another found poem

signs in a yard in december

keep out
private drive
no trespassing
i have a gun and will use it

Merry Christmas

Found poetry project/ the Guardian

http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/aug/09/poster-poems-found-poetry-cutup-collage

Wife 350

What are numbers? Just numbers.

Hamilton was a poet

And Simone re-imagined poets as poems.

There were many types:

Formal poems, odd poems, happy poems.

Run loose poems,

Seriously rich poems.

She saw his work as a fancy game:

Scrambling words into breaks,

making prose more like music,

considering his own idea a breakthrough

but really just making Scottish of a Latin text.

Still Simone understood the basic rules.

Poetry was supposed to remake the ordinary.

His poems were just strange.

For his part,

Hamilton found her kind in the start,

entertaining 

but literally third best at scrambled eggs.

They never discussed the controversial recipe,

unearthed from a book of original slave documents.

It involved taking a collage of ingredients from the fridge,

mixing in concrete,

adding tasty bits only with the lefthand

and pouring over cereal.

He wolfed it down

then had to call the doctor.

And she cut up his newspaper.

In the fourth month.

after a bad night of writing,

he saw a boat,

went fishing, 

left a note (often written for a break-up)

What are numbers?

Perhaps he might do better

with wife 350

One 

Need to post this before it slips away.

Making War

Gremlins play hockey here at night
on knife blade skates sharp and bright
Pucks crisscross the cold tile floor,
crash against the closet door

Charging on from room to room,
they fire off lightning shots of doom,
gambol closer to the goal 
and spit out laughter coarse and bold

Beware- 

a hoarse and threatening voice
demands (as if I had a choice)

Beware yourself-

I answer back
(with courage that they know I lack)

I’ve bubbles here, robust and thick
enough to break a hockey stick
I puff them out with my short breath
These quivering rainbow balls of death

I hear a snort, a chortling yelp 
then realize that it’s myself
Sitting upright in the bed,
a warrior’s scarf around my head 

They still play hockey in the dark
Still cavort and shout and bark
I chase them back with bubbles fat
Sometimes I wield a nerf foam bat

The score gapes wider than before
But I’ll not be frightened anymore