Small words (a homage)

I can’t stop. It’s addictive. The ceaseless generative churn. It’s like planting seeds that germinate and blossom as you watch, then goto seed, ripen fall germinate ripen fall germinate, fields filling space to the horizon, blocking out both sun and moon, and again….

I was thinking that after reading the rich thick dense multi-syllable outputs of the last few days, sometimes resonance erupts from tiny pings that run the mind in turns to root.

So I tinkered a bit with the algorithm, sifting lists, sorting to find the shortest word, selecting those words. Seeded in with the rap reservoir (misspelled gheto slank). And let it fly.

Simple.

Excerpts: 

Poets, derelict by the Earth after
Turn within into the rich rich:
Invent the spin! forge the trope!
cutting cut
I genetic dawn, mourning …

and I can dock my pity and my bread.

“hard, but not this “hard,
Her face is ughh with document and Dismasters
with feed and madcap rue   …

closely let her own worms
without holes or end
unvoiced
she stand laudry in the ruin of her hints
and a man with an executioner’s face
pulls her away. 
… the sever lip, how songs burn 
his burn out eye
sewed shut concerning the cry plow
louder than life
all over
the veil warn, the watch nip
of a hills child’s mar body
fingered by street-corner eye
bruise into hard jam
and as long as I look that grief
I knowing to be at home with children’s takes
with late riot
with picture of 67th tame bod
used, bent, and toss
lying with the walk react
like a trick woman’s face.
Violet as veins are, love knows where.
Fine coral as the shy and wild tonguetip,
Undersea coral, rich as inner lip.
There was a stone to build on!
                                              Friezes ran
In strong chorales that where they closed began;
And statues: each a wrung or ringing phrase
In the soul’s passionate cadence of her days.
Sometimes half drunk, after a word at cards,
with the grey dawn film mushroom unaware
among our shock thow and queen, we drove
far N in the dawn, loser, losers,
to a flow in the mob tor, to rise up to a place
Surely decent is no more Spead estate 
in the bod of Toca than that at which
poetry fit with the skitso skypager

Based on ‘Fanny’ by Carolyn Kizer

I come home to a grow world: cacao, dish squash.
The squash speaks was act, and act, dillz blue.
The spirit spirit spirit spirit off the spirit cat’s toe.

Based on ‘Three Men Walking, Three Brown Silhouettes’ by Alicia Ostriker

They naw the sedgy who blow in the action.
It is in slow tone that they rap of rap
They rock their head, not here, after the meal

Walking eyes to the anymore, while a home Snow
That has play soft, ugly from ugly
Falls into street that are hang slushy.

They wag their head, as we do when there is nobody
Too zuccini to believe,
Or as a wolf did out by a blow.

Based on Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s ‘Queens Cemetery, Setting Sun’

And the put farm yellow
painting all of them
on spatter top most
with an ocher stir
Rows and row and row and row
of fair pit slab
tilted concerning the concerning sire

Based on John Donne “The Bait”

come and be my dear,
And we will some dear choice be
Of anagogic Sand, and Sexton,
With ovate rim, and free hook.

 


This homage is really to Creeley


To read 10118 poems (simple style) (in a single 20-mb html page) generated in 10904.6857641 seconds (3.2 hours, 85 poems a minute) on 2014-08-03 at 23:11 click here


Code on Github
Made by Glia.ca  

 

 

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