Poetry Mixtape for January 2010

Being a list of some poems what I found online that I quite like, in no particular order:

The Twelve Days of Christmas by Carol Ann Duffy

Ring three was black gold, O for oil –
a serpent swallowing its tail.

The fourth ring was Celebrity;
Fool’s Gold, winking on TV.

Britain’s new Poet Laureate’s 2009 Christmas poem, published in the Radio Times (think TV Week and you’ll get the gist of how odd the pairing is), is an angry modern reinterpretation of the Christmas carol decrying war, social inequality and environmental catastrophe. It’s a bit purple at times, and sometimes feels a little undergraduate in its subject matter, but technically it’s spot on and it has a genuine sense of passion and playfulness.

American History by Bob Hicok

…If we looked back,
the future would feel unwanted. It would be
as if knights in the time of knights,
whenever that was, took off their helmets
and used them as ashtrays.

If this poetry mixtape thing actually becomes a regular on this blog, you’re going to be seeing a lot of Bob Hicok links. This is the first of Hicok’s poems I encountered, and its playful, free-flowing ideastream is both expansive and to the point. More please.

The Man who Spoke the Law by James Brush

He told me, the Texas State Legislature said, “Let There Be Poetry.”

I include this prose poem as part of this poetry mixtape for anyone who’s ever mused upon the inherent contradictions involved in teaching poetry to high school students. Plus it’s very funny.

Reconstructing a Rabbit by sarah k bell

take something sharp
& begin

Taxidermy, fairytales and taxonomy merge seamlessly in this quiet, confident and visceral offering from Sarah K Bell.

A Poem About Being Mean by Brittany Wallace

…before i left
i envisioned myself setting fire to your collection of self-help books

Short, nasty and brutal, capturing that lovely sour grapes way that breakups make you attempt to destroy the very psychological and familial underpinnings of your newfound nemesis.

Enter the Dragon by C. Dale Young

But I was not Bruce Lee. I was the man
broken by Bruce Lee’s leaping hands — hands
to the head, hands to the neck.

Bruce Lee and poetry. How can you go wrong?