Uut Poetry

Uut Poetry

Uut (n.): an infectious strain of contemporary American surrealism; a practitioner of Uut poetics; a cloven-hoofed quadruped with nautical antlers.

More about Uut.

Posts tagged poetry

1343 posts tagged poetry

Uut Eyes

There are a few ways to save the world
including

guns, micromanagement, celibacy, 
tiny seeds in the teeth, exomoons, the color red,
vivid technicolor war veterans, topology, trauma theory,

razor-sharp limes, upside-down fundamentalism, squeegees, 
celestial hexes, endless ragas, motionless pharmacies,
telekinetic mozel tovs, rusty hair-clips, a nest of iron gavels,

worse-case-scenario gorges, nullified stampedes, double nausea,
sensible children, graffiti-covered underwear, various knots,
extant seahorses, mellifluous ovaries, cost-effective moles,

conscientious rejectors, nieces of Gaius Caesar, petrified wrists,
Horatian odes, solar power, Bahktin’s sleeping pills,
lead-free imagery, Shamanic medicine, deflated gauze,

anonymous ducks, gourd-faced lepers, unsightly hacky sacks,
totality, going in and out of the water at night, Veneris rutabagas,
America, Russia, and Spain,

psychopaths, a full round O, George Oppen’s mortal tern,
a single fisherman, analogues of dark blue, the smallest flowers,
Sappho dressed in black, endless cravings, the knife of twinkling eyes,

an ’80s drum machine, the final stanza of Césaire, the Supreme Court,
women at least one millimeter long, Vulgarian streetcars, conversations,
shovelfuls of wilderness, baby air, white squirrels,

universalist sermons, unmolested Martians, early asteroid detection,
elderly ladies in beach towels, sustainability manifestoes, bacteriology,
Aristotelian vacuums, automatic listening, the zone of closure,

the wool trade, the periscope trade, daguerreotypes washed in blood,
planet-stricken commonwealths, excessive passion, cinder-block mucous,
the opinions of Galen, a gilded scabbard, 100 tounges,

the catalog of ignoramuses, modest flirting, monstrous fictions,
detailed descriptions of a good husband, counterfeit religions, uvula magic,
reusable hand-warmers, howling like a wolf, French toy shops,

arguments about chamber windows, somersaults, nondescript urns,
walking around as both sexes, sleeveless errands,Tristan Tzara,
buying newspapers by the sea, task forces of elision, disaster mouths, 

pelvis frenzy, the intersection of gum, jets jets jets!,
moccasin hookahs, Sacajawea happy hours, sleazeball timber-mills,
the cake of Matilda’s sanctuary, warmongering, teasing the opal rain,

the eruption of contradiction within the real, sailors’ guile, the hangman’s knot,
two satchels of company tickets, typists, reenactments of the syntax wars,
gargoyle bobble-heads, prophetic baths, filling space with jazz pajamas.

art by austin1227

Uut Eyes

There are a few ways to save the world
including

guns, micromanagement, celibacy,
tiny seeds in the teeth, exomoons, the color red,
vivid technicolor war veterans, topology, trauma theory,

razor-sharp limes, upside-down fundamentalism, squeegees,
celestial hexes, endless ragas, motionless pharmacies,
telekinetic mozel tovs, rusty hair-clips, a nest of iron gavels,

worse-case-scenario gorges, nullified stampedes, double nausea,
sensible children, graffiti-covered underwear, various knots,
extant seahorses, mellifluous ovaries, cost-effective moles,

conscientious rejectors, nieces of Gaius Caesar, petrified wrists,
Horatian odes, solar power, Bahktin’s sleeping pills,
lead-free imagery, Shamanic medicine, deflated gauze,

anonymous ducks, gourd-faced lepers, unsightly hacky sacks,
totality, going in and out of the water at night, Veneris rutabagas,
America, Russia, and Spain,

