Wednesday, April 09, 2008

fire hot red melting bananas -- J.A. Spahr-Summers

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Me and the Muse

Suddenly we’re at odds.

Don’t say that.

Why not?

It's a tad vulgar
certain connotations, you know.

But that’s the point of the poem.

I know
but you’re not supposed to say that.

Sunday, March 09, 2008

The Muse

Trickster pounds on my door.

He growls at me when I appear
in the doorway,

I am called thirteen... he says

The unlucky one,
the one where I am you,
and through you I see
I am therefore I write
through you, you see.


(Previously published in The Poetry Victims)

Trickster's Theory

It’s relatively easy really...

Everything is made up of one
One of everything,
No two the same.

Everything is related.

Related to me, you see
Not him (the one you call God)
He’s to busy
To bother with the likes of you.

I, on the other hand
Have nothing but time on my hands.

I tried to teach this
To that fellow Einstein,
But he never did get it.

He was such an idiot!


(Previously published in The Poetry Victims)

The Host

Trickster hosts an open mike
Once a week in Chicago.

One night I’m there,
Excited to be out
And anxious to read a new poem.

Trickster tells me I’ll read last.

In time he says
...and next, our last poet tonight,
But first
Let me read my new piece...

And he reads my poem.

(Previously published in The Poetry Victims)

Trickster Talks Religion

The kicker is, suppose Jesus
wasn’t the son of God after all
-Sorry folks, our mistake- he was
just a young Rabbi, and upstart
full of spunk and speculation,

Trickster stretches the moment

and charismatic also comes to mind.

He says.

Now suppose he didn’t want to be
the Idol, King of the Jews and all,
or give cause for worship and prayer
and praise to the father, the son
or wars called forth in his name.

Suppose there never was this ghost,

I see it coming

just me

he says,

and an open window.

(Previously published in The Poetry Victims)

Trickster's Second Theory

I was a coyote once
And a bear.

You may even remember me
As the hare, but these forms
Among others
Were just too limited.

My creativity was stifled,
So I opted to evolve.

And I like the human form better.
Much more interesting,
More susceptible to the mind games
Which are my specialty.

After all...
Humans will fall for anything.


(Previously published in Abalone Moon and The Poetry Victims)

Trickster Calls

I’m with the phone company.
He says,
Having trouble with your phone?

No, I reply.

But you called for repairs!

No, I did not.

The wife maybe?

No! I insist,
There must be some mistake.

No, no mistake, mister.

Trickster hangs up.

I hang up the phone,
But suspicious now
I lift the receiver again
And listen,

The line is dead.

Later, it rings...
Is the wife home? he says.

(Previously published in The Poetry Victims)

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Trickster Deals in Gold

You ask me about Trickster...
Well, he shows up at my door one day
His pockets packed with lemons.

He knocks, invites himself in,
And locks the door behind him.
He tells me he deals in gold
And asks would I like to trade?

No, I thank him,
I trade at the office.

He's shocked.
He means liquid gold, he says
And shoves a rock glass full of Quervo
And lemon wedges under my nose.

I wonder at his insistence.

We drink like friends until dawn,
Until I think to retire to bed.

But Trickster won't leave.

He's wired
And would rather eat instead.
So I feed him.
He eats everything I have.

I am disgusted by his rude display
And decide to ignore him.
I feign deep sleep.

The next thing I know...
Trickster is gone
And so is my gold.

(Previously published in Strong Coffee and The Poetry Victims)