Monday, May 01, 2006
Unprinted
Jeff Hewitt, poetry
Jeff Hewitt, in his own words, "is a 15-year veteran of the Hampton Roads performance poetry scene. He has published over half a dozen volumes of poetry, and has a new book soon to be released. He is a proud single father of a stunningly adorable four year old little girl. He has never been to South Dakota, and couldn't possibly have been involved in that unfortunate incident."
Read four samples of his work - $39.99 "100 in 1 Electronics Kit" and other useless tales, ode for love, the bloody chords are all ya hear and 7:32 pm:
$39.99 "100 in 1 Electronics Kit" and other useless tales
i tried to kill my mother once
as a child
with a dry cell battery
a stool
a glass of water
a copper doorknob
and a $39.99 "100-in-1 Electronics Kit"
from radio shack
i was seven
and it almost worked
(i swear, i almost got that bitch)
and when i was eleven
she made my father
take my bedroom door off its hinges
i couldn't fathom what she
could possibly think i was doing in there
(figured she thought i was smokin' dope)
(but i wasn't)
and so i ended up years behind
everyone else i knew
when it came to figuring out
what goes on
behind closed doors
and i wonder if that's why
i'm so damn awkward
with love? or lust?
or whatever combination
thereof...
(if only my father hadn't opened the door first)
(i could have saved myself, a normal childhood)
then again...
"hi. i killed my mother when i was seven"
maybe ain't such a great pick-up line
either...
RETURN TO TOP
ode for love
it's a crock
all of it
a fucking fifteen car pileup
out past interstate 64
o' this thing called love
it's a whore's game
a trick of light and sleight
of hand
(you see what you want)
(when you want)
(to get what you want)
and then justify the whole
putrid mess with hearts and flowers
i'm as guilty as the rest
RETURN TO TOP
the bloody chords are all ya hear
imagine
shadow in a corner
of the room
whisky sodden smoke
cozies up to the bar
the slow mad spin
of a ceiling fan
(round and round)
butts and ash pile
as the night inexorably
crawls on, bloodied
beat.
somewhere,
a piano's playing
RETURN TO TOP
7:32 pm
the sky broke
angery rain kamikazes
gainst the window
the blood in my hand
augers and argues...
RETURN TO TOP
Find more Unprinted poets
Jeff Hewitt, poetry
Jeff Hewitt, in his own words, "is a 15-year veteran of the Hampton Roads performance poetry scene. He has published over half a dozen volumes of poetry, and has a new book soon to be released. He is a proud single father of a stunningly adorable four year old little girl. He has never been to South Dakota, and couldn't possibly have been involved in that unfortunate incident."Read four samples of his work - $39.99 "100 in 1 Electronics Kit" and other useless tales, ode for love, the bloody chords are all ya hear and 7:32 pm:
$39.99 "100 in 1 Electronics Kit" and other useless tales
i tried to kill my mother once
as a child
with a dry cell battery
a stool
a glass of water
a copper doorknob
and a $39.99 "100-in-1 Electronics Kit"
from radio shack
i was seven
and it almost worked
(i swear, i almost got that bitch)
and when i was eleven
she made my father
take my bedroom door off its hinges
i couldn't fathom what she
could possibly think i was doing in there
(figured she thought i was smokin' dope)
(but i wasn't)
and so i ended up years behind
everyone else i knew
when it came to figuring out
what goes on
behind closed doors
and i wonder if that's why
i'm so damn awkward
with love? or lust?
or whatever combination
thereof...
(if only my father hadn't opened the door first)
(i could have saved myself, a normal childhood)
then again...
"hi. i killed my mother when i was seven"
maybe ain't such a great pick-up line
either...
RETURN TO TOP
ode for love
it's a crock
all of it
a fucking fifteen car pileup
out past interstate 64
o' this thing called love
it's a whore's game
a trick of light and sleight
of hand
(you see what you want)
(when you want)
(to get what you want)
and then justify the whole
putrid mess with hearts and flowers
i'm as guilty as the rest
RETURN TO TOP
the bloody chords are all ya hear
imagine
shadow in a corner
of the room
whisky sodden smoke
cozies up to the bar
the slow mad spin
of a ceiling fan
(round and round)
butts and ash pile
as the night inexorably
crawls on, bloodied
beat.
somewhere,
a piano's playing
RETURN TO TOP
7:32 pm
the sky broke
angery rain kamikazes
gainst the window
the blood in my hand
augers and argues...
RETURN TO TOP
Find more Unprinted poets
