1. Awareness of Joy
  2. Birds at Recess
  3. The Call Back
  4. A poem to commemorate dennis's road rash, broken rib, concussion and the bruising of his fourth cranial nerve
  5. Oakland Is Burning
  6. Finding Paul's Marker
  7. Freeway
  8. Carolton
  9. Grief in a Dry September
  10. A Headache on Tuesday, February 26, 2002
  11. heaven
  12. A Hillside Pond in the Rain
  13. Hoarder
  14. L.O.F. (In Her Door)
  15. Intersection
  16. Iporaõ 1960
  17. A Janitor on Hansen Way
  18. laundry
  19. Lucy in the Streets with Ashes
  20. The Man in Blue
  21. When the Morning Air was Cold
  22. Night Stand
  23. objectification
  24. (Quoting Emily Dickenson)
  25. Racoon Eyes
  26. Red Lips
  27. Reflections on a dislocation
  28. The Runway
  29. sails
  30. San Antonio Station, January 3, 2005, 4 Pm
  31. Scene Report
  32. Shark Teeth
  33. Prayer for an Old Woman
  34. Encounter in an Unfinished Room
  35. Y Sovendo Morréu com Raiva
  36. On the Strand
  37. Tethered
  38. Before the Beast
  39. The Ties that Bind
  40. Viewing Bald Eagles
  41. Voyeur
  42. What I Learned on Summer Vacation
  43. What I Learned on Summer Vacation
  44. Without You
  45. Love Poem to You Written on a Mountain
  46. Your Tongue is Soft and Your Teeth Slide in Easy


thinking of two poems by Jim Standish

I come home from work,
Pick up the teddy bear for some lovin'.
"Don't touch me, I'm all fucked out." he says.
The teddy bear tells me he's all fucked out!
"Woa!" I say.

You know just as much as I know that a teddy bear is  really  an  inanimate
object and therefore can't talk so he therefore can not have said "I'm  all
fucked out." Besides that, a teddy bear is only fluff and cloth,  merely  a
receptor of surrogate  tenderness,  just  hard  eyes  and  a  nose  atop  a
roundness. Who would want to fuck one anyway? Who  would  want  to  fuck  a
teddy bear, especially one so much the worse for the wear?  Why  would  any
one even want to pick up such a grungy bunch of polyester and polyurethane?
But someone obviously has. (I think this as if I don't remember  doing  it,
as if I can't remember the times I've touched that teddy bear, the  strokes
and caresses accumulated until parts of his fur are  now  as  smooth  as  a
stone, his eyes hanging on long streams, his stuffing is leaving  his  body
in slow exits--onto the floor and into the garbage never to return to it.)

The teddy bear never speaks again
Although I insist on touching him once in a while.
He wears away and fades into a grey thing.
One day I forget where I put him.

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    Stephen Riddle
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    thinking of two poems by Jim Standish
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Stephen Riddle,

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This Document Last Modified: Sunday August 02, 2009