glorious fall morning in chicago
the sky clear and blue as a pepsi can
yellow glint on a fender
in the unruly grass the squirrels skitter and flex
nervous specks of starshine in flickering pupils
sleep still in her squint
mia pads across the wood floor quiet as a cat
hungry and soft
the phone rings
forever i stare at the digital blinks
awaiting the caller ID
the air and the bread wrapper crinkle crisp in the dead silence
before the television wakes
I've pulled in the windows and donned a second shirt
the toaster glows
mia shivers white as milk
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 31 of 31
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Oh, I didn't even know I'd missed this one. Even looking at the list, I missed it. I think you know what it's like to have work overtake just about everything. harumph.
Mia glows like the Infanta Margarita. She moves you like Margarita moved Velazquez. Trouble with poems is they're hidden in the pages of the web, or a book, sometimes. This poem moves me like paintings do - hard to say what it is that causes the movement - so why aren't there galleries for poems?
So ok, this cinches it; if you're in the book, so am I, proudly.
Yours truly,
Sell Out
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i remember this one because it's fucking great...
al -
I think you suck
because everything you write makes me feel like a hack. You could shit on the page and it would probably be the second coming of whitman or elvis or something. Dammit man, you had to have sold your soul for that pen.... Give my regards to your Mia. Mine was in a wedding this past weekend and looked like a perfectly wispy little bit of pristine fluff dancing down the aisle with butterflies and woodland creatures in tow...
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thank-you vurry much
They've been programmed by Disney to be princesses, haven't they, Frogman? Mia has a Cinderella dress, glass slippers, she loves all the Belles and snow whites and sleeping beauties, dreams of, like you say, forest creatures softly following her as she drops a trail of petals in her wake so as not to lose her way, or perhaps to ward off the dangers that always lurk in fairytale forests.
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The morning takes shape...gathering unto itself via the actions performed....that bit of magic....to strip mystery back to the familiar.
"the sky clear and blue as a pepsi can" I like this. It is a familiarity drawn from the known -- and fits so well, the Chicago setting. Mechanical drafts in urban-pop symbology.
Ghost like. One expects to be shadowed by black Edsels driven by men in fedoras.
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Good write
I read it twice and it is a morning that seems to be mine as well
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So much of this is ordinary, and you still manage to paint it as if it's a tiny miracle lol. And maybe it is. I wonder about the stanza with the caller ID in it...not sure why, but I can't seem to fit it in as well as I'd like. But the last line - "mia shivers white as milk" - made my heart stop. Seriously. Great job!
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I always like the subtle shadows you create. In this case, Mia was almost a shadow, just a hint of warmth in a poem full of images, making mundane seem to come to life.
I like the way she pads along,
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I'd like a new poem please. Something called, Peter Brady. -
"mia shivers white as milk"- that's beautiful
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Oh, I loved this..what a scene you paint so clearly for us. Pepsci can blue- loved that too!
Just fine penning.
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Ohhhhh.....
I haven't seen a Mia poem in a too-long-while...
This is one of those scenic poems which could - in less experienced hands - seem stilted and staccato: this is, she was, this happened...
Luckily, your mitts happen to be experienced. And subsequently this is one of those (reeeealllly fucking annoying) poems that make you want to scratch out everything you've written and start over.
So. I don't like you very much right now. But your poem's magnificent.
(the sky clear and blue as a Pepsi can...love it, and want to steal it.)
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I fucking hate the Partridge Family. Reuben Kincaid my arse. Reuben Kincaid sounds like some shit nu rave band anyway. I loved the watercolours. Proper watercolours not dip your brush wet and use a tiny wee bit watercolours but wet the page then wack them on like slutty make up watercolours. Dip the block in the water then paint straight with it watercolours. Drag queen watercolours are beautiful. You're a shit nu rave band Millicunt.
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You fucking love Rueben AND Danny, you tawdry trollop.
No. ON second thought, make that Keith. You celebrity-worshiper, you ad target. -
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Whatever. You have fantasies involving David Cassidy gargling 'Point Me In The Direction Of Albuquerque' with your lovespew.
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You have a photo of david cassidy sutured to your ring.
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Damn.
I thought you changed your NAME to Ruben Kincaid. He was such a dork and so totally in love with Shirley.
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Yes.
Sleep still in her squint so very very good. Make that happen first. Or do what you want. of Course. I currently avoid bill collectors mostly. And sometimes family members.
you got a milk thing. You know what I always always remember? That lurve pome you wrote where her skin was hot milk. I like that. What poem was that? Bring it back please. Nothing like a bit of Mia and then bringing it right back to Sex. Well, I'm not sure you had sex with the milk skin person but I'm pretty sure you did.
Write some more. please.
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that first bit very andy warhol, cept for blue, I always think of him as red.
fender of what?
that next verse gooder than best, throw the rest of the poem away and keep that,
yeh yeh, lousy phone i hates phones
yay! cartoons.
yeh yeh whimpy you.
yay last two lines gooder than best throw the rest of it away and keep that.
uh oh what we got left? tossed out morose wimpy dad and we get:
sleep still in her squint
mia pads across the wood floor quiet as a cat
hungry and soft
the toaster glows
mia shivers white as milk
which I likes really good. also, title sucks pond water.
clappys for Mia, nuttin for U.
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I liked the poem lots before the title became something that reminds of Thomas Kincaid. I'm having trouble getting past it now but I'm sure I will.
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I'm sure I will find a suitable title at some time.
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WATERCOLORS?
how about AD Morning in Sharpie Marker -
What is with watercolors? yucky I liked it just AD Morning. A pepsi can is not the blue of water colors?
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cobalt blue, right from the tube.
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this is excellent Ed...
al
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Change the title back you cunt
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on it
so sorry -
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quite right
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It's like painting by numbers, the picture gets more and more alive as you go through the poem. First the blue can sky, next the yellow. I like in your poems how the reader kind of gets to see a painting constructed. Mostly we just see paintings all done and dusted - sometimes the sketches that lead to the painting hanging in the gallery too, but it's not the same. In your poems sometimes it's like watching the whole process of a painting. This bit - "the squirrels skitter and flex
nervous specks of starshine in flickering pupils"
- might be the exact movement a painter makes filling in a larger, sweeping area. It sounds like the exact movement of the brush. It looks like it too. You can really write painting. I like the paranoia in this - the waiting for the caller ID - it seems so nervous, like something will happen or someone will come and interrupt the moment that's just you and Mia and the morning. I want to see BC morning in acrylics now. Mary very pregnant but she never fucked nobody. I like the snideness which seeps into your poems when you use words like glorious and donned, it makes me smile. Horray.
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oooooh. so glad you noticed the paranoia in the phone waiting. I dread that moment when i see the ID and realize i absolutely must pick it up. I am so relieved and thrilled when it is obviously a solicitor calling and I can safely ignore the ringning.
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when she is older, you'll be able to read all the Mia poems to her, and you can tell her the stories of how they came about
because, this must have been a most beautiful father and daughter moment ... for the gentle time and the queitness of mice and smiles is here...
i felt like an interloper here .... most glorious plume Ed
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