the rain came
thick in tucumcari – it
tried its wet best to
drown both my goats one
stood
atop the
other – smashed her
bony back down in the
muddy flood – the bottom
goat bobbled her frail
back gave way her head
dipped quick below
the surface -- we rescued
the two to the laundryroom –
where both promptly peed
on the floor – the
perfume of ammonia
seeped deep beneath
linoleum as they
pawed hooves all over
white walls – bit a big
hole in the flimsy tin
dryer hose.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.23.10
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
SKATING A GLACIER
when I write I
tend to skate the
surface – I tell you
a story I even make
it fancy give you
axels, double-axels,
pli̩ Рbut I fear to
scrape beneath the
glacier – it’s been
years in formation to
freeze out emotion who
knows what doth really
lurk beneath – if I poke
at such a carcass it may
unleash thick maggots or
perhaps it’s more like a
cocoon – where inside
dwells a
butterfly.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.16.10
tend to skate the
surface – I tell you
a story I even make
it fancy give you
axels, double-axels,
pli̩ Рbut I fear to
scrape beneath the
glacier – it’s been
years in formation to
freeze out emotion who
knows what doth really
lurk beneath – if I poke
at such a carcass it may
unleash thick maggots or
perhaps it’s more like a
cocoon – where inside
dwells a
butterfly.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.16.10
Sunday, December 05, 2010
ODE TO ALL THE ARTISTS
You will not –
hold me
down, mr.
man will not
shave off my eyebrows or
yank out my teeth or rip lashes
from my lids or chop limbs at my
knees you will not – you
cannot –
reduce me.
You cannot --
quash
my flame, mr.
man cannot piss
on my bonfire hurl
water on my torch snuff the
innate hot blaze that long makes
my skin scorch cannot hush that
spicy sizzle
in my soul – that
consumes me with
the need to
create.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.05.10
hold me
down, mr.
man will not
shave off my eyebrows or
yank out my teeth or rip lashes
from my lids or chop limbs at my
knees you will not – you
cannot –
reduce me.
You cannot --
quash
my flame, mr.
man cannot piss
on my bonfire hurl
water on my torch snuff the
innate hot blaze that long makes
my skin scorch cannot hush that
spicy sizzle
in my soul – that
consumes me with
the need to
create.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.05.10
Sunday, October 31, 2010
INSECT CHINESE WATER TORTURE
bugs are
smarter than
we think they know
exactly where
our eardrum is just as
we fall asleep they know
to bite the crappy
itchy spots behind our
back and knees they
know to fly through the
one single wound that
gapes in the bent-up and
dog-injured screen they know to
land so promptly at dinner atop –
a mound of pure white
cottage cheese.
-Ryn Gargulinski.10.31.10
smarter than
we think they know
exactly where
our eardrum is just as
we fall asleep they know
to bite the crappy
itchy spots behind our
back and knees they
know to fly through the
one single wound that
gapes in the bent-up and
dog-injured screen they know to
land so promptly at dinner atop –
a mound of pure white
cottage cheese.
-Ryn Gargulinski.10.31.10
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
MEETING HIS MOTHER
by Ryn Gargulinski
I wanted her
to like me because she
was his mom and he
was my boyfriend and
the first impression is the
lasting impression that can
make or mar the future make her
hate me for 12 years so I brought a
homemade trinket chitted chat about
her past said I really like your house this fine
gold carpet looks brand new and she
may have gone and
liked me just fine – if my dog had not
straddled that
gold carpet and
peed.
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.etsy.com
I wanted her
to like me because she
was his mom and he
was my boyfriend and
the first impression is the
lasting impression that can
make or mar the future make her
hate me for 12 years so I brought a
homemade trinket chitted chat about
her past said I really like your house this fine
gold carpet looks brand new and she
may have gone and
liked me just fine – if my dog had not
straddled that
gold carpet and
peed.
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.etsy.com
Monday, December 07, 2009
The Last Place You Look
by Andrew Ulanowski
I remember
When my father was alive
And the Cubs
Had players like
Ernie Banks,
Billy Williams,
Ron Santo
And the coach
Was Leo Durocher.
