—Poetry by Dan Provost, Berlin, New Hampshire
—Public Domain Photos
WAITING FOR THE CARDIOLOGIST
My confessions are
made of gold.
No will of the wisp
Friday walk-through—
Trying to find cheap heaven.
Beatings have terrorized
the old ticker; many self-inflicted.
But as I dream of gurneys
wheeling my fat carcass into
some death & destruction room.
I refuse to mask my evil secrets.
Even as I am entrenched into
the cold
dark terrain.
My confessions are
made of gold.
No will of the wisp
Friday walk-through—
Trying to find cheap heaven.
Beatings have terrorized
the old ticker; many self-inflicted.
But as I dream of gurneys
wheeling my fat carcass into
some death & destruction room.
I refuse to mask my evil secrets.
Even as I am entrenched into
the cold
dark terrain.
PERSPECTIVE
When to realize that
nothing you have
accomplished matters
in the true “sphere” of
“things.”
The scant coffee that spills
on your new jacket is another
reason to curse.
Every frozen tryst agreed
upon under sexual duress.
Failed poems.
Failed letters.
Failed meanings.
I try not to force myself
upon you…
When another tragedy befalls
my so-called stigma.
But, I have no great
narrator to translate for
me anymore.
I’ve inhaled the classics.
Searched for their importance.
Understand that the words
they bleed
are better than
mine.
When to realize that
nothing you have
accomplished matters
in the true “sphere” of
“things.”
The scant coffee that spills
on your new jacket is another
reason to curse.
Every frozen tryst agreed
upon under sexual duress.
Failed poems.
Failed letters.
Failed meanings.
I try not to force myself
upon you…
When another tragedy befalls
my so-called stigma.
But, I have no great
narrator to translate for
me anymore.
I’ve inhaled the classics.
Searched for their importance.
Understand that the words
they bleed
are better than
mine.
CHAPPED
Twenty-minute drive
to my den of filth…
The smell of adolescence
sweat from lying on top
of out-of-control boys who
hated me, the world, the school…
And every fucking thing in between.
Pull into the parking lot, begging
for a shower…take the stained key
out of my pocket to open the lock.
My home is crap…scattered
pizza boxes lying in a statue
of pathetic…two empty beer cans on
the coffee table…weed waiting
to be rolled…
Sink full of frozen food
memories…
I take off my clothes, leave them
in the dirty pile…
Look at my myself nude.
Bruised, battered—defeated.
Ready to take the plunge.
Trying to redeem some angelic
pledge…
Some sort of kindness oath I should
have taken years ago…
The rusty water…old pipes
serve as my penance…
Swerves over my body—
Sad and degrading…
I am not proud of my place
in this world…
I am even more embarrassed
that this “job” takes so much
out of me…
A grief mop…anxious to be rinsed.
—from Dan Provost's chapbook, The Green Room, published by Analog Submission Press
Twenty-minute drive
to my den of filth…
The smell of adolescence
sweat from lying on top
of out-of-control boys who
hated me, the world, the school…
And every fucking thing in between.
Pull into the parking lot, begging
for a shower…take the stained key
out of my pocket to open the lock.
My home is crap…scattered
pizza boxes lying in a statue
of pathetic…two empty beer cans on
the coffee table…weed waiting
to be rolled…
Sink full of frozen food
memories…
I take off my clothes, leave them
in the dirty pile…
Look at my myself nude.
Bruised, battered—defeated.
Ready to take the plunge.
Trying to redeem some angelic
pledge…
Some sort of kindness oath I should
have taken years ago…
The rusty water…old pipes
serve as my penance…
Swerves over my body—
Sad and degrading…
I am not proud of my place
in this world…
I am even more embarrassed
that this “job” takes so much
out of me…
A grief mop…anxious to be rinsed.
—from Dan Provost's chapbook, The Green Room, published by Analog Submission Press
CHUCKY-ISH
It wasn’t a soft place to
go. Just an establishment to
gain courage.
Naturally shy, morose—ready
for a tasty lyric from the juke
to erase my lingering
doldrums.
I am a haven here.
My spells of absurdity are cured here.
The other patrons leave me alone here.
Am I sounding too Chucky-ish?
Suggestion are usually ignored.
It wasn’t a soft place to
go. Just an establishment to
gain courage.
Naturally shy, morose—ready
for a tasty lyric from the juke
to erase my lingering
doldrums.
I am a haven here.
My spells of absurdity are cured here.
The other patrons leave me alone here.
Am I sounding too Chucky-ish?
Suggestion are usually ignored.
TRYING NATURE OUT
There it is—driving
around northern New Hampshire.
Trying to find a lost paradise within
these god damned dark woods…
December two thousand and something.
Slim pickings in the forest today.
No deer, or moose,
not even a squirrel collecting acorns.
