Poetry Pie

Pushing the words around my plate
with a fork.

They used to fit together somehow
I’m sure of it.


The beastie man
Into his baby face
And snatches
The boy
From the lawn
In a bear hug,
Barely able
to lift him
any more –

Magnetic Poetry

Didn’t everyone used to have those magnetic poetry kits, random words printed on little magnetic tiles? I recently found these verses magnetized in a dark corner of the house. I don’t know how long they’d been lurking there, or who arranged them. I make no claim to profundity.

“essential dream of music
lying bare
and only here
may the goddess
recall her shadow.”

“blow the most music
under a shadow sky
leave blaming & still scream
never say you asked
who was next
or gorgeous like a chain
fall through smooth apparatus
above a mad sausage puppy
not using those crushing beauty
show some produce.”

Poetry Pies

One Word

One word at a time.
One step at a time.
One day at a time.
One thing at a time.

I am reduced to a life of ones.

How soon
One letter
No steps
One hour, one minute.

This one life
And I search for  meaning
One breath
At a time.


I used to write poetry, back when I had aspirations to be Alan Ginsberg. There was someone else doing a very good job at being Alan Ginsberg at the time, so I had do my poetic dabbling under my own name (occasionally as Harry Stevens, or Harvin Stephis). Like much of my other writing, I discover these things, and read them, and I’m not sure I understand them. But then, maybe that’s not the point.