The Poetry Project

Five Poems

John Godfrey

Blue Blue

Lapful of cumulus in
xxxxxFrench-blue sky
Pink baby pendules
xxxxxdo not rain
Sun conks out
xxxxx xxxxxsa-low
All guidance pre-lingo’s
xxxxxpetty shawl

Wine stain infests
xxxxxin some wise
the ramp I re-dream on
Few specks
xxxxxnot of light
Every August
xxxxxnose falls
Many ticks
xxxxxNow’n then tock

Times behind me
xxxxxlose factuality
Vigor in memory
xxxxxpleases some
Feels as if heaven
xxxxxis open today

Heavy air sticks
xxxxxto hot body
Living room tree
xxxxxpleads water
Too-tired minuet
xxxxxMosquitos kiss
Bluexxblue xxdark

Nifty Walls

Harbor so far
xxxxxNight in a jar
Lightning will be
xxxxxlightning afterall
I wear my pants as well
xxxxxas pants people do
My sarong says where
xxxxxI sleep

Wets me not, the sky
xxxxxStreetside trees
too, too dry
xxxxxI replace my bib
with a spray
xxxxxof fireballs
No shit, what a night

I been wonder
xxxxxkwaz the name
you looking for?
xxxxxIt’s Burns?
From what I still see
xxxxxrayon velour, nifty
walls in these halls

Wouldn’t butter melt
xxxxxFie on your mopeds
xxxxxFie your snot
At sea, me
xxxxxunfocused desire
Stairs make sounds
xxxxxnot my pogo stick
Inside the door
xxxxxmy teeth are gold


Trees less filthy after violent rain
Ships ride in moon rings
All of Olympus the Vedic crew and relativists
swallow soft matter
Safe house stinks of Shinola

Some noisome relic behind my eyes
Panty line of blue dips between street facades
So few children braid street door numbers anymore
Matrilineal dialects gone makes bugs in my head
Vapid mainlanders unaware walk on hand-helds

Make me merciful O Dog in pandemonium
integrity and ill health to forgive those
who do not know they are surrounded


Breath-temp gust moist lips late with runny hours
Pre-existing borders I can’t tell from
rhymes I hear in a vacuum
Roscoe comes on after dark air heats waves up
Let’s say my next step is finality and
the one after is empty staves

By autumn I don’t mean powdered bones
don’t mean uproot olives
Decline tells in a tarnished yellow on masonry
Shawls in late afternoon fruit plucked with insight
Multicolor ladders wait for frost
How many earth days equal winner take all

Horizon at your-guess-as-good-as-mine level
Leery dissent of the glut come to rest mid rotation
In all directions unhoneyed speech
Table shines under your hand that spreads like
a puppet airman on the last planet he would ever expect

Granite Bowels

I count lit windows
Less dread sparkles on lapels
Water whirls by river railing and
first-quarter moon clings
like an off-white crawling man

I cut myself off at the Sunoco
I imagine myself sun-baked lizard
When I am young and flight then
is more than survival
Now it is to defend pillow case
and boudoir of a goddess
Trace of black lip gloss
in her granite bowels

Acute feelings of my body
don’t come from my body anymore
Glass and steel without glass humors me
Die or cover my head with scaffolds
Foreboding is a comic kind of reckless

So, I want ululating grief?
Far from frontlines far from peace

Issue 14