psychopaths, a full round O, George Oppen’s mortal tern,
a single fisherman, analogues of dark blue, the smallest flowers,
Sappho dressed in black, endless cravings, the knife of twinkling eyes,

an ’80s drum machine, the final stanza of Césaire, the Supreme Court,
women at least one millimeter long, Vulgarian streetcars, conversations,
shovelfuls of wilderness, baby air, white squirrels,

universalist sermons, unmolested Martians, early asteroid detection,
elderly ladies in beach towels, sustainability manifestoes, bacteriology,
Aristotelian vacuums, automatic listening, the zone of closure,

the wool trade, the periscope trade, daguerreotypes washed in blood,
planet-stricken commonwealths, excessive passion, cinder-block mucous,
the opinions of Galen, a gilded scabbard, 100 tounges,

the catalog of ignoramuses, modest flirting, monstrous fictions,
detailed descriptions of a good husband, counterfeit religions, uvula magic,
reusable hand-warmers, howling like a wolf, French toy shops,

arguments about chamber windows, somersaults, nondescript urns,
walking around as both sexes, sleeveless errands,Tristan Tzara,
buying newspapers by the sea, task forces of elision, disaster mouths,

pelvis frenzy, the intersection of gum, jets jets jets!,
moccasin hookahs, Sacajawea happy hours, sleazeball timber-mills,
the cake of Matilda’s sanctuary, warmongering, teasing the opal rain,

the eruption of contradiction within the real, sailors’ guile, the hangman’s knot,
two satchels of company tickets, typists, reenactments of the syntax wars,
gargoyle bobble-heads, prophetic baths, filling space with jazz pajamas.

art by austin1227

Labels

We all search for the simple parts of our lives
by falling in love
with locomotives.

For on the weekend some of us will make stockings.
For caterpillars know not what evades detection 
in the raised dew of the brain.

Labels, rejected by society,
are the mystical signs of the quantum science
babbling behind a spatial skein,

the aimless nest 
of adjectival fibers,

the knobby truss
of all of our lives.

art by Die blauen Reiter

Labels

We all search for the simple parts of our lives
by falling in love
with locomotives.

For on the weekend some of us will make stockings.
For caterpillars know not what evades detection
in the raised dew of the brain.

Labels, rejected by society,
are the mystical signs of the quantum science
babbling behind a spatial skein,

the aimless nest
of adjectival fibers,

the knobby truss
of all of our lives.

art by Die blauen Reiter

Some Float Off on Chocolate Bars and Some on Drink

What you might say at that moment is
“John was pinched at certain times.”

What the five policemen might say is
“You with sea water running
in your veins sit down in water.”

Nestled up against the rain, road signs
and pawn shops become
boats in my country,
a posse of poets,
an Easter cake.

Nestled up against breakfast with kinfolk
borrowed money becomes
licorice in the middle of Edinburgh,
a spell about Richmond.

The chain of blue monkeys is vivid and strong
until it arrives at black sands.
After all, one can’t be happy all the time.
Lists of things go on forever.
One must sit down in them and sing

in a bathtub, with flowers
and the prickly pear.

seed text: Collected Works, by Lorine Niedecker
art by Collage al Infinito

Some Float Off on Chocolate Bars and Some on Drink

What you might say at that moment is
“John was pinched at certain times.”

What the five policemen might say is
“You with sea water running
in your veins sit down in water.”

Nestled up against the rain, road signs
and pawn shops become
boats in my country,
a posse of poets,
an Easter cake.

Nestled up against breakfast with kinfolk
borrowed money becomes
licorice in the middle of Edinburgh,
a spell about Richmond.

