Category Archives: best thought

“Ineluctable You”, flash poem, LHNBs, Vol23

Ineluctable you

Grasp my hand

Hold on tight

Summer’s memories

Yet will return

If not in fact

For you and I

Are weightless

Iridescent

Free from notions

Bent on cruelty

Kiss my fevered lips.

 

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Filed under best thought, first thought, flash poetry, works in progress

In the Stillness, poem from Left Handed Notebooks, Vol 23

In the stillness

The snow heart

Slipped off the roof

An angel’s missive

From the dead couple

Whose home yet remained

In a limbo of lawyers

While from on high

These suffering souls

Sent down to the living

A valentine of blizzards

All is well, it said,

Love is all

Stop:

We are happy again.

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Follow us at Witts Inn Writers Retreat: Summer 2010

On foggy Monkfish Island somewhere off the Maine

Coast Near Portland (sometimes adrift it’s thought) is

Witts Inn Writers Summer Retreat (2010):

follow the fun goings on of a scribe tribe on a spooky island

 & listen to the gossip as they learn how to battle their uncertain

writing & social skills.

 

Go to: http://twitter.com/StallingsJim

Begins May 27/Memorial Day weekend & ends after Labor Day

******More to come here on blog after Labor Day

a spontaneous Twitter novel by Jim Stallings

 

 

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Filed under American popular culture, best thought, erotica, fiction, first thought, flash fiction, flash poetry, literature, literature and movies, poetry, prose poetry, troubled people, works in progress

At Witt’s Inn: Twitter novel-in-progress

So just by accident I happened to start a narrative on Twitter from the phrase overhead “at wit’s end”. But I heard it also as “at Witt’s Inn.” And so, for a while at least, I’m having some fun improvising installments or dispatches from this island writer & artist retreat on mysteriously foggy Monkfish Island. It’s exact location off the coast of the U.S. is in question as it seems to move about along the various coastlines. The important thing is that we seem to overhear the meditations and concerns of resident writers & artists in Twitter’s 140 character frames.

The experimental dispatch novel is now only a week or two old but we’re hopeful our link to the island will remain viable and that we may learn a few things about the introvertive universe of writers in residence. Below are a sampling of recent communiques into the cyberspace void. Drop in at

http://twitter.com/StallingsJim

and read the latest.

Here on the Weblog we’ll continue to post other works-in-progress & literary commentary.

JS

Samples:

 

At Witt’s Inn Island Retreat, literary writers clean communal bathrm; news fr NYC: vampire novel earns 6-fig advance. Gnashing of eye teeth.

Male residents of Witt’s Inn artist retreat think Al Gore’s breakup aftr 40 yrs of marriage is only way to reclaim unsown oats. Go Al!

At Witt’s Inn female residents argue Peace Prize went to Al Gore’s head & drained his tiny bit of Jack Daniel charm & thus estranging Tipper

At Witt’s Inn Island Retreat when the fog lifted & the sun emerged, writers knew the island was all too real w/ absurd real estate prices.

At Witt’s Inn on foggy Monkfish Island, rumors started w/ resident writers that the “island” was really a boat & they were being shanghaied.

On Monkfish Island at Witt’s Inn for Writers & Artists, guests sit in small rooms & listen to rain tapping a hideous message fr the Gulf.

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Filed under American popular culture, best thought, erotica, fiction, first thought, flash fiction, flash poetry, literature, literature and movies, poetry, prose poetry, troubled people, works in progress

Poem: “The Zombies Pounded”, fr. flash poetry notebooks, Jim Stallings

The zombies pounded

At the doors

Pressed ugly faces

To double pane windows

They stripped naked

Humping rain spouts

Splashing in the bird bath

They ate the arbor vitae

Like tossed salad

Poked sticks up their asses

And raced about the lawn

The police fired

Rubber bullets

Canisters of tear-gas

Brown outs of stun guns

And still the zombies

Cavorted about our American Dream

Our lovely suburban bungalow

Flinging themselves insanely

Against plastic siding

And air conditioners

Chewing off chunks of

Of  mid-size SUVs

Like just so much hard candy.

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Poem: “Grunts and Groans”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Grunts and groans

Sighs and moans

Stiff-legged walk—

Cold water to face

Toothbrush in a race

Don’t forget to cough

And yank the hot & cold

Beyond the window wide

The birds gather with pride

All the answer have I none

Stick a fork in me I’m done

Maybe you’re good & fleet

But I am dead under foot

There goes the wifely shuffle

The days begin with usual hustle

Don’t say there’s no pain

Like Chinese torture

Out in the rain

One more drop to the brain.

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Poem: “Snow, Sleet, Ice”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Snow, sleet, ice

Thawed, frozen again

Into sheets bubbled

With air from last week—

Dusted lightly

With snow confection

Upon which the booted foot

Flies without resistance

To moon surface heights

While the padded coat

Wheels horizontal

The hooded head

Cranes forward

In the instant flash

Between sky and ground

The concussion follows

With the shock of pain.

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