Archives for posts with tag: Ed Ruscha

by Eddie Stewart

My body is a bear heavy and ready to hibernate.
My arms are so stretchable they can stretch up to ten miles.
My head is a red balloon being lifted into the air flying high.
My feet are motors running through the icy cold sea.
My teeth are bigger and sharper than a great white shark’s.
My hands are exit signs saying, “Back off or I’ll strike.”

IMAGE: “Exit” by Ed Ruscha (1990).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Eddie Stewart is a student at Marcus Garvey Academy in Detroit, Michigan. His poem was written as part of the InsideOut Literary Arts Project of Detroit.

by Rizwan Saleem

I’m done with what I did
And done with what i didn’t
I’ve had my share of pleasure
And times two hundred the pain
I’m done with being simple
And always being plain
Now I’ll do something different
Or end up doing what I can

I’m done with love and kisses
And all other types of fevers
I’m done with thoughts and phantoms
And voices that say I still need
Do away with hopes and prayers
They never worked for me
I’ll find my own way back
Alone is all I’ll ever be

I’m done with my days
And all the different seasons
I’m done with being sorry
And I won’t listen to any reason

I’m done with being sane
It was madness to begin with
Now I’ll laugh at every evil
Because I know it’s all the same

I’m done with all that heaven
Has promised to its men
I’m done with hell as well
So I stopped counting my vices
I knew I was done long before
Now I’m left to my own devices

IMAGE: “Quit” by Ed Ruscha (1967).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Rizwan Saleem is a banker by profession residing in Dubai UAE, and fancies himself a poet of the lowest caliber. The thoughts and expressions detailed in his works are of his various escapades suffered through life and of the profound surprise of having survived long enough to pen them into words. The writer wishes that readers may be able to afford a sardonic smile upon reading his work and relate themselves to his rhymes.

by Ana Maria Caballero

I fear my capacity to guide
Mistake toward fulfillment

At times, I blame:

          The flurry of misprint,
          of crisis to unscramble;

          The renewed promise
          of classic self-improvement;

          The flat-water buoyancy
          of fresh peace.

Other times, I blame:

          This devotion
          to words and their construction –

          How they unsay as they say –
          How they commit to purpose as thought –
          How they slay aim through speech –
          How they make me prove and reprove this power –

          This lack.

IMAGE: “Manaña” by Ed Ruscha (2009), from his On the Road Exhibition at The Hammer Museum (2011) featuring words from Jack Kerouac‘s novel of the same name.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ana Maria Caballero has worked in finance, journalism, wine importation, and even for the Colombian government before recently becoming a mom. Now she focuses her efforts on writing poetry and book thoughts, available at Her work has appeared in Big River Poetry Review, Elephant Journal, East Coast Ink, Really Systems, Aviary Review, CutBank, Ghost House Review, Dagda Publishing, Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Boston Poetry Magazine, as well as other publications, and is forthcoming in Pea River Review and Smoking Glue Gun. She also writes a weekly poetry post for Zeteo Journal’s “Zeteo is Reading” section. She lives in Colombia.

Our parts of which we speak
by Bob McNeil

I enjoy the way your verbs
     taste, stroke and titillate
     my hut of flesh and its resident soul.

I endure the way your adjectives
     desire to describe the details of beauty.
     Adjectives are paintings of dawn:
     they strike sulphur,
     but they do not emblazon my vision with brilliance.

I revere the nouns that name
     the person, place and thing that you are.
     Every appellation I use provides
     another reference to the benevolence of you.

I hate the pronouns assigned to design ourselves,
     for enwrapping yourself in pink
     won’t disguise the cries of your mannish side
     and my anima is pregnant with a passion to reproduce.

I appreciate the conjunction that you have grown to be.
     You are the “And” that facilitates my spirit’s state
     By using the adhesion of compassion.

I adore you for the prepositions that grant these facts:
     I am on a bed of beatitude with you.
     We do what we want for joy’s geysers,
     experiencing satisfaction after the flow.

I titter at the interjections
     we use as illustrations of our jubilation.
     The exclamations are sillier
     than children chortling on a carousel.

I assert adverbially,
     both you and I have become
     rather pledged to the notion
     of cherishing an emotion
     without using its word.
     Soundlessly appreciating that thoughtful space,
     waiting for language to transport the topic,
     our best sentiments on commitment are expressed.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I compose poetic stun guns and Tasers, weapons for the downtrodden in their battle against the opprobrious. My work is dedicated to one cause—justice.

IMAGE: “The Mountain” by Ed Ruscha (1998).


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Bob McNeil was influenced by the Beats and the Dadaists. Furthermore, even after all these years of being a professional illustrator, spoken word artist and writer, he still hopes to express and address the needs of the human mosaic.

PHOTO: Bob McNeil (left) with novelist Walter Mosley. 


“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”

JACK KEROUAC, The Dharma Bums

Painting: “There and Here, State I” by Edward Ruscha (2007)


“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”

JACK KEROUAC, The Dharma Bums

Painting: “There and Here, State I” by Edward Ruscha (2007)