Friday, April 17, 2009

Mr. Logan

Would you consider these poems I have enclosed for publication in (A Brilliant) Record Magazine? The Poems I have included are titled, “Street Lamp,” “Dandelion,” and “A Patriotic Sort of Leaf.”

Jake Heller

Street Lamp

The deer
like a street lamp
lying on the side of the road
at dawn.

legs stiff as poles
light dim, but still in eyes,
as I step from my truck.

flicker and.

continue on


Do you remember that day atop the little hill in my backyard?
the only day we ever spent there
Among the ferns and trees and rocks bathed with moss,
and the sun guiding us with her custard skirt.
There was a fence and a shed
and an old bicycle wheel half buried in the dirt.

My cat prowling in the grass,
underneath a tree.
(The same one Bobby fell out of once
while we were trying to climb high enough
to peer into you backyard, two houses over)

What were you holding in your hand that day?
I can’t quite remember.
Perhaps, it was a dandelion. It was something yellow.
How yellow we were then,
So shy on the hilltop.
And we’re even shyer now.

We barely talk anymore.
And then you lifted up the dandelion (or whatever it was)
and put it in my hand and what happened next was this:

you kissed me
on the lips
it was quick
my eyes were open
but they weren’t looking at you,
no, but my cat
who was playing with the dandelion
that had dropped to the ground.

A Patriotic Sort Of Leaf

The leaf sings and falls off the tree
It is singing, “The Star Spangled Banner”
And the rocket’s red glare it croons

It is a patriotic sort of leaf
Light is refracted off its underside
As it comes to a rest, tickling leaves of grass with its long white beard,
The grass tastes the leaf and wonders where it came from
Grasses don’t have eyes; it couldn’t see the leaf fall from the tree
(the grass is curious about this, but not judgmental)

A wispy passerby drops a butt in the grass…smell of smoke
It spirals slowly upward in the way a hamburger tastes, juicy
Paul loves hamburgers; he orders them extra juicy – no mayo
But he orders them well done – extra mayo
“Number two and make it snappy”

They don’t make it quickly because they work at a fast food stop
“It was like, you know he like, first he brushed the hair of my cheek”
The prudent meanderings of a speaker box
He gave them a tip the snake he was
And then he slithered out through his window, in through their window, and up
and into the ice cream machine
He will eat it all
And the eccentric leaf is floating upwards now with a rock onboard
The upward sift of the air is what is causing it to rise

“Look at me!” the rock wees over the mumble of the leaf’s singing
Oh say does that star-spangled…
And the smoke billowed forth from the butt in an array of brilliant colors

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Dear editor,

Hello, my name is A.J. Chilson. I read your blog. I think the poems you put out are really good. I would like to submit several poems and haiku for your consideration. Thanks for reading my material.

Best of luck,

A.J. Chilson


If I could sing a song,
a song so beautiful
that it would mean something,
something for the whole world
to relate to, and for the world
to be filled with passion,
and with joy, and with deep comfort,
I would sing a lovely ballad,
one that would last a lifetime
a million times over.

And I would sing that song
just for you.


Was it the eyes
blushing in its delight?

Was it the lips
hungry for a big kiss?

Was it the smile
igniting passion from within?

Or was it the photograph
that made me love you?


As the two of us held hands for the last time,
the fingers slipping away, one by one,
the tears rolling down our sullen faces
as we continued to stare at each other
it was then we began to realize the love
that had materialized over the course of
so many years, only to see all that go away
over something so silly, so stupid, and so wrong.


adorable you,
that impeccable smile
makes me feel special

your presence cheered me
but it was the warmth you gave
that touched me the most

seven years have passed
and the moments we both shared
continue to last

Friday, April 3, 2009

Dear Mr. Logan, Pasted below are four poems that I am submitting for yourconsideration: "Remember the Wild Days?," "That Sweet Tune of Us,""Self Indulgence," and "Beta Male." I am a fairly new poet, based inLos Angeles, and have had my work shown in several online journals. Iam inspired by the absurd behaviors of mankind: our goals, ambitions,desires, and how we try to pursue them while making a life. Living ina town as ridiculous as L.A. has given me no shortage of material. I look forward to hearing from you and thanks for reading my work! Sincerely,
Matt Dennie


Let’s get drunk and HOWL
at the moon.
Not tonight but tomorrow.
And everyone will say in shock:
“Look so carefree and impulsive!!”
And afterwards we’llindulge in delicious diner fare,
licking our chops
like the wolves we once were.
Yes.Tomorrow let’s HOWL at the moon.
Not tonight…. plan for tomorrow.


The Bone Daddy
is always playing something
heard by the herd
that keeps them
racing ‘round
as they scramble
to stamp their seal
in the History Book
and not be left
off the page.


Confusion is confusing,
and illusions are boozing
one’s self to saturation
without worry.
Oh, how often we waltz
to major minor injuries
that have no story or sense
and will always hold the
twisted truth of a scar
from us.


The Beta Male-
bitching like a beagle-
but always keen to lie belly upand be rubbed by his mastress.
A paradox of pathetic,
he lacks neither brass nor balls,
not that he should be boss
but that he shouldn’t be so completely
lost. Anytime power is tipped too much
the meek suffer
(and he is surely stamped out as meek)

The poor Beta-
shrugging his shoulders and
living life by his unmotivated mantra:

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...