Doug Anderson: Clouds
The clouds are in a hurry going east, iron tinged against a cobalt sky. They’ve kept their secret from me and I feel rooted like a stump and missing out. … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Poetry, Gossip, and War (from a notebook)
James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces continues to sell and make money for his agent and publisher, who’ve disowned him. Initially he tried to sell the book as fiction but … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: How Many Holy Books
How many Holy Books how many Rabbis, midrashes, priests, hierophants, elephantine in their wisdom, how many words rattled like dice and thrown, how many lecterns leaned on sweated on, how … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Driving Down Route 9 Last Night
past the VA hospital, a cool and velvety night without foreboding, when I saw him form himself from the pavement, gold center line and black paving fleshing a skeleton and … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Hourglass
Began to watch the hourglass when there were seven grains left in the neck, each one particular, crystalline, containing a world neglected up till now, what mansions and rivers are … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: I Gave my Hands the Day Off
I gave my hands the day off and they couldn’t wait to get out of the house, heard the door slam behind them. Right went to the bookstore, left to … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Household Gods
I am lying on my back inventing my pantheon, not the major Gods and Godesses, but the minor ones that do all the work, while the greater ones sit around … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: The Coming Dark
I plan poems and adventures,
grateful for this time left, that my legs still work,
will carry me out into the bright day
to once more be seduced by mystery.
Doug Anderson: Waking
You watch me in the mirror as you put on your earrings. I’m still in bed. Don’t want the world to have you yet. * Love promises so much in … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: The Peacock
The peacock fans his tail of eyes and I know I’m loved in this world, that I am seen and given good report high in the clouds. — Copyright 2015 … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Enough
A sunlit wooden table with some scars. Jar of honey casting its wavering gold ghost. Spring water and the smell of the pines. And you with your heart wide open. … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Another Monday night at the Dirty Gerund Poetry Show
Another Monday night at the Dirty Gerund Poetry Show. I’m one of maybe four people over thirty in attendance but I think Kerouac and Ginsberg and Creeley were there in … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: Anger
Anger is the last mask before the raw heart shows itself. — Copyright 2015 Doug Anderson
Doug Anderson: The Horse’s Watering Trough Spoke to Me
You, too, are full of moss, it said. You, too, are covered with ice all winter and hide your deep water. Get out the brush, brother, the horses are thirsty. … Continue reading
