poet-at-large

smell your wild smell

I'm drunk

your head shrunk

to the size of this head

as it opens its pods

petals white

thick and sweet

I am a bee

want to take your scent

with me

stand on tiptoe

middle of traffic, alone

your hair like the peach-

fuzzed pods

opening leave-heads

opening to the beauty

of that spring

we found out

on tiptoe

in the middle of traffic

someone planted you

I knew you would visit

way out here

where I find my ground

in new waters

way out here

on tiptoe

in the middle of traffic

        the corner

where someone planted you

before I knew

you'd be gone

text & image (c) 2008 patti sinclair

r e d  n e t t l e  p r e s s 

Presents our Inaugural Spring Harvest...
An outstanding crop of poets will display their wares:
Jenna Butler, Jeff Carpenter, Michael Gravel, Layne L’Heureux, rob mclennan & Trisia Eddy, Julie Robinson, Patti Sinclair
Bring your Shillings for the books! Bring your Farthings for the bar!
Readings, Refreshments, and Revelry will be provided...
RED NETTLE PRESS
THURSDAY
MAY 29, 2008 THE ARTERY DOORS 7:00 PM
READINGS 7:30 PM
9535
JASPER AVE

red mett;e.jpg

Most poetry, since the turn of the 20th century, has been written under the mantra “Art for Art’s sake.” Although commendable, this mind-set has lead the world of poetry and art to a stagnant, and now unremarkable, pool of irony.

I offer a response in the form of a letter.

Dear postmodern and contemporary artists of the world:

To cut to the chase: You’re trying too hard.

Most of you seem to be dead set on becoming the next “mad genius.”

And it’s obvious.

And it’s tiring.

And, quite frankly, it’s now cliché.

When art becomes enamored with itself, it can become a form of masturbation.

And, at this point and time, most art and poetry accepted by the establishment is just playing with itself.

After nearly fifty years of little more than a series of tired translations, it’s high time for a group of integral artists to transcend and include the trendiness of self-deconstruction and call for (dare I say demand) the necessities of a global transformation.

May I be so bold as to offer a couple new mantras for the 21st century?

Here’s the first: Art for Spirit’s Sake.

for the Paul Lonely's Full Article see:

http://www.realitysandwich.com/kosmic_karma_integral_poet

used with permission 

have come to,

becoming

        underworld

bringing back

the waters

        becoming

the waters

of life

(c) 2008 patti sinclair

above
I see me, in blue and silver
pulled, by an algae-colored
noodle, in his wake
of large yellow fins
    I trail behind

water warm

dunk my eyes, salted,
come up for air
he is there
        shiny

It is never too late to be

what you were meant to be.

          T. S. Eliot

tentacles of the last poem
reach far into the night,
words like loose bones
scale the eyelids
eyes pulled, propped,
    suctioned
question their height
if the shoe fits

   worthiness

if this last poem,
is the last poem

(c) 2008 patti sinclair 

will you come alive, forest

will you come alive after so much death?

create beauty here

build an altar

plant some flowers

clear the floor

breeze fresh enough,

just warm enough. just

in time

before wind hits bone

will the buds come out?

will the remains

of this small wood, sheltered

enough for snow at your feet

help to relocate it?

red-headed woodpecker

hammers

your task

at the edge of this forest,

will you go in

allow yourself,

clear a hole in death, curl up?

come out the other side?

will the tree fall?

hear it?

(c) patti sinclair 2008