The chain of blue monkeys is vivid and strong
until it arrives at black sands.
After all, one can’t be happy all the time.
Lists of things go on forever.
One must sit down in them and sing

in a bathtub, with flowers
and the prickly pear.

seed text: Collected Works, by Lorine Niedecker
art by Collage al Infinito

Blood of the Gorgon

Wade German

From the erogenous zones of invisible creatures
on this day without even the slightest need of astrolabes 
or any cultured organ donors to speak of
at sunrise a spider slipped on a barrier of space-time 
and by globules composed of thin green webs
snared itself on the moon
reflected in the puddles of hemoglobin
and at the bottom of wells those open tongueless mouths
with dark stones like decaying teeth
in a hidden valley 
where the gorgon crawls from her dreams in a dreamless cave
gorging herself on tombstones
as blood pours out from a factory of shame
under which lies a vast cellar holding the crypts of prophets 
with ecstatic grimaces on their skulls 
and clutching rotted icons 
as the structure sinks in the desert among white cacti
where an old sorcerer searches for love
and blue-yellow trilobites still beat with sledgehammers of desire
sirens wail for a hundred suicides
which on closer examination were political assassinations
for the humanoid block of soapstone 
stumbling through the pale bioluminescence 
it looms and laughs like an idiot
while vampiric leaves float from the trees and swirl in pleasurable circles 
in the wine of death
on samples of fresh-tilled earth 
on the monument to the shadow of the sun.

art by raintree1969

Blood of the Gorgon

Wade German

From the erogenous zones of invisible creatures
on this day without even the slightest need of astrolabes
or any cultured organ donors to speak of
at sunrise a spider slipped on a barrier of space-time
and by globules composed of thin green webs
snared itself on the moon
reflected in the puddles of hemoglobin
and at the bottom of wells those open tongueless mouths
with dark stones like decaying teeth
in a hidden valley
where the gorgon crawls from her dreams in a dreamless cave
gorging herself on tombstones
as blood pours out from a factory of shame
under which lies a vast cellar holding the crypts of prophets
with ecstatic grimaces on their skulls
and clutching rotted icons
as the structure sinks in the desert among white cacti
where an old sorcerer searches for love
and blue-yellow trilobites still beat with sledgehammers of desire
sirens wail for a hundred suicides
which on closer examination were political assassinations
for the humanoid block of soapstone
stumbling through the pale bioluminescence
it looms and laughs like an idiot
while vampiric leaves float from the trees and swirl in pleasurable circles
in the wine of death
on samples of fresh-tilled earth
on the monument to the shadow of the sun.

art by raintree1969

Striking the Light Gong Again

Whimpers of the mango-tree
will sing to the nails 
will sing the world order
will become “fake” and “savage”
with the best slices of lime.

Old evaluative frames are ceasing to apply.
Light is an energy, a 
pusillanimous shawl.
A poised rendezvous.

It is a gate of senior citizens ministering to the Thames.
It is a belly of wet souls postulating and adumbrating.

Striking the light gong is like kissing
a little row of beds
while silhouettes conveniently retain
the unpleasant 1.15” line spacing
that hangs—like fate—in the balance,
one quanta rocking into the next.

art by Karen Constance paintings and collage

Striking the Light Gong Again

Whimpers of the mango-tree
will sing to the nails
will sing the world order
will become “fake” and “savage”
with the best slices of lime.

Old evaluative frames are ceasing to apply.
Light is an energy, a
pusillanimous shawl.
A poised rendezvous.

It is a gate of senior citizens ministering to the Thames.
It is a belly of wet souls postulating and adumbrating.

Striking the light gong is like kissing
a little row of beds
while silhouettes conveniently retain
the unpleasant 1.15” line spacing
that hangs—like fate—in the balance,
one quanta rocking into the next.

art by Karen Constance paintings and collage

Striking the Light Gong

In April we are most likely
to inject ourselves with regional theatre,
encasing a chorus in a
burst of song
with therapeutic effect.

Gestures in this and that direction are capitulated.
Nasty arguments and theurgic rituals
are tossed between ventriloquist shamans
smoothly straightening up again
holding the paddle of linguistic order

which means that somebody else has entered the earth
to jiggle a dead person with dancing.

