Don't press that one).

Love Is Meat

David Pedersen is one of the very talented artists I've been fortunate enough to meet since I've moved to downtown Rockford. And after thirteen years he's the first poet to actually appear in Zombie Logic Review.

Love is Meat

My mother was the scale girl.
My father cut the livers out.
When their eyes met for the first,
Their love escaped as heat,
Through the ventilation,
And continued out of the stacks.
Out into the world,
To be breathed in,
Along with the smell of bacon.
The citizens of this fine village,
Became entranced,
But only for a second.
The smell of smoked pig,
Was more familiar,
Than the sensation of love.