Just the same emptiness your father
never told you about.
Thought nature could possibly nurture,
Help elect a symptom
for me to finally contort
into inner peace.
Na, just another day…
Not happening.
Self-Interviews
never turn out well
when you’re cruising
from nowhere to here.
It’s just another failed
attempt.
The hope of god’s
creations, to fill your
torture
with hope.
But, you pull
over—turn the car around
and head home.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The perfect lover is one who turns into a pizza at 4:00 A.M.
—Charles Pierce
______________________
Good morning on this April Fool’s Day, and thanks to new visitor Dan Provost, whose poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years. He is the author of thirteen books/chapbooks, including in 2020: Under the Influence of Nothingness by Kung Fu Treachery Press; Rattle of a Realizer, published by Whiskey City Press; The Curse, published by Roaring Junior Press; and One of the Crowd Always Bleeds, recently released by Alien Buddha Press. He is a two-time nominee for the Best of the Web and has read his works across the United States. He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife, Laura and dog, Bella.
Again, welcome to the Kitchen, Dan, and don’t be a stranger!
Tonight, April 1 (April Fool’s Day), Poetry in Davis will present Julia B. Levine and Joseph Millar, 8-9pm online at ucdavisdss.zoom.us/my/andyojones/. Host: Andy Jones. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/270246291253699/?acontext={"source"%3A"29"%2C"ref_notif_type"%3A"plan_user_invited"%2C"action_history"%3A"null"}¬if_id=1616773020786826¬if_t=plan_user_invited&ref=notif/.
April is National Poetry Month, and Sacramento Poetry Center has listed their events at mailchi.mp/7e0edb04d2fa/tonight-730pm-natachi-mez-j-rowe-perform-socially-distant-verse-4954047?fbclid=IwAR3CeSw-ca7HpF8kk0B843ZAWb4MRDuct_O6dl9g5almwhidvvYh6sMocZA starting with Ike Torres and Rashad Hedgepeth on Socially Distant Verse this Monday, April 5. Academy of American Poets’ Poetry Month events are listed at poets.org/national-poetry-month/. If you’re brave enough, sign up for Poem-a-Day at poets.org/poem-a-day, starting today. (No, this isn’t an April Fool’s joke.)
______________________
—Medusa
There it is—driving
around northern New Hampshire.
Trying to find a lost paradise within
these god damned dark woods…
December two thousand and something.
Slim pickings in the forest today.
No deer, or moose,
not even a squirrel collecting acorns.
Just the same emptiness your father
never told you about.
Thought nature could possibly nurture,
Help elect a symptom
for me to finally contort
into inner peace.
Na, just another day…
Not happening.
Self-Interviews
never turn out well
when you’re cruising
from nowhere to here.
It’s just another failed
attempt.
The hope of god’s
creations, to fill your
torture
with hope.
But, you pull
over—turn the car around
and head home.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
The perfect lover is one who turns into a pizza at 4:00 A.M.
—Charles Pierce
______________________
Good morning on this April Fool’s Day, and thanks to new visitor Dan Provost, whose poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years. He is the author of thirteen books/chapbooks, including in 2020: Under the Influence of Nothingness by Kung Fu Treachery Press; Rattle of a Realizer, published by Whiskey City Press; The Curse, published by Roaring Junior Press; and One of the Crowd Always Bleeds, recently released by Alien Buddha Press. He is a two-time nominee for the Best of the Web and has read his works across the United States. He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife, Laura and dog, Bella.
Again, welcome to the Kitchen, Dan, and don’t be a stranger!
Tonight, April 1 (April Fool’s Day), Poetry in Davis will present Julia B. Levine and Joseph Millar, 8-9pm online at ucdavisdss.zoom.us/my/andyojones/. Host: Andy Jones. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/270246291253699/?acontext={"source"%3A"29"%2C"ref_notif_type"%3A"plan_user_invited"%2C"action_history"%3A"null"}¬if_id=1616773020786826¬if_t=plan_user_invited&ref=notif/.
April is National Poetry Month, and Sacramento Poetry Center has listed their events at mailchi.mp/7e0edb04d2fa/tonight-730pm-natachi-mez-j-rowe-perform-socially-distant-verse-4954047?fbclid=IwAR3CeSw-ca7HpF8kk0B843ZAWb4MRDuct_O6dl9g5almwhidvvYh6sMocZA starting with Ike Torres and Rashad Hedgepeth on Socially Distant Verse this Monday, April 5. Academy of American Poets’ Poetry Month events are listed at poets.org/national-poetry-month/. If you’re brave enough, sign up for Poem-a-Day at poets.org/poem-a-day, starting today. (No, this isn’t an April Fool’s joke.)
______________________
—Medusa
Dan Provost
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clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
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