POETRY READING: Turning the wheel, by Melissa Chaconas

Performed by Allison Kampf

Turning the wheel, by Melissa Chaconas

we are close our car doors
in anger

we shop in frustrations

we give up hope all the time

we remember in primordial love

We run around in

costumes, masks,

we are stuck

we walk hard

we clean hard
to make the pain
dwell in a
in the bottom.


CALELendar a poem, by Melissa Chaconas

branch out on words
pivot the approach he prophecy
relentlessly the part
dreamed old- piece of night
that transformations between me
first word- last love
intricately organic beyond
reason strange
benediction lesson
mailbox wrath welcome letter picnic
father instructions

confidential hemorrhage

signal child
economist’s old clothes
mask of supper
daughter bring
mean careless love
quality between
this questioned
silence your science green gods.

flowers fall grimmer grammer in
house- railed- un-withered
the approach to
-the thief
of end- when will it end?
goose eat- what eat goose?
dragonfly- ?
lamplight covers
scourged head down
in class

summing up meditation
a testing spark
journal old cracked curtain (belongs to someone else)
to portrait
the illumination of dynasty
w/ red breasted robin
road of summer river solstice
build report gladiator of the system
around 3 floors- flights to the king cleoparta
tree-please teach Dante
layeREd knots unknown nights
catch cage- portents contents fire-sticks
Lincoln’s death

quarrel w/ six
route the unquiet ones
layer snakes of
image maker
make we
abduction to 1914
foreboding my
poet rounds
ill pass on the

whale through
chariot rides
to the house
of mother’s
commit on
the sea
touch me

not to you
but it acts
of old photos retouched
signed great

I pull down the mountain, by Melissa Chaconas

I pull down the mountain with my hands
I stare at the page
Clouds float thri=ough fast
And I try ti scranbke down electronically the WORDS
With one hand while thee other holds my body and muse separate but together

Who will fall from above higher learning?
on stones to the garden AND
Lay me down open the flower that has rough petals
That droop and sting as hot as lava

Scratch with nails at the wood cardboard like thin sheets that block the climb-through
That led to the rusty monkey bars where I first tied to speak poetry to non-listeners….
Ivy n word old loneness’ filled my heart with ferment fulfillment was it foul ? but other girls n boys
Didn’t like it there
And sometimes before the sun would set I would feel the on-lookers stare N wonder again
Since my birth
Are they a poet or just an other bore!~

I want to take this poem to the grocery store and speak to it by the veggies
And be a commercial-photo op for people to SPEAK to children

But the Stanley & Sylvia, Stephen, Zbigniew and Lowell and Bhagavad-Gita
Won’t show up with billboards or push-in pins with signs as pens
Not for the coke-head/heroin accident of my day that recites 1960’s work
And shakes like a snake in the alley.. “umm…yeah like yeah”

U can twist the reachin into vibrations of the

The voice maybe
But the printed holds more truth than drama from an non-actor/actress

I want to call
I want to nestle the breast of cookies n milk
Until you scream im gay sometimes but always
Or should I write a poem for u everyday
Because you don’t SPEAK to others but bu but but
This silly Greek girl knows you

The Latino needs curry-chicken he thinks from a goddess but not

Dad u sold the house of my childhood to liars
I don’t want to work for the government
I want to be like aunt penny’s baby’s daddy
And go live in California work at a library on Sundays
Do idle work for money
Live in a house that gypsy n I write so our minds diont blow
The body follows happiness
I once was a happy body-able mind too
When I was following it

Will you still accept your daughter when she doesn’t talk?



just publishes work/play/love to little birds who carry or are messages from the others

if I go— will I turn-off my cord
unplug my comfort n

dance when hungry

Enough wanderer, by Melissa Chaconas

father of our country ill fated
disgraced to be civilian
go lay in a rustic bed
of a poor king- abandoned by
the powerless-
buy- touching

He loved the toil of making
this true again 4 how many
more years

tree-trunk officers- hollow hands
full length misery of situations
gone beyond help
make 4 good donuts,
bBig tears 4 men without utility belts
“Do to you ask the peace from me 4 those
whose lives were taken by the cast of Mars”

Where are the warrior girls who
also debate w/any?
dances as she turns to
shoot the aim of armless
one-breasted bows
formulated from
of lost cities
intermitted with
blazing lamenting
wordless weapons


“Dawn at that hour
brought on her kindly light
for ill mankind,
arousing men to labor & distress”

morning kind light
made her that hour
what cab in can she animate
the action before sexually waken up
the action that sways men to wages and physical trouble in search of evening satisfactory- its unforunate that mankind
can not be without reference to sex
at what hour will her light look at the beginning?

