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Greg McVerry / Writing & conversations
Browse the things I’ve written, shared and replied to.
47 posts
Joy in poetry found in brief pain and fascination watching verse bubble up a meniscus of blood seeping from freshly pulled scabs unsought answers gleam from miniscule curved surface of the monsters who make up our jagged souls #smallpoems #poetryport
Greg McVerryWith each door creak three birds burst from small pines framing broken stairs greeting our house startled steps on crumbling concrete as they take to the sky Now there is one matted feathers tossed like first snow on our muddy green lawn missing winters frozen nuzzle Each spring, in those same shrubs we watch nests grow witnesses to watch every egg die I wou
Greg McVerryExplore poetry Not inspect it's meaning in weaning thoughts lost, to constant beating of the hose light glows when you burrow into sounds and treasure\ pleasures in lanscapes of stolen tomorrow not scrape verse to probe swollen undertoes of truth, a sooth let loose on uncouth hunt of technique instead seek the loud cry of a poet's eye
Greg McVerryDancing in scents as spice and pans fly wafting from oven arises a percussion of poetry in the kitchen a religion of near rhymes and recipes blessing me Stirring sounds of emotions swirl in bowls filled with batter of the soul Caadence curling around commotion as time kneads emotion Blanch the banal of plain staples bathed in aromas plucked by a Cassanova Ex
Greg McVerryOn a search to hide the kind release of cruel memories seeking stasis at the legrange point of my soul as scabs of time fester in a three body problem of memory history me
Greg McVerryI have slept in risky places not just beds filled with faces and people I can not, don't want, or should not recall but just strange platforms of peace Stuck in the far car on the BART spilling from the Warfield Dawn of new millenia our car laughing behind the gates of a closed garage Shacks on the shores of Negril when their were still shacks on the shore A
Greg McVerryPoetry is risk verse running into danger unwanted events spilled on paper As probability of poetry puddles in human misery Expectations of hope grounded in fear objective becomes subjective prosody of broken words in rebel poets 18 whiskeys deep "mad bad, dangerous to know" Poetry spits in the face of probability of errors embraces the sin in syntax A primar
Greg McVerryAvoid the risk adverse and their curse to try and coerce order from the babel instead dabble with the rabble that transverse our blue gem with methodical mayhem chasing reptilian delights in the brain stem vaudevillian nights, fights, and lights order undone We need the Gonzos, Pranksters, Jugalos, artists, misfits, and freaks Yes even the Bronies rather tha
Greg McVerrySeek voices of those who sow Quilts of truth as our metaphors of meaning, reasons for beings, Flax age rises truth spun on spindles of fallen swords Looms of labor lost as knots of cottage industry take root in villages of our minds. Knowledge is not capital . To be brokered or sold. Knowledge is a kindness blanket warming us all. Also on IndieWeb Poetry Als
Greg McVerryPoetry is kindness hope of hyperbolic hugs squeezed with each stanza Meter of memories bouncing on allusions of Tzu's creation in words for love builds in "Heaven in hell's despair" as verse drops from the curses of angles and benediction of demons who sing ars poetica for us all Poetry is kindness from beat poets, to black arts, and black mountains bards A
Greg McVerryStop, go no flow phone dead light red can't find Bowie on the radio picket fences manicured lawns hedgerow lanes with countless name Crawl around the Street Car named disaster need to move faster Stuck on Chestnut gut punch plod along Aint life Grand Stop, go no flow phone dead light red can't find Bowie on the radio left late roll right 22, stuck too Highwa
Greg McVerryJust get it done The one metric that matters The aesthetic patterns just scattered chatter of folks who fake originality in their totality of banality in explaining what common folk already know There is no part time scholar just those who must holler louder from the squalor to please the shot callers Worried about a screed no on will read? let me plant this
Greg McVerryPodcasting or bronze casting crafting of your story should be rough draft of your glory Yet the paradox of technology lead to padlocks on the soapbox once artisic holitstic now undescriptive and stripped of synergistic differences search of prescriptive low friction design instead of the grind////of work technology defined as a mythology cast by mystics we a
Greg McVerryThat which exists in our mist will resist change matter does not rearrange inertia, takes force of course to push pebble or stone, lazy matter prefers to be left alone Yet the mind can can create a synergy of energy always in motion A tryst of emotion, or passing of time insist it must exist So an alchemist of the soul wisking nature's mixing bowl of meaning
Greg McVerryRidgeline Rocks scattered speckled grey among our brown blanket of forest aching for snow plopped on a rock, logs a defrosted mess the dog plays, such joy in limitless discovery chasing sents and rodents leaves rustle with relentless energy No turkey or deer today Just wispy clouds painting the sun's whiskers that rap upon Dead giants who creak their funeral
Greg McVerryShit. A promised made to keep the poems more physical to find Pinksy's history in everything. Meaning in the mundane now tasked to describe virtually I wonder where is the the line? Asked since 1959 Do we taste and feel in our online spaces? The faces Real? Then I remember poop is virtual too! What does it mean for poetry When our feces has faces? Also on In
Greg McVerryGiven today's poetry prompt of play I had to try something I have never done before: Remix a voice poem in GarageBand In the shower I came up with the phrase "majestic, frenetic, poetic play", and I thought about how awesome it was for Wendy to play with spoken word in a poetic gift to someone. I wanted to try something new. So I grabbed a couple phrases fro
Greg McVerrySearching for the color of sound in our polyphonic playground hints of hue in pillars of creation blue of the bass line and red giants keep time treble strokes yellow skies filling in crescendos of our shattered prism schisms in rhythm throw spectral lines missions of movement chromatism of souls in synchrotronic emissions spin and spin in Newton's wheel mut
Greg McVerryLimbs twist in trysts of stolen bliss History slips on lips as we sip from the sun feet skitter reality withers scattered dreams gleam in seams of time Hips let loose in obtuse orbits Home in the heliosphere centered in the one coming undone symbiosis in our flamboyance of flow never together, not alone souls accrete as feet seep into sound that surrounds be
Greg McVerryWhen my name got drawn for Terry's poem, I will fully admit my intimidation. Terry is the poet I strive to be. He lays meaning on the mundane. Can describe lif in a few words about something on the farm. Each color he sings, each sound he paints, plays a part in a grand opera in only a few lines of verse. I was asked to write about teaching in a "time of exi
Greg McVerry