If unselectedness is man’s original condition
the barge of kindly drips
shall make a good story, a kind of preparation
something like popcorn
in the armory of 
ordinary heart strings.

seed text: Symposium of the Whole, edited by Jerome and Diane Rothenberg
art by image butcher

Striking the Light Gong

In April we are most likely
to inject ourselves with regional theatre,
encasing a chorus in a
burst of song
with therapeutic effect.

Gestures in this and that direction are capitulated.
Nasty arguments and theurgic rituals
are tossed between ventriloquist shamans
smoothly straightening up again
holding the paddle of linguistic order

which means that somebody else has entered the earth
to jiggle a dead person with dancing.

If unselectedness is man’s original condition
the barge of kindly drips
shall make a good story, a kind of preparation
something like popcorn
in the armory of
ordinary heart strings.

seed text: Symposium of the Whole, edited by Jerome and Diane Rothenberg
art by image butcher

Temples of Stardust and Bitter Fascism

I have signed into Chrome
as a monster signs in to a perpetual loop of learning.

Feed me inside this prison of carbon copies and timber.
I am made new in silence.

Adjustments will keep being made
until the smell of apocalypse coffee is gone,
until we find bulls thudding together
in the third chamber of the heart.

Social niceties are the goal of every incinerator.
Diadems retract, vagrants commiserate, 
Fallopian tubes auscultate.

It is a question about the sun. 
There is a church where they juggle feathers
and never ask you difficult questions.

Fallen sections of your body tolerate this treatment
because we pass each other
on the same streets
and only listen to music.



seed text: Migration, by W.S. Merwin
art by Karen Constance paintings and collage

Temples of Stardust and Bitter Fascism

I have signed into Chrome
as a monster signs in to a perpetual loop of learning.

Feed me inside this prison of carbon copies and timber.
I am made new in silence.

Adjustments will keep being made
until the smell of apocalypse coffee is gone,
until we find bulls thudding together
in the third chamber of the heart.

Social niceties are the goal of every incinerator.
Diadems retract, vagrants commiserate,
Fallopian tubes auscultate.

It is a question about the sun.
There is a church where they juggle feathers
and never ask you difficult questions.

Fallen sections of your body tolerate this treatment
because we pass each other
on the same streets
and only listen to music.


seed text: Migration, by W.S. Merwin
art by Karen Constance paintings and collage

The General Early Bird Tonight Pedals

03.004

With mighty comprehension the general early bird 
tonight pedals. What on earth is less than a maybe head? 
What bamboozle towers with pretense and blesses 
the Saturday night? Precisely a market overstocked with too many 
to tell you of calmly spinning greens.
Maybe not a stick, whittling brown slanders. 
“I’ll break a flying farrago!” said I, cool as Hecuba snowstorm wilting.
Without delay I came to your house, or half of one.
That exasperating uncomfortable feeling sort of connects
the confidential demand you speak out in respect. 
What unsaid selling stark mad man are you sir? 
Induce me to render a criminal long breath. Rip a little 
or a lot of New Zealand, 
but not when folks is going to with four heads like onions of 
unaccountable mystery. What could I think of the clean Sabbath 
depending on dangerous regular rejoinders? Come, dreadful
fluke, spliced by kicking about in four Sam-and-Johns. 
Sprawling about, he came near to breaking an arm, and so saying
lighted the way, irresolute, to vomit Sunday.

art by 2ponto3

The General Early Bird Tonight Pedals

03.004

With mighty comprehension the general early bird
tonight pedals. What on earth is less than a maybe head?
What bamboozle towers with pretense and blesses
the Saturday night? Precisely a market overstocked with too many
to tell you of calmly spinning greens.
Maybe not a stick, whittling brown slanders.
“I’ll break a flying farrago!” said I, cool as Hecuba snowstorm wilting.
Without delay I came to your house, or half of one.
That exasperating uncomfortable feeling sort of connects
the confidential demand you speak out in respect.
What unsaid selling stark mad man are you sir?
Induce me to render a criminal long breath. Rip a little
or a lot of New Zealand,
but not when folks is going to with four heads like onions of
unaccountable mystery. What could I think of the clean Sabbath
depending on dangerous regular rejoinders? Come, dreadful
fluke, spliced by kicking about in four Sam-and-Johns.
Sprawling about, he came near to breaking an arm, and so saying
lighted the way, irresolute, to vomit Sunday.

art by 2ponto3

We Break Out. We Love.

