Static Poems

Static

Laziness is nothing more than the habit
of resting before you get tired.
—Jules Renard

Cleaning dishes, washing clothes, and other chores.
It’s so clear in my mind, I’m leaning towards poetry.
—by poet

Static

I’m exhausted. Doing nothing.
And     I’m     crushing
it.         See me yawn -
it’s only

On a Jukebox That Remembers Me

I met ANGIE in a bar where grief drank quiet,
where HONKY TONK WOMEN spilled perfume and regret.
She moved like WILD HORSES with nowhere left to run—
said, “I’m safer UNDER MY THUMB than out in the open.”

She kissed like a dare and left like smoke.
On RUBY TUESDAY, she vanished into rain,
murmuring, “YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT

Decrepit Static

                                    solutions unfound
                 

After the Static

She smelled like ozone
and old commercials—
the kind with jingles
you didn’t know you remembered
until your mouth sang along.
Plop, plop, fizz, fizz,
oh what a weird thing she is.

She stepped from the screen
once the static gave out,
a figure shaped
from tone bars and
missing episodes
and sort of resembled
Barbara Stanwyck.

Maybe she used to be
a transmission and
maybe she still is.
When she moved,
I

Tv Static

What goes on in your mind, 
When you sit absent in front of the tv—
Staring at it.
Waiting for it to turn on—
Do you wonder how it works?
What remote is needed?
Or are you so far gone,
You don’t notice that nothing is playing.
The sounds are already playing in your memories,
As they fade away and—
Fall into obscurity,
You sound

The Tunnel

Little does my mind rest
Wailing and scraping at the walls of my brain
The feeling of being lost forefront 
Guiding lights leading me astray
To find the end an impossible outcome
Yet lying down to die not even a choice

Trying to break the patterns I’ve set
Failing to change who I am
Maybe I don’t need to change
Just find a

Through Static

1.
My head is a transom 
Light pours in but cannot escape
There is no window into me worth peering

2.
I hold dear to things
A grip so viced it defies metaphor 
And my clutch does not know the difference 
Between love and rage and I don't
Bother to correct it

3.
I am no one
I am nothing and yet far too

Reel'ing'

Into the edge of adrift
time shrinks as the glowing
spectrum pans and shifts
i want to feel friendly with
the screen again
i want to feel the fuzzy static
embrace me
like arms made of out dozens
of freshly hatched chickadees
warm around my chest
like jet addled water 
outside the leaves flutter
like channels in the airways
its getting dark earlier in the day
i want

It Won't Be Me Anymore

I was caught 
in a rumbling ricochet
I was stuck
In a stranger’s war
I was dust
In an old gold pocketwatch
But that won’t be me anymore

And I was tack
To an old, worn sailor
Watch me tumbling 
Far overboard
I could never be one 
to be favored
But that won’t be me anymore

How can you look at her like that?
The way she

Erratic Static in Attic Horn Haiku

Erratic Static in Attic Horn Haiku

being erratic
seemed to be so much static
which was in the attic

The World Is Made of Static

My bones are made of static
As are my nerves
The sky is made of static
As are the birds
The sky is made of static
The stars are static too
The world is made of static
And then there is you

Music Or Static

Just the same song, over and over.

So that the music is just sounds, and people who are part of those sounds,

And soon, I am part of the cycle of sounds.

When the song would stop,

I would hear all the static again.

Static in my ears that will get too strong if it continues…

And static can continue forever,

Static Electricity

When we were little
My identical twin and I had a contest
Trying to see how many times we could make sparks
As we brushed our hair in the dark.
It stood up straight 
A bonus!

For Gabriella My Grand Daughter

She’s not yet a teen but bigger than a bean
and sweeter than Skittles can be.
She dances around like a princess unbound
and means the world to me. 

She’s a little erratic and sometimes gives static 
to her mother and father, I know,
but when in my sight, an effervescent delight 
and pure as a soft winter snow.

Static

Floating on top of a rushing rapids
Not falling in, been taking antacids
Brain full of fog with my eyes underground
Surfing on static while laying around

A TV screen hisses with black and white streaks
Most int'resting thing that I've seen in weeks
Can't even put headphones into my ears
Sound has gummed up all the cogs and the gears

Ceiling fan

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