One year
My Dad gave me a baseball;
My favorites
Had signed it
But it was a fake.
No matter.
It was my Dad’s heart
With Little scribbles
On it.
I used to think
It lost
But I just looked
And it’s here
In my heart
Right where he left it . . .
Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Sribd.com/Raul Aqua
I remember
When my father was alive
And the Cubs
Had players like
Ernie Banks,
Billy Williams,
Ron Santo
And the coach
Was Leo Durocher.
One year
My Dad gave me a baseball;
My favorites
Had signed it
But it was a fake.
No matter.
It was my Dad’s heart
With Little scribbles
On it.
I used to think
It lost
But I just looked
And it’s here
In my heart
Right where he left it . . .
Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Sribd.com/Raul Aqua
NOSTALGIA
by Ryn Gargulinski
I sometimes pine for
strange things like a
colored candy necklace that would
quickly stain your skin or the trek we’d
take to buy them from the
cottage to the gas mart past the
quarry where the frogs rot in the days
before quarries were fenced off in the days
before sunshine could cancer you in the days
before heartbreak before loss
of friends and pets the days
where you didn’t even care (when)
a necklace stained
your skin.
Read more Rynski poetry at Scribd.com/rynski.
I sometimes pine for
strange things like a
colored candy necklace that would
quickly stain your skin or the trek we’d
take to buy them from the
cottage to the gas mart past the
quarry where the frogs rot in the days
before quarries were fenced off in the days
before sunshine could cancer you in the days
before heartbreak before loss
of friends and pets the days
where you didn’t even care (when)
a necklace stained
your skin.
Read more Rynski poetry at Scribd.com/rynski.
Monday, November 30, 2009
REBEL - a poem in five parts
by Ryn Gargulinski
i.
if all my pets
rebelled they could
easily kill me – with their
dog claws their
rat scratch their
catalog of teeth – a fat
lizard who might
suck out my
eyes.
ii.
uppers downers cocaine meth –
heroin crack and PCP – all
rebellion – against the will
to live.
iii.
james dean was a
rebel without a cause my friend
dave was a rebel without a
house – while sweet
dean seemed so sexy in his
studly leather angst my friend
dave became
bedraggled began
to smell.
iv.
I shaved thick
rebellious lines on the
side of my
head but the lines were not
parallel and I looked
like an idiot.
v.
if all my pets
rebelled they could
easily kill me – and so
could an angry batch of
kids.
See more Rynski poetry at RynRules.com or http://www.scribd.com/rynski
i.
if all my pets
rebelled they could
easily kill me – with their
dog claws their
rat scratch their
catalog of teeth – a fat
lizard who might
suck out my
eyes.
ii.
uppers downers cocaine meth –
heroin crack and PCP – all
rebellion – against the will
to live.
iii.
james dean was a
rebel without a cause my friend
dave was a rebel without a
house – while sweet
dean seemed so sexy in his
studly leather angst my friend
dave became
bedraggled began
to smell.
iv.
I shaved thick
rebellious lines on the
side of my
head but the lines were not
parallel and I looked
like an idiot.
v.
if all my pets
rebelled they could
easily kill me – and so
could an angry batch of
kids.
See more Rynski poetry at RynRules.com or http://www.scribd.com/rynski
Thursday, November 19, 2009
DOG IS GOD SPELLED BACKWARDS
the dog
chewed off his hind leg
not thinking twice not
thinking just doing it sort of
the way I moved to New York
or the way they perform abortions.
it’s easy not to think
that’s the easy part I often
meditate in traffic going the wrong way
with my eyes closed someone told me
that was dangerous
after they stopped laughing.
It’s easy to think
of gloom & doom and the way
my gerbil’s neck snapped when
I threw him against the cage
after he bit me
an accident
I hid in my brother’s room.
it’s hard
to stay solid,
to stay still, to keep hold
of the air when you are hissing
above the sunset or clunking
below the coal mines with a sickening thud
usually reserved for old men getting hit by cabs
or an old broad’s pocketbook, just don’t call her a broad,
or other things you are sorry for
that had to happen anyway.
