Shel Graves' Sensorium

I'm going to be posting some poems in a bit here that I wrote as part of my Body Poem Project (more about that later), but here's one that wanted to be posted sooner, written on Thanksgiving. Want and Plenty  It rains and rains, but there is no water.  Downpours soak, a crashing full creek, but empty sinks.  We can fill the kiddie pools, but cannot flush the toilets.  In my dreams: barking, snarling, and six goldendoodle pups,  I see neighbors I could appreciate and meet.  Potential friends and progressive domestic harmony.  Once black flakes of ash fell through the sky and spread over the sidewalk,  The hotel burned, still under construction, almost complete,  Firefighters moved through the dark sky saving nearby houses.  Black flakes peel off my arm healing a bat tattoo. She wants to fly off,  My arm holds the leashes for the dogs who wish to fly, too.  Every paw quick until they stop, go still, to sniff the ash.  The ...

Taste: Wayward Thanksgiving Dinner  Sound: dishwasher chime, whining, scratching, howling, guttural monster  Smell: feces  Sight: golden light; stackable heads  Touch: holding Amos’ head  Extra: "To spell a word correctly is to ask it to come forward out of a million other words and do your bidding." —Alberto Rios, Introduction, The World Has Need of You: Poems for Connection Grateful for: poetry; Margaret Atwood

The rocky inclines of New attract hikers and climbers. Further down the slopes, flowers blossom in green fields. Fruits bud in the orchard. The joyful, fertile, dew-covered land looks fresh and vital, but produces nothing. Newtonians ask many questions of travelers. They are not explorers in body, but in mind. They know little of other places. Newtonians do not need to eat or drink much as they are fed by living energy within New.  “Travelers will be disappointed in Newtonian cuisine,” writes Miss Emeline Traveler.  When Newtonians leave New their cocoons break. They shed their New skin and appear in fresh skin. They leave their old skin behind.  Visitors come to new to begin again. They dive into the pond that leads to New and enter through the underground tunnel. They swim ashore in Open and from there take the road to New. Few stay in New for long. They become hungry and thirsty. New nourishes visitors briefly.  The towers of the capitol city Student rise at the...

Woodland trails surround the farmland Blessed. Shining stones circle Blessed. A gleaming lake sits at its center. There are gates, but no locks. Dogs bark and snuffle through the woods scenting deer, bobcat, raccoon, and bear. It pours rain in Blessed and the soaked land lies fertile with pillows of green moss. Rainbows appear over the land and sunbeams strike the grass brilliantly. Blessed is golden in fall. Pure white in winter. The moon is bright and beautiful. Blessed gleams. Everyone may visit, but Blessed is difficult to find. Experienced explorers follow maps to its gates. Wanderers stumble across the gleaming gates.  “May I enter?” the lamb bleats.  “Of course,” says the Guide.  The cities Welcome sit at the corner of Blessed and invite all in the four directions. The Welcomites learn the art of hospitality. They send invitations to Blessed parties, banquets, and simple gatherings. Welcomites bow, offer handshakes and hat tips to newcomers. They learn names quickl...

In the waterfall mist of the rainforest Weepy a slope erodes into a marsh. Hillside houses slant and slide. The Weepy mourn the fallen land. They search through mud piles at the hill bottoms for possessions lost in the last slide. They adorn themselves in the blue-stained mud of mourning. They constantly build and rebuild their homes.  No one wants to visit Weepy, but they come looking for lost things. Occasionally, they find buried treasures which anyone may keep. Mud monsters pull searchers into the muck and add to their ranks.  The city Mournful, the city of mud, sits beside the marsh. Mournfulians make clay urns from the mud as remembrance. "The mud of mournful is good for the skin and hair," says the Guide. The Mournful Scholars make peace with the mud monsters and learn their ways and language. They sing the Mournful mud songs and dance down the mud slides in lumpy Mournful.

Spite consists of tall rock towers surrounded by rock seas. Long rope bridges connect the rock spires upon which rock homes are built. A cold fungus grows upon the wet rocks. The people die young from fungus-caked lungs. The stormy skies rain lightening down between the rocks. The lightening strikes the highest spires destroying castles. Spiteans continue to build taller and taller spires even though lightening strikes them down, tallest first. Each Spitean employs their own spire building method.  “The best way is to layer on sticky greenacian fungi between the polished rocks,” says Uri Heller.  “Fiddlesticks! That green goop adds width but no height. Polishing and whittling are the best techniques,” says Tomen Y.  The sloop Afraid sails the rocky seas where the kraken wraps its tentacles around the spires of Spite. The wraith Afraidians have one leg or half an arm. Prone to attack, their limbs live in the bellies of sharks. Yet, lacking limbs here and there, they steer...

The grey shale of Careless slips and slides underfoot. It smells of tar. Tar pits bubble below. The craggy trees bow with exposed bark and broken branches. The Careless live in lookalike shanties. They drive down gravel roads and eat paste sandwiches. A large white glacier fed river runs through cold Careless. Damp weather sickens the Careless. Everyone carries handkerchiefs which they sneeze and blow into throughout the day.  “It’s nothing much,” visitors say, but they inevitably stay longer  in Careless than expected.  The capitol Contempt was quickly built, poorly constructed, and early abandoned.  “Still, it’s better than the Careless are used to,” the Guide says.  The solid metal bunker-like buildings have presence. The Council of Contempt meets and makes pronouncements and edicts for the Careless to follow (though they don’t). The Careless ignore the Council of Contempt without consequence.  “They’re too stupid to understand our complicated language...