Zumwalt Poems Online

Archive for the ‘1990s’ Category

In contest with a hippopotamus

In contest with a hippopotamus

me and the hippo
race
to lose weight
at such a frantic yet erratic pace

me and the fruit fly vie
to try to not age
to postpone the next stage
to delay each and every turn of every single page

Hey babe! What? I’m staying away from the eggs.
And the butter.
So don’t stay away from me.

Hey boy! Look — I am not old.
I expect to send tingles down your spine,
not receive a courteous nod like you’d give to your great-grandmother
several years after she’s been buried.

Gee.

This dog I have smells.
No bath rids the odor.
No change of diet freshens the breath.
The only remaining option is to the change the dog
for I am getting tired of changing the carpet.

me and the sunset
will meet again
at some appointed time
until then I compete against the shadow it causes the body to cast
seeking any remaining light while vanishing in the darkness

— Zumwalt (May 1991)

Reposted for dVerse challenge: http://dversepoets.com/2011/11/19/poetics-changes/

Category:

1991, I, Zumwalt

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what soul is not besieged

what soul is not besieged

what soul is not besieged by rotten eggs and soft tomatoes
by answers unreturned and questions unsent
by minutes that make up hours and hours
           that tear down the day

what mind is not put upon and
           once put upon
                           cast off into a corner
what body is not battered and
                   beaten by the blows it shields
itself from

what soul is not bombarded
         by twenty-two gauge shot and mortar fire
by unresolved cadential patterns
         that whine around the head

by invalidation of beliefs and
         of what one has seen and sensed

there is reason to suspect that one can grow
if only the rainy season didn’t last
                                                       the entire year.

—  Zumwalt (1991)

Category:

1991, Reader's Choice, W, Zumwalt

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when winning is not enough

when winning is not enough

he like a stunned animal
holds the fragrant unclothed stranger
this remnant of the victory of last night.

she is half asleep
tenderly young
sweet
and so totally a stranger.

he feels like another empty episode has escaped into the ozone layer.
There is not even anything to gnaw on.

he wonders how to wake her up
half asleep
himself.

— Zumwalt (June 1991)

Category:

1991, W, Zumwalt

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The Sassoon Collection: i. Everyone sang while I fell asleep

The Sassoon Collection

i. Everyone sang while I fell asleep

voices wailing around the house
thud of feet and slam of doors
everyone singing
only the clocks wind down

around this small room
no sense of the hour
crowded with lemonade breath
high-pitched voices like hounds in pain
as clouds hover over my eyes

fighting sleep with the fork from my dessert plate
not yet ready to go where the dreams are built
where you take reality with you so as not to be alone
dragging it by its rough cotton shirt collar

the sweet faces become sweet voices
despite the liberty with so many of the notes
the lights descend and take colors
whirling into a vortex that kicks out dimensions
like KTEL reissuing fragments from the past

falling asleep
the hounds now cooing like herons drugged by too many Hershey bars
the darkness becoming home (but without any furnishings)
everything fading into peace
except for one small lingering concern
for everything unfinished

— Zumwalt (1998)

Category:

1990s, 1998, E, S

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carried away

carried away

i now cannot say that this
is not what i cannot say

i keep quiet
carefully
counting out
the contrast
of continuous quietness.

— Zumwalt  (06/1991)

Category:

1991, C, short poems, Zumwalt

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a single word

a single word

words, words, words
static over static
drilling deeply thru the dentine
scraping invasively against skull and skin

your line of supply is inexhaustible
arguments, propositions, explanations
predications, exclamations, excuses
all unecessary barking and bow-wowing
at hidden celestial objects

I am here
don’t chase me away
unless you want me
to be chased away

I am yours
don’t bombard
your own firmly secured posessions with
ammo best saved for those territories still unconquered

give me short compact sentences
phrases and single words
ideas as consumable as quarter pounders

don’t shove a hose down my throat
filling me with mashed escargot and foie gras

words, words, words
I can’t sustain a relationship with them
pelting me from every angle at every moment that
we’re together

take your finger off the trigger
I surrender
make me a prisoner
not a confirmed casualty

words, words, words
they all sound the same
they don’t mean anything
they just demean, meander
and make me end up thinking
that when all is said
I haven’t heard
a single word.

— Zumwalt (1990)

Category:

1990, 1990s, A, Index, S, Zumwalt

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there’s no drought about it

there’s no drought about it

the fountain shouts
with an overwhelming bout of color-lit water
in a passionate fit of fashion it pours out its inner most need
neither avarice nor greed
simply the seed of a self-centered flower.

the thundercloud booms
taking up more room in an overcrowded encounter
its war-torn form pours out scorn on the earth
an attempt to briefly reassert
the importance of a morning shower.

  jack strong and muscularly weighted
  from bench press freight greatly elevated
  struts about the beach
  nakedly painted speedos now activated
            nothing left to chance
            nothing understated
            debating with himself if he’s x or r-rated

  jill scantily clad
  in the latest thonged fad
        lays and bathes in the rays she maintains that she craves
        though she’s here mainly to daze,
        haughtily take off her shades,
        and occasionally faze any stray
              make-a-play braves that come by
              to gaze and throw lines her way.

the ocean roars
as its tidal waves pour onshore to make the sea forcefully screech forth
in a rampage of rage it sweeps the front page
of the island town paper
and make those that survive
cower from it self-asserting power

  i am important!
      i am here!
                  i am!
     not, i am not!

                        i am of significance!
  i am something you don’t see everyday in the bathtub!
  when i chose to be
                        i am not not there!

the little dog
using it claws
digs making an impression
on Peterson’s ground
knowing its work should be remembered after it’s gone
wraps up the morning
by watering the lawn.

— Zumwalt (1990)

Category:

1990, 1990s, T, Zumwalt

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What am I

What am I but a commercial painter
making the same strokes over and over on black velvet nap
always charging the same prices
always settling for less

I know you, too,
paint the same pictures over and over
that’s how I can sell you mine.

— Zumwalt (1991)

Category:

1991, short poems, W, Zumwalt

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In contest with a hippopotamus

In contest with a hippopotamus

me and the hippo
race
to lose weight
at such a frantic yet erratic pace

me and the frutifly vie
to try to not age
to postpone the next stage
to delay each and every turn of every single page

Hey babe! What? I’m staying away from the eggs.
And the butter.
So don’t stay away from me.

Hey boy! Look — I am not old.
I expect to send tingles down your spine,
not receive a courteous nod like you’d give to your great grandmother
several years after she’s been buried.

Gee.

This dog I have smells.
No bath rids the odor.
No change of diet freshens the breath.
The only remaining option is to the change the dog
for I am getting tired of changing the carpet.

me and the sunset
will meet again
at some appointed time
until then I compete against the shadow it causes the body to cast
seeking any remaining light while vanishing in the darkness

— Zumwalt (May 1991)

Category:

1991, I, Zumwalt

Tagged with:

propulsive retraction

propulsive retraction

because he retreats she goes after
now convinced that he is more than worthy of her
and when he approaches she retreats
certain that she would be accepting
less
than what she can get

she is unaware of how she is
pulled
and
pushed back and forth like
moonlit
tide of some California beach
she
is only aware of some vague confusion
and exasperation

in this marketplace you look carefully at weight and shape, knowing that
it is impossible to judge
content

in this marketplace you try not to keep a total of cost or the number of
items
taken of the shelf

she momentarily searches to say something
that she can later withdraw
she has aleady forgotten that it always pulls her
hardest
and head first.

— Zumwalt (1991)

Category:

1991, Editor's Choice, P, Zumwalt

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