This old-timely body of
underneath gloom
un foundation in men
hurled swine
herd death in commandeered positions
heated up the stove
but no reaped-up climax
the hope- trembles in same
the queen entreaties
the mounds of
trust-faithly hounds
the palpable eyes-
the inner enjoined scepter
we say him trying to lay
tendering our gifts but
with a war- father in gripped
rough hands
“what happened to disturb your
quiet life?”
Dominance in Greeks is our
strange taste that
often lends to exile
others don’t hear

what makes the
royal mildew groan
and roar/
cloaked in mothballs

scattered, by Melissa Chaconas

old lord – raised- flash
of electroitity
ragged flame

a trip through breathing hard chest

still greater loving
flying immortal energy
watch distances-while still

I want to be
kindness stained
groan with quickness
at your intellect
-tired yet full
of your shoulders
of mankind
penetrate through instruments
gave his life
spearing all heads
great welcoming torso
pull glory out of it & spoke,
speak need the passage

Sister Virgin the denied aim, by Melissa Chaconas

Daughter Straddle

Saddle oracle

“shedding hot tears”

drunken bend crossing T’s in hope
of Pro’s

pastured herbs

heal the
blow of a if done by
bitten tongue

“to find peace in the sea”

A girl now ripe
digital short-story of
a fruitious woman

deep in an inner
soiled down in an inherent
with humming

along came hustling, popping.

it seemed her

her act it was

stirred, tenderly new fangled in

her the noiselessness


bent over
walking with long white alien legs
slow on the toes
walking on blue earth

earlier the

stayed without them
as out of line ones
bored maybe in
ivy-cross-woven laced chariot-nests
(rocking back n forth)
shapED like
long W’s.

I pick the burrow, by Melissa Chaconas

I pick the burrow
but there’s nothing left
to pick- brown greenish earth mud swirls around
down the
rabbit hole
– I pick anyway
and the earth bleeds… I
stop in painful shame and
I too feel the hurtful burn
of uncertainty.

I’m fine 4 a while then

I’m fire 4 A while THEN

I’m fine 4 a while then

then hours
later out of hateful habit
I take the scalpel &
look 4 something that isn’t here

I scan the walls
run my fingers over the
dried paint & mounds
of unseeable dirt

pile, bubble
but there lies a family, a unity
within the art of complexity

I want to pick at the old wounds
(at this house with no wind)
but I can’t reach them
there are far back &
my fingers are too big

I love the way, by Melissa Chaconas

I love the way the deep, dark, rooted, buried,
forgotten mahoganies
light tans,
rich chocolates

I love the way the deep, black, embedded,
forgotten wood soaks up

the forgiveness rain,

the “I miss you” rain,

the “I need this” rain,

the “I need to get out of this” rain,

the “new- beginnings” rain

the old, ancient,
moldy, “always here” wise wood
takes my place
s l o w l y
drawing in
your understandings
s l o w l y
drawing out
to water our seeds
to fill,
to replenish,
to purify
the magical,

Maine Gains— , by Melissa Chaconas

I tattoo in black
ink the word
w/ a
S is
nicer, softer
than X
marks the
in ancient
text on fingers like henna
I forget to go to
the star, the
extraord9inary special
4 ways to stuff
my dolphingates full

I need thriller results
no more making friends
laugh w/my painfully empty dates

I turn your letter inside out
rip the sides down to open a passage
and pound out soft dough
words not ready to go
mountain climbing or
bake bread 4 the hungry
Will a normal Halloween past by?
(why is that sentence strange with irony?)
Why is it a competition always
Who holds MORE
Pain? Actually I am
Pretty good w/ games

let me
give you
a great introduction
to my
silent veins
I plus
focus plus
lines from chemicals ? on my
will my palm reader
lose another
baby or go
dancing with me?
A special rate.

We play
music all the
time but who
listens? Do we
feel each other? Or
Do we “goofball”
feed off
each other?

I rewrite
& fold & rewrite

mailing this letter to my conscious self
to go visit my unconsciousness self on the hills of challenges
sneed snotty
sneed seeds slip special slumber shelters
(4) social services
(that) stop
(because of)
Brown jumping autumn elphant accepted
green growth monster that slips away

brown baby Ganesh busting w/ bountiful energies for health and home and true boundaries and luck for businesses

Will I owe my own Business?

this rabbit hole
from clark & division to Roosevelelt and opposite reverse direction
U see is if inclined filled with inspiration

this letter is made out to me
from my mother who goes wondering with pear waves and pumpkins that empress kings and make Scarborough horrors melt away with universal loving open mommy arms

don’t stop
the scarps on your knees and loose knee caps
help you grow