Poetry, Plays, Prose and Song by Ana Daksina
(Don’t even listen to those nut cases ~ just go on thinking the same way y’always have, a-kay?)
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Recorded Reading: https://www.dropbox.com/s/fom9qt72jncydr9/conspiracy%20theorists.mp3?dl=0
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Conspiracy Theorists and Loonies: Two Hundred Years Ago
You will fly
Across the oceans
Automobiles will go one hundred
Miles an hour
You will murmur in China
And be heard in Japan
(“Tweet!” Thump. “Caw!” “Honk, honk!” Bwaaaaaaaaaa… Bwaaaaaaaa… Bwaaaaaaaaa…)
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Listening Device in the Van
When driven to weep
Even quietly
Your tormenters come right away
To make fun
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Among us, poets are ill paid. In order to continue her work, this one currently lives in her minivan, on an income of a fraction of our nation’s poverty level. If her work has moved, enabled or uplifted you, your contribution to this effort may be made at: https://www.gofundme.com/kx4xka-are-you-a-patron-of-the-arts
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(Thanks and a tip of the hat to WP’s Aparna12)
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When you have a moment, read the letters home written by common backwoods privates during the Civil War.
Continue reading “The Dumbing Down of America”(It’s always been true that you can’t please them all ~ but, any more, you can’t even please the ones you please)
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Recorded Reading: https://www.dropbox.com/s/d6h5rgd1o4vu08x/what%20more.mp3?dl=0
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What More?
How is it that a woman shaves her head,
Forgets to apply skin cream before bed,
And dressed in so much winter clothing goes
Her body contours no observer knows,
Whom, anyway, in every way appears
As having, every one, her sixty years,
Cannot for any purposes be bought
In heart, in speech, in body, or in thought
Giving no quarter femininity
As it’s considered traditionally —
Far too enthusiastic and alert
To play successfully the languid flirt
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dimensional creation
3rd: created
4th: creative
5th: creator
(A story of sisterhood in the American Old West)
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Recorded Reading: https://www.dropbox.com/s/9idevf3s8jb6ee0/corn%20moon.mp3?dl=0
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Corn Moon
Rosetta looked around the little store
To which her pioneering man had come
Across the prairies distant Boston from
Where she had lived till a few months before
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As soon as the poet published tonight’s earlier post, “Incredibly. Unbelievably. Amazingly.” the volume of the nightly Cyprus Street trash-trombone serenade reduced itself once again to a less perpetually intrusive level.
Just until he thinks he’s made sure no one’s really listening.
Continue reading “There Are Advantages to Being Hacked”*****
Recorded Reading: https://www.dropbox.com/s/qsv6b47fzmp877s/the%20poet%20bird.mp3?dl=0
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The Poet Bird
Yes, they took that songbird
Shivering defenseless thing
And tucked a sharpened thorn
Bound up beneath its tender wing
And then they starved and beat it
To see if it would bring
A somewhat sweeter tone
When it began in pain to sing
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Recorded Reading: https://www.dropbox.com/s/fyjum2d6x6lopv9/today%20is%20a%20good%20day%20to%20die.mp3?dl=0
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Today is a Good Day to Die
In the Lakota Nation
Danger’s never far away
No matter what apologists
For modern ways might say
There yet exist a multitude
Of natural enemies
The kind that feels most happy
When it others’ mis’ry sees
And when it hovers, threatening
These warriors will say
“Today is a good day to die”
Translates to “Hoka hey!”
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Incredibly. Unbelievably. Amazingly.
Nighttime trash trombone volumes are rising on Cyprus Street this evening once again.
Continue reading “Incredibly. Unbelievably. Amazingly.”
Troubador of Verse 