Poet Republik-Christine Hamm
This writing exercise for Christine Hamm’s poem, “My Western,” asks you to create a portrait of a place by focusing on tiny, specific concrete details, the plants, animals and colors of a space – and then include as many specific names that relate to that place as possible. The names may be movies or TV shows that are like the space, or names of specific breeds of animals or trees. The names can also be the names of stores or schools that relate to the place. Since this is a list poem, there should be very short sentences and often, just lists of related words–Thanks Christine, for both the poem and the exercise!
My Western
The Outlaw Josey Wales. Grace, Idaho.
Red-tailed hawks. A black eye on a girl
hiding in the corral. A Lady Takes a
Chance. Trip-wires for horses. War paint,
eye shadow. A Fistful of Dollars. Cow-
boy hats reeking of smoke and spoiled pork.
Mule deer. Mud Lake, Idaho. Highways
looping over themselves, empty drive-ins.
Coyote brush. Broken stirrups. Bitter
Springs, Arizona. Cigarettes staining the
ceiling of his trailer, his teeth. Pale Rider.
B.B. guns, hand guns, shot guns. Guns with
the serial numbers filed off. Appaloosa.
Star-nosed moles. Robbing the grocery store,
your father’s restaurant. Raccoons. Copper
Beeches. Yellow dust on your tongue, in
the corner of your eye. A Man Called Horse.
Apache, Comanche. Star sedge. A drunk man
singing in the outhouse. A drunk man singing
by the fire. 6 Black Horses. Saguaro cactus.
Condor shadows the size of sinking boats. Black-
tailed jack-rabbits. The Man from Nowhere. Burning
barns. Horses galloping back in. Eureka, California.
Christine Hamm has a PhD in American Poetics, and is the former poetry editor for Ping*Pong. She won the MiPoesias First Annual Chapbook Competition with her manuscript, Children Having Trouble with Meat. Her poetry has been published in Orbis, Pebble Lake Review, Lodestar Quarterly, Poetry Midwest, Rattle, Dark Sky, and many others. She has been nominated four times for a Pushcart Prize, and she teaches English at CUNY. Echo Park, her third book of poems, came out from Blazevox in the fall of 2011. Erbacce Press of the UK published her chapbook, My Western, in 2012 when Christine was a finalist in their annual poetry contest. New Orleans Review will publish Christine’s chapbook, A is for Absence, in 2014. Christine was also a runner-up to the Poet Laureate of Queens.
Fallen
A silent toy maker’s window
Two gold encrusted toy trains
A wrenching ailment burrowing
Laying down tracks within my frame
A child’s game He plays
Wickedly teasing the temperature of my mind
A deep fog clutters the paths
Trains collide within
Exhuming my remains underneath His eyes
The Devil’s vermin rip through my core
Gorging on my stock, cravings vanquished
Subsided swollen bellies
Engulfing lymph by lymph
Cheeky buzzards crouch overhead
Sunken eyes peering from shadows
Underneath children’s beds
Midnight’s henchmen swathed in death
They carve men into puppets
Souls to hang on strings of fated sisters
Stripped from the innards of a fashioned muse
Eurus’ kisses of Yersinia pestis
Bells shroud darkened skies
Trumpets wail for lips now lost
Avenues backed up with past existences
Heaping pyramids of forgotten spirits
Torn cloth atop withered shells
Heated arrows forged in Devil’s spit pierce the skin
Buboes tender to your touch
Liars, bastards, men all the same
Tubes of hot iron poured down our drains
Spiting, shouting, whimpering in fear
Hunched over ladies tossed from heaven’s gates
Barrel for those who are healthy
Burn the diseased!
I wince in my pain
Caught upon a post
A faint flickering light I can make out
But only the bolded name
Bubonic Plague.
The taste of peppermint
Like a candy cane you picked off the Christmas
The sight of snow
Like in the Alaskan postcards
The smell of hot chocolate
Like when you would go to grandma’s house
The feel of a soft sweater
Like that of the one you wore on that cold night
The sound of the rain
Like when you sat next to your windowpane
Taste, sight, smell, feel, sound
Reminisce on those good old days
Sitting around the tree like in “The Wonder Days”
When nothing mattered but family and those winter Christmas nights
Boy meets girl. Love, fate, and heartache.
(500) Days of Summer. Tom & Summer.
Unfair and one-sided love.
“It’s these cards and the movies and the pop songs,
they’re to blame for all lies and the heartache,
everything.”
This reminds me now, “I’m free, free fallin’, fallin…”
Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty.
These words allow actions to speak for themselves.
These feelings. Unwanted. Broken.
Yet, I still have hope.
Wishful thinking. Charlie & Sam.
Is love true like they say?
The Perks of being a Wallflower
Young. Attractive. In Love. Yet, alone and confused.
A twist of fate.
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
If what you say is true then let me unravel my thoughts
And let me speak in other’s words.
