sometimes an old dog
This Poem

This poem was handwritten, before it was typed

The poem is longer than most I write

This poem aint the sort to go down without a fight

This poem wakes up at dawn and drinks 8 ounces of protein

the poem runs twenty miles before noon

this poem will get the better of you soon

this poem won’t break bones

this poem never wore braces

this poem never had glasses and looks better than all your faces

This poem is wealthier than Jay-Z and Bruce Springsteen

This poem beats villains better than Chuck Norris

this poem is a monologue, better than Odysseus

this poem got straight A’s in school, it’s PHD at age twenty

it’s full title includes MD, esquire, lord, and is still funny!

This poem is black and white, something the blind can read

people hear, dumb folks know, and a poet’s wet dream

this poem bench presses the encyclopedia britannica (all of it)

this poem makes you jealous, like this poem just drew a bigger crowd

than the british royal wedding, and it looks better than the bride

this poem stole your girl and will take her for a ride.

This poem has shock value, staying power, like this poem was carved in stone

this poem has a stock portfolio, swiss bank account, a whole cayman island and its own religion

and this poem bridges sectarian divisions.

This poem is atomic, nuclear, prepped, primed, and ready

and it gets approval from green peace, PETA, and the NRA

this poem doesn’t need meter, rhyme or reason

though this poem may be charged with treason

for crossing all national borders

this poem was discharged from Vietnam after disobeying orders

This poem drinks excessively, parties and deal drugs

this poem dances, figure skates and does ballet

This poem is multi-lingual, ambidextrous, bipolar, straight and gay

This poem knows everything you want to say.

this poem writes rap songs

this poem speaks like johnny cash

this poem kicks ass. 


sitting here beginning to write

bizarrely returned to feeling myself - 

it should be this way

another go-at-it day - 

when the gray of smoke

cannot consume my happiness

cherishing here because I am here today in charge

able to control my thoughts (enough) to write

which is to say taking the dog for a walk

working out all the things

to be worked out


Sue Howells.
In My Life

people of nineveh

preachers of zion

cease your sinning before the flood




orion, immortal stars in cold blood

the loving god never walked our streets

a forsaken jerusalem the red dawn greets.


Ministry of Design.
After Visiting a Museum, Where The Joke Is On Us

Aligned on the cusp of dawn where you

answer the vaudeville babble of seashore

with a makeshift riddle snatched from a poet people don’t know.

Heard are the heel slaps on pavement like an invitation to a duel

a nagging constant like the seesaw aching of emotions between ribs.

Before we are less than Ozymandias abscond

to those known statues of intellectual stupor!

It is not the death of light that haunts you

It is not the silence but the inescapable ambivalence

that levies fear even on acts of supreme futility.

The Night I Read, The Day Lady Died

for Frank

It is 12:20 am in New Jersey a Thursday

I am wide-awake next to the dog

the tall can of iced-tea I paid 99 cents for

sits with 2 ounces left in it, since Monday

I know RMH will feature Cory Smith tomorrow

though he plays in Boston tonight

(sometimes I think about a musician’s life)

but I don’t listen to country without bluegrass no matter

how much 90’s sound one can play from a guitar

he’s Rob Thomas but emotionally flat, we’ve “been there, done that”

then I surf what would be two city blocks online

to BOWERY ELECTRIC and it is 12:32 am

and I am wide-awake next to the dog

but their weekend kickoff is weak, I dare to say

so I might invite this girl to see Dirty Bird at

SULLIVAN HALL, because they are indie and so is she

but not too much or else I wouldn’t include her in my poetry

and at 12:44 am I think about those acts I’ve seen in 45 days

the soft and heart-filling melodies of Sydney W. or

THE BUDDIES raucous-rock-equals-fun-time-with-beer style

until my gut settles on the best, or latest, show since I’ve been home

in KINGSLEY FLOOD, and I smile wondering if these musicians

will be around next year

or more than a means to an end, something to decide when the dog snores

refusing to wake up and get off the bed at 12:53 am in New Jersey

a Thursday, and the phone buzzes and rings

it’s ZACH, upset I don’t care about the paddle he designed for me

which is false, I cared

but I lost it along with my other paddle, and some of my very own artwork

some clothes and a tapestry of an Amazonian warrior-princess

along with some religious books meant for Passover

I tell him and I say it is 1 am


but it isn’t, I have one more thing to dream about tonight