The Hammock Series (A day on an Island in the middle of a Yard)

In A Moment
I walked out to a sky that knew nothing of
clouds, and a sun with a vengeance,
the greenest of grass, and I
laid in the hammock to think of all the details
important enough to include in a poem, like
the nature of how much clothing I’d worn,
the morning hangover on the floor of the tub, and
the rain on my head, the night from before or
how the sun was so hot its like
it had some sort of vengeance.

I sat in that hammock till then became
now
there became
here as I
write to you know while I
pick out the details of what i’ll include in
the poem
I am writing you then and now.

Fruity Shit

I dont like the fruity poetry that
reinforces the fruity stereotype that
poetry is for the high sock school boys

Oh captain, my captain
they’re sinking the ship and
were all doomed to drown in the fruits of their labor.

Its all too seedy I suppose with a smirk

Its better to find Bukowski’s masterpieces
on the floor of some sunken apartment
still soaking from the spilt wine and
slightly scarred from surviving cigarettes.

yes, Its better to put a bullet through Rimbaud
and remember the french poet as a creature of
torment.

Write me the days of a dog in its yard
the way a fence thinks or the song of a log

You can write about work, about love, and/or drugs
but keep that fruity shit at the back of the books.

Drum

They came as an army to
the beat of one drum
and the monk meditated
to the beat of one drum
and the bloodshed was brutal
to the beat of one drum, I
hallucinate visions to
the beat of a drum.

I realized that

Sometimes I already have the poem
written before I put it down.
In my head I know each stanza,
every sound before I let it out, but

I’ll always take the time to think cause
I dont like writing about stupid shit
and I wish i did this more when i’m
out in public having
conversation.

Poetry Comedy Tour

When I was younger I was ashamed at
just how hairy I was with a
chest like a beard and a jungle of growth but
as I’ve aged I can joke about my
forested flesh. All this hair? well,

I guess you could say
Its grown on me.

Untitled

Writing poetry isn’t all that
hard really.
Whats hard is making what you say
sound important.

Honesty makes for some pretty decent
poetry.

In conclusion

I figured out the details
important enough to include in this poem.

Its too damn hot to be sitting outside in a hammock all day.
Even the guitar is sweating.
I’m done.

That’s it.

The Hammock Series (A day on an Island in the middle of a Yard)

Tom Krantz

Brooklyn, United States

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  • BlueVoodooDoll
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