that bluebird heart

that bluebird heart
– a random number translation of a section of Bluebird by Charles Bukowski

sad that so my I I out
don’t only I’m get
in sad him heart say him that I’m I
so at out
night I’m too
say don’t there
know say at out
that bluebird heart
say

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

2 fib poems

a couple of fibonacci poems on account of because I’m bored.

her wish

some
small
chance to
disappear
a quiet place where
she wouldn’t have to care at all

————————————-

leap

four
frogs
made a
bet to see
how hard it would be
to leap and be free from the bog

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

thanks again

this is my poetic Thanksgiving offering. I translated the first stanza of Merwin’s poem Thanks by assigning each word a number. I used a random number generating program to create a list of numbers. I then wrote down the words corresponding to the generated numbers, keeping the same word count per line as the original. (the lines won’t break properly here but I hope you get the idea)

thanks again
– a random number translation of the first stanza of Thanks by W.S. Merwin

bow the our windows listen of water food
night thankyou saying listen falling full saying the the saying
it listen looking are in we bridges of
it mouths thankyou out the the we the say by thankyou
in to stopping we
the on to directions the windows night are
listen in to mouths we the
listen we saying

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

random

Simon tried to
buy off the ghost and
not a thing was sold
Komodo Dragons
make terrible hosts
according to what I’ve been told
there’s a base on the moon
no one talks about
digging for lunar gold
King Arthur battled on
despite his gout
and a miserable cold
you’re expected to
carry the heaviest end
so go ahead, grab hold
Boba Fet doesn’t have
any childhood friends
that call him now that he’s old
I’d like to ring Sasquatch
on the telephone, except
I’m not that bold
I tend to question
Whitman when I’m stoned
I end up just getting rolled
these things come to mind
when I find myself alone
please print them above the fold
I’ll see you on the other
side unless I’m postponed
until then
stay out of
the cold

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

a step to the right

I thought I
would have had this
dance down by now

the steps looked so easy

I mean, the way the red shoes were
imprinted on my consciousness,
accompanied by arrows and numbers and big blue L’s & R’s

of course, the diagram only
covers the doings of the feet,
nothing was ever
mentioned of the body

so mine continues, more or less,
to flail awkwardly about
knocking over fragile bric-a-brac
invading personal spaces

in general,
making a comical mess
of things

now, for the record,
a lot of this carnage is due to
stress caused by the constant watching of feet –
and not just my own

so, if I seem disengaged
during conversation
it’s only because I’m
trying to predict where your toes
are going to be a second from now

knowing that if I adhere
to the directions of the arrows
there may very well
be hell to pay

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

the paste of my childhood came in the mail

how many were
rendered for gluing
the flaps down on this box?

too many

would be the count
if you were the bull
in charge of the counting

it can’t be

all that many
I could ask the one
who’s pictured on the box

he should know

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

us as…

web
is as much
spider as
spider is
web

frightening as
this may seem

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

after festival, the council convenes

minuscule hope
of shortened recovery time,
morning comes
on like
three barrels of twisted
and a pin-striped dog

deemed an aftermath
as the argument for razing
1point2five square
miles of writhing
shamanism, is
raised again by office rats
cowering in emerald enclaves

let them fear
the throng
that thrives –
rhythmically indifferent
to the cries of the tower

spastically glorious,
riffing on life,
played as it should

unbuttoned sequence of
cosmological truths
transcribed by no one
performed in freedom

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

what is done with reminders of the day

made in crystal
may have been a fugue
if the day had held one

as it’s own

second movement
sweeping past the first
in regards of the past

pastoral

enough of this
as well as crimson
setting on horizon

all redux

removed again
swept into a box
lined with gold and sorrow

nest the lid

shelved until morn
a womb of regret
with room for tomorrow

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

in their world one is only to listen

take time, the it
of it turn an ear
to nature you have lost

once over

lupine fields held
walkers without scythe
the axe left head down by

logwood home

hear the hawk tell
as well as wolf will
anything to be told

do not speak

nothing said here
where solitude stands
holding out will to them

mean a thing

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead