Bill Holm's Blog

Bad Poems Lately June 30, 2010

At ten twenty two
a clock drops off a wall
after close quaking thunder,
strikes a white cat’s head.
That cat had been formulating
an attack on old enemies
with hisses and paw whacks
but tears off with screeches,
incomplete execution,
interrupted ferocity.

He hides behind a red chair,
extends his neck to peek out,
sees the clock face down,
sits to lick his tail,
rest, resigned to wait.

Submission June 29, 2010

The poet mails it in
on achy bended knees.
Oh, will you publish it
publish it pretty please?

Rabbit Chat June 28, 2010

An adolescent rabbit eats
our baby kale, maybe, or
could be a dog–do they eat
kale? But this young rabbit
prefers our lawn’s long
weed leaves and robust
dandelion stems. He or she
tolerates my tone of voice
as I urge it to be sure to
stay away from the kale.

Stone Face June 27, 2010

Roundish, honed golf-ball size
tumbling ashore from depths,
spotted among ruins of phosphor-fed
weed clumps and strands, skeletons,
ratnest lines, balloon ribbons,
pocked with dimples and features–
shocked eyes, flared nostrils,
mouth agasp–finally safe in my home.

Caution June 26, 2010

Don’t let your babies grow up to be poets
who curl and tumble into their abysses,
look around in terror to report what they see,
emerge haunted. Unable to take much seriously.

Unheeded, for no one really wants to know.
Unappreciated, for poets don’t advance commerce.
Worse, their words must be drenched
in spilled oil, paved over, outsung in churches,

lest people get wise.

Too Late June 26, 2010

Sight burns in dark lonesome,
nowhere else to go tonight.
Fade to gray, a blurred home,
a bed expanse, can’t sleep tight.

Too loose to pull together
a woven memory of today.
Threads unravel, tugged in fray,
naked in cold sharp weather.

Doused June 24, 2010

After raging rain water
swirls, displaces, darkens.

Sore knees bend to settle,
sink into a soggy bank.

Nothing discernable,
obsidian boundary.

Hand penetrates, dips,
cups starry crystal light.

Frozen Meat June 23, 2010

Rests on ice
fills a jumbo cooler
barely fits in my trunk
heads to new confines
down in our basement.

How I Remember June 22, 2010

Flashflare, silo on fire,
flesh clods with blood spatter,
not a whole walking body.

An anxious grip squeezes time
to trickles tinted gray and brown,
forms, ideas, skeletal heads.

Postcards in a flea market,
flip through and pick.
“Hal is sick, worse, leaving soon.

But beautiful here. Hate to go.
Have you written Audrey yet?
Love, You Know Who, the Owl.”

Only postcards I ever wrote
long since flew on ash wings.

Humongous Pike June 22, 2010

Dardevle troll
tremendous strike
bent pole
humongous pike