Where else can I talk about the boat shoes
on the feet of the Clif Bar mountain climber
except in nonchalant poetry, exempli gratia O’Hara Personism? 
Ten to the minus thirty-five seconds after the Big Bang
I came and stiched up your already over-inflated ideology,
stuffed the radiation back into your eyes,
straightened your disheveled cami.
Like science, poetry is just trying to figure out
how certain things go together, or don’t.
A continuation of the yes only not yes. 
Mostly what I want out of life is to feel alive,
but I know all the engines are creating lots of noise
making molecules interfere with each other,
sending up to heaven the tones of raving bats.

art by recombiner

We Break Out. We Love.

Where else can I talk about the boat shoes
on the feet of the Clif Bar mountain climber
except in nonchalant poetry, exempli gratia O’Hara Personism?
Ten to the minus thirty-five seconds after the Big Bang
I came and stiched up your already over-inflated ideology,
stuffed the radiation back into your eyes,
straightened your disheveled cami.
Like science, poetry is just trying to figure out
how certain things go together, or don’t.
A continuation of the yes only not yes.
Mostly what I want out of life is to feel alive,
but I know all the engines are creating lots of noise
making molecules interfere with each other,
sending up to heaven the tones of raving bats.

art by recombiner

5 Ignorant Uutku

Grass-eater zoo
is the gateway drug of 
Rochester’s asp.

Please, no
breathy female
vocals.

Subatomic promise
chases kings toward particular 
tower.

Hazamat cow
occurs at the passage
of morning.

Unstill gulls & small
crabs—no expectation
of love.

art by Eugenia Loli

5 Ignorant Uutku

Grass-eater zoo
is the gateway drug of
Rochester’s asp.

Please, no
breathy female
vocals.

Subatomic promise
chases kings toward particular
tower.

Hazamat cow
occurs at the passage
of morning.

Unstill gulls & small
crabs—no expectation
of love.

art by Eugenia Loli

A Sad Poem

The kinetic tropes
are staunch advocates
for blue haired synapse centers
that flow in the fluidity of biological fluid,
that co-author the catharsis of my sister-in-law
and conjoin the last gnomes
at the steep precipice of fear.

The symbolic cutting-off of beards
is the same thing as domes capsizing
because they are mellifluous
in the sea of delicate variation.

Balanced pepper on every geometric surface
of your face
beats the pants off one’s desire 
to bestow titles one generation to the next
in a long line of desert fabric makers
exchanging addresses and fashionable vocations.

Walk around with your thumbs up and your dialect
Brazilian. Steer toward
mandatory nouns. Enough is enough.
The fancy coves of your hair
are part of the scary propositions
of the baritone boot.

Psychology
has separated “hit the sack!” from “drop your guard.”
But no one knows what makes life tick
except the storms of editorial magic
in August.

art by Ruben Martinho

A Sad Poem

The kinetic tropes
are staunch advocates
for blue haired synapse centers
that flow in the fluidity of biological fluid,
that co-author the catharsis of my sister-in-law
and conjoin the last gnomes
at the steep precipice of fear.

The symbolic cutting-off of beards
is the same thing as domes capsizing
because they are mellifluous
in the sea of delicate variation.

Balanced pepper on every geometric surface
of your face
beats the pants off one’s desire
to bestow titles one generation to the next
in a long line of desert fabric makers
exchanging addresses and fashionable vocations.

Walk around with your thumbs up and your dialect
Brazilian. Steer toward
mandatory nouns. Enough is enough.
The fancy coves of your hair
are part of the scary propositions
of the baritone boot.