In the small city surrounded by fields
Where people mostly drive and never walk
The crimes rate is too high
That it feels you’re watching CSI
Surrounded by fields
John Steinbeck described it very clear
It’s surrounded by life of an immigrant
In Grapes of Wrath
You can see it all to clear
If you grow up here you dream of moving away
To a bigger city to fulfill dreams
Just like Kelly Clarkson sings in Break Away
But many choose to stay it’s close to great city’s
Like San Jose and Monterey
The beaches are always near
Marina Monterey Carmel the waters are so clear
And we all wait for the Santa Cruz
Beach Boardwalk to open
A place where films have been made
No one can forget the Lost Boys
Once a year crowds of cowboy dressed as in
The Wild Wild West will come
To visit the biggest rodeo in California
This city is small but it’s home
Just like Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz
There’s no place like home
Years ago, I found my “happy place” in Barcelona, Spain. Along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea, close to the Planet Hollywood restaurant, there is a small pier. The pier is made of cement, and there is no fencing along the edges. One could walk right off the pier, onto the jagged rocks that surround the base of the pier. I laid right at the edge of the pier, with my arm hanging down towards those rocks, mesmerized by the glitter of the water brushing up against their sharp points, reflecting the sun above.
Located near the Marina Village of Olimpic port, the edge of the beach is lined with tables for playing chess. Old men, some dressed only in their underwear, sit all day at these tables, enjoying the Sun and company of friends-some old and some new. From a boom box, next to one of the younger chess players, I could hear Aqua’s “I’m a Barbie Girl” and Cher’s “Do you Believe in Life After Love.”
The tattoo parlor along the Marina was closed for siesta, along with many other businesses close to the shore. Two martial artists practice their forms behind me in the sand of the beach. Slow and synchronized, I could see their muscles flex in unison as their arms fell in front of their faces, into a defensive stance. Everybody seemed to have found their “happy place” along with me.
Is It a Dream
I look around the room,
and sadness is what I see.
On my uncles faces.
My aunts faces.
My sister’s face.
My mother’s face.
We all stare at the bed.
Where my father lay.
I look at the monitors.
And they’re off.
He’s gone.
Its quiet.
No one says a thing.
Coughing is the only noise that’s heard.
I walk out.
Passing rooms with patients.
Patients that don’t have much to live.
I make it to the balcony, and see the city.
The city alive.
I look down at the balcony.
And I wonder.
If I jump, will I wake up?
Fitting rooms with clothes piled as high as Mount Everest
Customers demanding a dollar for a pair of shoes
Store policy of smile and say hi
When honestly I’d rather smile and never come back
Essay after essay
Lecture after lecture
Mind overflowing with past, present, and future knowledge
Physical and emotional stress beginning to take over
Me against the world; who will win?
In order to keep my sanity I travel to the past
Back to the blue-green liquid gem of my childhood; Capitola California
The weather today allows the baby blue color of the sky to be seen and not veiled by the cotton balls of the sky
As I near the shore in the distance I see people in colorful wetsuits on surf boards becoming one with the sea
Children building sand castles and motes in the sand
Couples writing promise in the ground
They say the American dream is having the white picket fence, perfect pastel colored house
But I think the American Dream actually refers to California living
Specifically near the ocean
The ocean has a calming, carefree effect on people
This is where the stress of the day flees away and I am the winner of this battle
Capitola California is the place that keeps me sane
The place I call home, is not actually my home.
My husband lives there.
My daughters live there.
But so do my demons,
Is it so hard to understand that my home is southern California?
The warm sun, the beach sounds,
the laughter of my brothers and sisters all around.
San Diego, what’s not to love?
Less sirens to hear at night,
no friday night helicopter flying over my roof.
And the top story on the news is not another gang violence shooting.
Need I really say anymore?
My family is my everything,
they are,
but, I’m my everything too.
One cannot love others before loving yourself first.
Yes, I am lost,
I am weak,
but strong.
In this place which has been forced onto me,
to be my home.
I am unhappy,
I cry,
A lot.
With no worry of running into the man who ruined my life,
Yes, he ruined my life,
forever.
He is my demon.
First, open flat planes
Tall grass
Dry rusty grounds
Then, in a close but fare distance
Arisen rocky Mountains
Deep Earthy colors
When mountain top brushes against light blue skies
Light brown, greys, yellows, oranges
Dive into a sea of blues
Kick hey
Strength Power Black coat
Majestic four legged animals
empowers through
Wind races
Long hair blows
A long face full of strive races through earth
Horse shoes drill through the planes with speed
A wild horse
Living by the Ocean
Young girl, fun girl,
Beach day and night,
Sticky sand sticky hands,
Ocean bright in blue and gloomy at noon,
Relax and breathe, enjoy the steam,
Beach boardwalk is where I Belong
Most sang song, young and old,
Daily trips with whomever tagged along,
Big rides, small rides, all were used,
From morning to night, fun was alive,
Still favorite place to spend
My First Dog “Babash”
2months old
Tiny and sticky
Full of joy, brought thrill to my life
Cute as it can be, hated baths and ran away
Love being out doors, wished I would have had more time to give
12 years old, my joy left with him
Puppy love I will never have
Puppy love I’ll never forget