Tuesday, January 12, 2010
DEATH IN THE GRAND CANYON
By Ryn Gargulinski
this one was frozen in a gully
this one had tumbled from the
brink – that one was found
near his water face down as
some voices told him not to drink
this one was swept in a
flash flood – this one was
blanched by the sun – that one
went far in his very fast car that
had sped to its very last run
this one was drowned in the
river – this one was crushed
by big stones -- that one don’t
know how he happened to go
all that’s left is a pile of bones
this one was posing for a
photo – this one veered way
off his course -- and that
one was shoved by a
husband out of love as it’s
cheaper than
getting a
divorce.
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
this one was frozen in a gully
this one had tumbled from the
brink – that one was found
near his water face down as
some voices told him not to drink
this one was swept in a
flash flood – this one was
blanched by the sun – that one
went far in his very fast car that
had sped to its very last run
this one was drowned in the
river – this one was crushed
by big stones -- that one don’t
know how he happened to go
all that’s left is a pile of bones
this one was posing for a
photo – this one veered way
off his course -- and that
one was shoved by a
husband out of love as it’s
cheaper than
getting a
divorce.
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
Muerte en el Gran Cañón
By Andrew Ulanowski
I’ve sometimes wondered
how long you would fall
if you were to fall
into the Grand Canyon . . .
I suppose you could use some measurement,
some formula that has you hurtling through the air
at ‘X’ miles per hour until you hit ‘terminal velocity’,
or the canyon floor.
Fitting phrase that, ‘terminal velocity’ . . .
I wonder how long it takes
for you to mess your pants up
on the way down.
I bet Wiley Coyote knows.
How humiliating it would be
to get beaten to death
by your backpack filled
with life-sustaining water
and granola bars
just before you make your mark in the world.
Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Scribd.com/Raul Aqua
Submit poems of your own at Scribd.com.
I’ve sometimes wondered
how long you would fall
if you were to fall
into the Grand Canyon . . .
I suppose you could use some measurement,
some formula that has you hurtling through the air
at ‘X’ miles per hour until you hit ‘terminal velocity’,
or the canyon floor.
Fitting phrase that, ‘terminal velocity’ . . .
I wonder how long it takes
for you to mess your pants up
on the way down.
I bet Wiley Coyote knows.
How humiliating it would be
to get beaten to death
by your backpack filled
with life-sustaining water
and granola bars
just before you make your mark in the world.
Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Scribd.com/Raul Aqua
Submit poems of your own at Scribd.com.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
THE FAVOR
alcohol kills
slowly my mom
watched it in her
neighbor who lived
well into her 50s until
body parts shut down – a
fresh teen in her yearbook wrote a
sad dark ode to hangovers was
hooked on drugs by 25 then
murdered by a john – as
sick as it was it was
quick – and maybe
he did her a
favor.
-Ryn Gargulinski.01.2010
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
slowly my mom
watched it in her
neighbor who lived
well into her 50s until
body parts shut down – a
fresh teen in her yearbook wrote a
sad dark ode to hangovers was
hooked on drugs by 25 then
murdered by a john – as
sick as it was it was
quick – and maybe
he did her a
favor.
-Ryn Gargulinski.01.2010
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
NEGATIVE NELLIE
sometimes I hear his
negative voice march
mantras through the
tunnels in my head – the
coffee’s not
strong enough the dog
leash not
long enough the
TV’s too
little the cheese
grater sucks – like
goldilocks rarely
satisfied – I’m sad as
that used to be
me.
-Ryn Gargulinski.01.2010
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
negative voice march
mantras through the
tunnels in my head – the
coffee’s not
strong enough the dog
leash not
long enough the
TV’s too
little the cheese
grater sucks – like
goldilocks rarely
satisfied – I’m sad as
that used to be
me.
-Ryn Gargulinski.01.2010
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
Saturday, December 26, 2009
ARTISTIC LICENSE
I am supposed
to be sensitive for I am
an artist – I cry at a
raindrop get mad at a
bus stop get mushy
from friendships find joy in
the absurd – the world
is my
personal attacker – and I may
one day go and cut off
my ear.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.09
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
to be sensitive for I am
an artist – I cry at a
raindrop get mad at a
bus stop get mushy
from friendships find joy in
the absurd – the world
is my
personal attacker – and I may
one day go and cut off
my ear.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.09
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.Etsy.com.
Check out her blogs at TucsonCitizen.com
Friday, December 25, 2009
GOALIE
you’d think his new
dog toy was a bloody
rabbit or a bowl full of
guts the way
sawyer defends it, his
teeth bared, a growl – the
same way I still
defend my
heart.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.2009
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.etsy.com
dog toy was a bloody
rabbit or a bowl full of
guts the way
sawyer defends it, his
teeth bared, a growl – the
same way I still
defend my
heart.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.2009
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.etsy.com
ANGRY PEOPLE
sometimes I
feel their hate – it
radiates like toxins bores
holes through my skull smells
acrid like sulfur eats tunnels
through my nose I wonder
what made their souls so
hardened – what charred their
hearts to blackened scraps
of coal.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.2009
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.etsy.com
feel their hate – it
radiates like toxins bores
holes through my skull smells
acrid like sulfur eats tunnels
through my nose I wonder
what made their souls so
hardened – what charred their
hearts to blackened scraps
of coal.
-Ryn Gargulinski.12.2009
See more Ryn writing and art at RynRules.com and Rynski.etsy.com
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
Going Down On A Horse”
by Andrew Ulanowski
So there we were
Sitting on the grass
In Griffith Park.
You were beautiful
And I was a boy
With drool on my chin.
Our horses were tied over there
While we got stoned on the grass
At the top of a hill.
I could have said
“Kathy, will you be my girl”
Or (equally dorky and trite)
“I really, really like you”
But,
As I looked down the slope
I thought of us riding,
No, galloping
Like lovers in a movie
Down that green sward
And I said instead
“Kathy, there’s nothing I like
Better than . . .
Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Scribd.com/Raul Aqua
Submit poems of your own at Scribd.com.
So there we were
Sitting on the grass
In Griffith Park.
You were beautiful
And I was a boy
With drool on my chin.
Our horses were tied over there
While we got stoned on the grass
At the top of a hill.
I could have said
“Kathy, will you be my girl”
Or (equally dorky and trite)
“I really, really like you”
But,
As I looked down the slope
I thought of us riding,
No, galloping
Like lovers in a movie
Down that green sward
And I said instead
“Kathy, there’s nothing I like
Better than . . .
Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Scribd.com/Raul Aqua
Submit poems of your own at Scribd.com.
Monday, December 07, 2009
GREEN ONIONS
by Ryn Gargulinski
When I chop
green onions I
think of you the
technique you learned in
cooking school about
peeling off the layers to get to
the good stuff nestled deep
inside – when I
said it wastes half the onion you asked
did I like such things that were
scratchy and bland – which is what
happened to our relationship we
stopped laughing stopped trusting you
pretended to have a job at some restaurant but just
hid around the corner as I took the
train to work – but some
fond stuff is still
nestled deep inside – in that
tasty plump core called
nostalgia.
When I chop
green onions I
think of you the
technique you learned in
cooking school about
peeling off the layers to get to
the good stuff nestled deep
inside – when I
said it wastes half the onion you asked
did I like such things that were
scratchy and bland – which is what
happened to our relationship we
stopped laughing stopped trusting you
pretended to have a job at some restaurant but just
hid around the corner as I took the
train to work – but some
fond stuff is still
nestled deep inside – in that
tasty plump core called
nostalgia.
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.
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