The new bed is like no bed.
You might be rolling
on that denim cloud
beyond the evening city.
You might be floating
in a forest of kelp
that swings and lolls
and lulls you enigmatic.
You might be anywhere
but in bed, and you wake
to morning light
when flickers of eternity have fled.
– – – – – –
Rachel McAlpine
Early morning monochrome.
A white teapot
a blackbird
and the news on paper.
– – – – – –
Rachel McAlpine
Put a bit of metadata
in a little metatag.
Then the automatic tagger
puts your bit of metadata
in a better metatag.
Metatagger, metadater
metabigger, metabag
metadagger, metabragger
metabugger, metanag.
—–
Rachel McAlpine
Talk English, techie.
I just drive this thing.
Name your home,
but do not name it ‘Home.’
——
Rachel McAlpine
(With apologies to all the brilliant technical professionals who have helped me over the years.)
O total Untitled,
would I had time.
O tragic Untitled,
you won’t make a dime.
O tacky Untitled,
why underline
your bright blue crime?
—–
Rachel McAlpine
Entering system dump routine.
A panic server was not specified in the boot-args,
terminating kernel core dump.
Waiting for remote debugger connection.
Wait away, wait away.
—–
Rachel McAlpine
When God is just an abstract noun
we cram the floating word
with metaphors, provisos, parallels,
pro bonos, caveats, and dreams –
with fluff not concrete, yet
it tumbles right out of the sky.
When God means whatever,
God is a word to beware.
——
Rachel McAlpine
Subliminal itch or apron
on the clean-cut kid next door.
Today’s extreme identities
from the bank of spam:
Martina Manning
Millard Miner
Millie Maudie
Nicky Nelson
Quinn Wilcox
Sherry Schulz
Solemner G. Subcutaneous
and Wendel Kovalchak.
I am not making this up.
Shall I invite them to tea?
——
Rachel McAlpine
Habits not haphazards
are needed
for the next decade.
‘Keep desk tidy’
is not a habit
and you know it.
‘Tidy desk daily’
might help.
– – –
Rachel McAlpine
Let’s not pretend
that stuff in a blog
is poetry.
A blog is a diary
upside down, a silo
where notions wait
for processing
or better times.
Crammed tight
they twitch
in the dark.
They long to sprout
and see the light.
Let’s spill them out
and set them free.
At worst the birds
will feast.
– – –
Rachel McAlpine
Poems in the wild—Rachel McAlpine 