Hand Jobs, a poem by Ron Kolm

Posted on by Ron Kolm Posted in Audio, Daily, Poetry, Ron Kolm, Writing | Leave a comment

Hand Jobs

It’s my first day on the job —
A factory making steel drums.
“You’ll be rubbing acid on new
Welds to seal them,” the foreman
Tells me. “Here’s some rubber
Gloves,” he says, throwing me a pair.
“You don’t want to get that shit
On your skin.” I put them on
And feel air on my hands.
The tips of the gloves are
Worn away, and I wiggle
My fingers for his benefit.
“Sorry, dude, it’s all we got,”
He says, as I give them back
And head out to the parking lot
Get into my truck and smash
The dashboard with my fist.
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The European Bee-eater’s Nest: A few directions for construction by Catherine Owen

Posted on by catherineowen Posted in Poetry, Writing | 1 Comment

Butterfly on the Pavement© 2012 Devin McCawley 


The European Bee-eater’s Nest: A few directions for construction


Make a mouth with your mouth.
This is not as easy as it sounds.
Then. Eat up the darkness.
Well don’t exactly eat it.
Just. Move it out.
Shift its locale.
There is a lot of darkness.
You’ll be surprised.
Nothing is really
That simple.
Keep moving inward.
Your mouth may be
Tired by now.
But look!
A whole throat.
And here is where you place
What you came to do.
It will be safe here.
As safe as anything
Can be
That has shoved aside
The dark.
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Nobody shoots anybody by Philip Quinn

Posted on by urbangraffito Posted in Poetry, Writing | Leave a comment

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Grinderman by Jose Padua

Posted on by josepadua Posted in Daily, Jose Padua, Photography, Poetry, Writing | Leave a comment


Taking my wife to her pre-natal appointment this morning

I wonder what it would be like if I weren’t me

but were Nick Cave instead.

“How are you today?” the doctor will ask my wife.

“Good,” my wife will say.

“And how are you?” the doctor will ask me

and I’ll say, “Doctor there’s death out on the plains,

and in the cities are men and women walking who are thinner than shadows,

their souls are lost like flies.” Read more

Mary — a poem by Eddie Woods

Posted on by urbangraffito Posted in Photography, Poetry, Writing | Leave a comment


a poem by

Eddie Woods

Eddie Woods writes poetry the way he lives life, intensely. Experience informs his art, and vice versa. Passion, raw edges, nothing left out. Sex, love, politics…coupled with an unrelenting drive towards awareness, the need to understand what universal reality is all about. The Irish poet Ewart Milne said of the poem “Mary,” following its publication in Peter Mortimer‘s Iron magazine [Issue 43, Tyne & Wear, England]: “It’s very powerful, strong and fearless, and it troubles the hell out of me!…It reminds me somehow of the brothel scene in Ulysses.” “My words are like bullets…Plus I have enough ammunition to wipe out as much opposition as will ever come up against me. And every bullet will hit the mark, because I am a good shot.” From the telephone prose-poem “Bloody Mary.” If, indeed, Eddie Woods’ words are bullets, then his poem “Mary” enters the listener’s ears like a wordbomb, exploding inside the mind, and reverberates down the spine like electroshocks from the brain’s pleasure centre.
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