Psychology
has separated “hit the sack!” from “drop your guard.”
But no one knows what makes life tick
except the storms of editorial magic
in August.

art by Ruben Martinho

The Stars Are a Boring Accordion

The succulent architecture of Mars
goes to sleep in the white bear
where tons of witnesses
displease us.

You’ve been walking around collecting
mini rats, part coral. 
You’ll get a story in the paper. 

If you drink my coffee
an overload of cellulose
will interfere and consume
the soil.

Nails 
are what we fight with
along the river:
the hideous black lava,
the personnel.

seed text: Collected Works by Lorine Niedecker
art by A Yen for Phantoms

The Stars Are a Boring Accordion

The succulent architecture of Mars
goes to sleep in the white bear
where tons of witnesses
displease us.

You’ve been walking around collecting
mini rats, part coral.
You’ll get a story in the paper.

If you drink my coffee
an overload of cellulose
will interfere and consume
the soil.

Nails
are what we fight with
along the river:
the hideous black lava,
the personnel.


seed text: Collected Works by Lorine Niedecker
art by A Yen for Phantoms

Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle

8 Uutku 

Stuck in a matrix
of kindness, triceps vacate
the Gulf of Ob.

Bake pie in rainstorms
til your digestion becomes
a wish for sandals.

A fifth of the
jellyfish become
rubber wasps.

Insect manicures
stream from the mouth:
nylon polygons.

Add bat to camel,
discover a kitten in
twisted sphere of thought.

Gold diggers sprinkle
their heads with salt, scan sidewalks
for squares.

In the bedroom the
bladder is an instrument
for step-father music.

Beastly geese apply
Norwegian mascara 
in South Africa.

art by Susanne Breuss

Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle

8 Uutku

Stuck in a matrix
of kindness, triceps vacate
the Gulf of Ob.

Bake pie in rainstorms
til your digestion becomes
a wish for sandals.

A fifth of the
jellyfish become
rubber wasps.

Insect manicures
stream from the mouth:
nylon polygons.

Add bat to camel,
discover a kitten in
twisted sphere of thought.

Gold diggers sprinkle
their heads with salt, scan sidewalks
for squares.

In the bedroom the
bladder is an instrument
for step-father music.

Beastly geese apply
Norwegian mascara
in South Africa.


art by Susanne Breuss

The Tumultuous Echoes of the Press

These are the types of moral dilemmas 
that saturate the atmosphere:
social confusion in small doses,
the bloating of a cast of aristocrats,
censured Jamaicans, 
salivating carousels. 

New to this, Jules Monnerot spews his guts
after a vile assault by periodicals
appealing to inspiration.
Times change. 
Lash down on the magical surrealist art
and the idea of its structure.
Tackle the front and center. Blacken the boots 
of meer history, sleep with symbols that fall 
toward the center, between one thing and another,
deficient in seriousness.

We could at any moment become one furnace
seething in the closed orb or choreography and chance, 
flicking the cats in sealed jets
that lap over the edge of the cosmic registry
where academic dabblers sit by the 
deepest wellsprings of subversion.

seed text: What is Surrealism? by Andrew Breton
art by Humdrum Jetset

The Tumultuous Echoes of the Press

These are the types of moral dilemmas
that saturate the atmosphere:
social confusion in small doses,
the bloating of a cast of aristocrats,
censured Jamaicans,
salivating carousels.

New to this, Jules Monnerot spews his guts
after a vile assault by periodicals
appealing to inspiration.
Times change.
Lash down on the magical surrealist art
and the idea of its structure.
Tackle the front and center. Blacken the boots
of meer history, sleep with symbols that fall
toward the center, between one thing and another,
deficient in seriousness.

We could at any moment become one furnace
seething in the closed orb or choreography and chance,
flicking the cats in sealed jets
that lap over the edge of the cosmic registry
where academic dabblers sit by the
deepest wellsprings of subversion.

seed text: What is Surrealism? by Andrew Breton
art by Humdrum Jetset

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