contra Formalisme
By Leland Seese
|
|
contra Formalisme
shaggy raggy rudeboy hip hop feministic slam
starchy Formaliste is up in arms
Formaliste insist on platted streets & tuckin shirt & tuckin sheets
but heat’s too heat for shirt & sheet a’tall
Formaliste knock wrong way talk wrong color
lovers with wrong other Formaliste give mouth-closed
kiss-o, mwah!
Formaliste too tight to be cool head
Truth — sez Formaliste police — perpetual pentameter
never swivel rhythm equatorial & never poor no queer no brown-o
never from the rez
Formaliste must nullify free verse-o soon as
it come strummin outta angel-headed hipster angel head
knock ‘em out & ‘speare ‘em manacle exclude
deter then civilize
by step on everybody else’s neck
Rodion Raskolnikov on How to Survive a Pandemic
after Crime and Punishment
by Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский
I have a hatchet.
A hatchet can be used
to split
wood and populations
infinitives and skulls and ideas.
Some of us deserve to live
through this pandemic.
But what’s the sin
in excising from among us,
say, old lady pawnbrokers?
Or, just old ladies? Or
just the elderly and feeble?
Maybe I should peddle this
in Texas. Or maybe I should
lay my axe aside
and kiss the earth in penitence.
Opiate Convalescence
Morning fadey, filly, fally, folds of black and gray.
Scattered papers must be stamped for passage. Flaccid hands
are dampened chamois ribbons in a car wash, slap, slap,
slap at documents.
Awake, he finds he’s in the time-zone of his birth.
Fog-soft morning weighted underneath a quilt
of culpability.
Getting home a desperate press, slog through slough
and muck and milfoil, eyes fixed
on the light, a shifting pinprick, tiny star,
wander, waver, weave in distant galaxy.
Ignorant of energy expended until the journey’s past.
Waking ready for familiar. Finding
there’s no going back.
He sees a bridge remembered from the inbound trip.
Rumors it was ruined in the interstice.
But there it is, his heart a sunrise, bright eyes,
thrown down unexpected gullies.
Hopeward, then, to brim to find the bridge has vanished.
Scabrous plain all accusation. Fingers flutter
as the agent coughs derision at his heritage.
Painfully-raised head from stony pillow
as if Jacob, out of joint forever, remade as disabled.
Longing longingly, long
journey home.
Foster Parent Haiku
This poem cut short.
A call from CPS. Please
take this child tonight
shaggy raggy rudeboy hip hop feministic slam
starchy Formaliste is up in arms
Formaliste insist on platted streets & tuckin shirt & tuckin sheets
but heat’s too heat for shirt & sheet a’tall
Formaliste knock wrong way talk wrong color
lovers with wrong other Formaliste give mouth-closed
kiss-o, mwah!
Formaliste too tight to be cool head
Truth — sez Formaliste police — perpetual pentameter
never swivel rhythm equatorial & never poor no queer no brown-o
never from the rez
Formaliste must nullify free verse-o soon as
it come strummin outta angel-headed hipster angel head
knock ‘em out & ‘speare ‘em manacle exclude
deter then civilize
by step on everybody else’s neck
Rodion Raskolnikov on How to Survive a Pandemic
after Crime and Punishment
by Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский
I have a hatchet.
A hatchet can be used
to split
wood and populations
infinitives and skulls and ideas.
Some of us deserve to live
through this pandemic.
But what’s the sin
in excising from among us,
say, old lady pawnbrokers?
Or, just old ladies? Or
just the elderly and feeble?
Maybe I should peddle this
in Texas. Or maybe I should
lay my axe aside
and kiss the earth in penitence.
Opiate Convalescence
Morning fadey, filly, fally, folds of black and gray.
Scattered papers must be stamped for passage. Flaccid hands
are dampened chamois ribbons in a car wash, slap, slap,
slap at documents.
Awake, he finds he’s in the time-zone of his birth.
Fog-soft morning weighted underneath a quilt
of culpability.
Getting home a desperate press, slog through slough
and muck and milfoil, eyes fixed
on the light, a shifting pinprick, tiny star,
wander, waver, weave in distant galaxy.
Ignorant of energy expended until the journey’s past.
Waking ready for familiar. Finding
there’s no going back.
He sees a bridge remembered from the inbound trip.
Rumors it was ruined in the interstice.
But there it is, his heart a sunrise, bright eyes,
thrown down unexpected gullies.
Hopeward, then, to brim to find the bridge has vanished.
Scabrous plain all accusation. Fingers flutter
as the agent coughs derision at his heritage.
Painfully-raised head from stony pillow
as if Jacob, out of joint forever, remade as disabled.
Longing longingly, long
journey home.
Foster Parent Haiku
This poem cut short.
A call from CPS. Please
take this child tonight
Leland Seese's poems appear in Juked, Rust + Moth, Typishly, and many other journals. His debut chapbook, "Wherever This All Ends", was released in 2020 (Kelsay Books). He lives in Seattle with his wife and six foster-adopted and bio children.