-Ryn Gargulinski, 2001
chewed off his hind leg
not thinking twice not
thinking just doing it sort of
the way I moved to New York
or the way they perform abortions.
it’s easy not to think
that’s the easy part I often
meditate in traffic going the wrong way
with my eyes closed someone told me
that was dangerous
after they stopped laughing.
It’s easy to think
of gloom & doom and the way
my gerbil’s neck snapped when
I threw him against the cage
after he bit me
an accident
I hid in my brother’s room.
it’s hard
to stay solid,
to stay still, to keep hold
of the air when you are hissing
above the sunset or clunking
below the coal mines with a sickening thud
usually reserved for old men getting hit by cabs
or an old broad’s pocketbook, just don’t call her a broad,
or other things you are sorry for
that had to happen anyway.
-Ryn Gargulinski, 2001
Monday, November 16, 2009
THUMP
By Ryn Gargulinski
some things are
better off dead – like
anger resentment a
cockroach a king – but not
so
for the
bunny by
the
road – you’d
think with
all their
animal Instincts – from
feeding to
breeding to
hopping from a
dog – they would
know when to
cross the
dang
street.
some things are
better off dead – like
anger resentment a
cockroach a king – but not
so
for the
bunny by
the
road – you’d
think with
all their
animal Instincts – from
feeding to
breeding to
hopping from a
dog – they would
know when to
cross the
dang
street.
Do I Have Something on My Face?
By Andrew Ulanowski
I’m the funny little bunny
with a runny, little nose.
This look of mine
is no mistake.
It’s something that
I chose.
Looking close
you’ll see I’m smart
or maybe that’s just brains.
It seems my new position
comes with lots of pains.
A day ago
I ran around
on little bunny feet.
Today
I seem to only
be running down the street.
But if you’re feeling sorry
don’t be forever blue.
Just wait a little while
and this will
happen to you too.
See more Ulanowski poetry, under the nom de plume Raul Aqua - and submit your own writing to the site! - at http://www.scribd.com/Raul Aqua
I’m the funny little bunny
with a runny, little nose.
This look of mine
is no mistake.
It’s something that
I chose.
Looking close
you’ll see I’m smart
or maybe that’s just brains.
It seems my new position
comes with lots of pains.
A day ago
I ran around
on little bunny feet.
Today
I seem to only
be running down the street.
But if you’re feeling sorry
don’t be forever blue.
Just wait a little while
and this will
happen to you too.
See more Ulanowski poetry, under the nom de plume Raul Aqua - and submit your own writing to the site! - at http://www.scribd.com/Raul Aqua
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Rental Review: Dead Poets Society
By Ryn Gargulinski
Any movie that depicts poetry as a deep-seated human need should theoretically get high ranks in my book, although I was nearly bored enough to rip my eyes out.
The flick starts slow and languid, not unlike Wordsworthian verse, but then draws us into a land of molasses-like ennui, like some of that wishy washy Victorian poetry.
The main set of characters, too, are in the wishy washy vein, enough that one feels like kicking them in the shins.
Yes, the movie gets better. We get specks of passion a la Whitman, love Shakespearean style and even some hip, beat poetry tones.
The ending comes quick, abrupt and screaming with agony, the same agony one finds with Sylvia Plath.
Highlight: Ending scene, which is hokey, but brings one to tears nonetheless.
Lowlight: The cliché of blaming death, destruction and all evils of the world on the new guy with new ideas.
Rating (1-10): 6.42
Any movie that depicts poetry as a deep-seated human need should theoretically get high ranks in my book, although I was nearly bored enough to rip my eyes out.
The flick starts slow and languid, not unlike Wordsworthian verse, but then draws us into a land of molasses-like ennui, like some of that wishy washy Victorian poetry.
The main set of characters, too, are in the wishy washy vein, enough that one feels like kicking them in the shins.
Yes, the movie gets better. We get specks of passion a la Whitman, love Shakespearean style and even some hip, beat poetry tones.
The ending comes quick, abrupt and screaming with agony, the same agony one finds with Sylvia Plath.
Highlight: Ending scene, which is hokey, but brings one to tears nonetheless.
Lowlight: The cliché of blaming death, destruction and all evils of the world on the new guy with new ideas.
Rating (1-10): 6.42
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