Sunday, April 27, 2014

Stunt Water



Stunt Water

Inches-deep... no underside:
the creek falls
off a stone tabletop.

Crinkly film noir
daydream: parched
femme fatale apple tree.

For one tin cup....

Friday, April 25, 2014

WINTER RECESSIONAL: A Red Shuttleworth Poetry Chapbook



Winter Recessional

Four Poems

Red Shuttleworth



Red Shuttleworth's Winter Recessional, a limited (22 copies) edition Bunchgrass Press chapbook, features four recent poems:

Crimean Saturday
Last Night of Winter
Winter Recessional
and
Under a Darkened Sky


This chapbook is approved by Peaches Shuttleworth!
Peaches Shuttleworth
Nine-Month-Old Irish Wolfhound
(April 2014)

Monday, April 21, 2014

RAIN / DREAM: A Red Shuttleworth Poetry Chapbook



Rain / Dream

Nine Poems from the Rain / Dream Suite

Red Shuttleworth


Rain / Dream is a nine-poem Red Shuttleworth limited edition chapbook issued by Bunchgrass Press.





                                        hide yourself not in the Rock keep on the move
                                        keep on the move

                                              Samuel Beckett
                                              Serena III




Note:  Although every effort was made to properly reproduce Red Shuttleworth's crayon-on-paper Rain 17 on the cover of Rain / Dream, the result is disappointing.  Below is a better facsimile of the drawing.

Rain 17
Red Shuttleworth
(crayon-on-index card)

Saturday, April 19, 2014

SHRUB DESERT CHRONOGRAPH: A Red Shuttleworth Poetry Chapbook




Shrub Desert Chronograph

A Corral of Poems

Red Shuttleworth


Shrub Desert Chronograph is issued in a limited (25-copies) edition by Bunchgrass Press.

The first versions of these poems, under the title In Evidence, appeared at www.poetredshuttleworth.blogspot.com. 






Friday, April 18, 2014

FEBRUARY... A JESSI SHUTTLEWORTH FILM: Watch the Preview Trailer

Jessi Shuttleworth in February 




February

A Scabland Productions Film

Featuring

Jessi Shuttleworth
Dan Shaked
Phyllis Somerville
Ethan Phillips
Katherine Hiler
Patrick Husted
Cristen Hemingway Jaynes
Bill Tucker


The preview trailer for February can be viewed at:
www.scablandproductions.com


Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Rain / Dream: 17



Rain / Dream: 17

A moon so gaudy it hides
behind clouds off the Pacific:
Trajan's nightmare of Rome
turning burnt-leaf Christian.

An old man crashes through
a midnight farmhouse,
stumble-jumps dog-gnawed
living room furniture to beat
a Wolfhound pup to an electric-
orange plastic ball... compensatory
sport as a sagebrush basin
picks up wind for a dust storm.

It is the sound of Caligula
unpacking to rule while others
pray some general can hook
a chain to the moon...
drag it down-mountain,
drown it in a deep sea.




Sunday, April 13, 2014

Rain / Dream: 16



Rain / Dream: 16

The core is barely visible,
or perhaps not there, for compulsive
self-searchers.  Ravished surfaces,
raw nerve endings... black five-buckle
boots hung from neutral-brown walls....

One thing leads to cartoon-
plastered walls.  Another thing
gets you caught... bumper-dragged
for miles... a raw-meat possum.

Memory: erotic bible scene tapestries
(creams, river-blues, blood-wet reds)...
an eerily calm Saturday night convent.
There is no farther apart than such-like.





Rain / Dream: 15



Rain / Dream: 15

Shooting for the reportorial, a string
of painted-rough prayer beads,
night-purple, you babble-for-practice
at the Wolfhound yanking you forward.

Headlights slope downhill... a distance
you pattern-out... like fashion magazine
after-scenes when woodblock prints
are passed around and humility
is a hunched shoulder at-shrug.

Within days the moon's ash-white
will transmogrify to blood-cinnamon.
Eclipse: time-ravaged table flower.

Friday, April 11, 2014

Rain / Dream: 14



Rain / Dream: 14

Against the grain of wood, gold, or stone,
a gritty wind sweeps off the Cascades,
across foothills, down to bunchgrass.
You're an imaginary creature to Mr. Coyote,
hardly noticed by crow or spring gopher.
You take rest on a shelf of volcanic rock.
You peel a handful of aluminum foil...
sliced cow on soggy raisin bread.
You drowse... a version of no-self.

Rain / Dream: 13



Rain / Dream: 13

Humidity... school bus heat...
odor of spearmint gum
over pot-scorched oatmeal.

Memory... fleeting nostalgia...
blunt-stare out a window:
a night-killed doe in a ditch,
fresh, not yet bloated.

You're okay... for now.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Rain / Dream: 12



Rain / Dream: 12

Dark week-old smeared porcupine:
the road slow-climbs north for a mile
past basalt... or is it theatre Styrofoam?
The players emerge in scene shop fabric
wolf skins... too scrawny, not enough
muscle to provoke fear.  You drive
past a Future Farmers of America
bake sale table, past a parade
of shaved-head kids in floral
hospital gowns, past a herd
of marine-blue, red-eyed rabbits.
You feel that you are bronzed...
have a halo, that you are luminous,
that you have left your sagebrush desert
for lush-green mountains, for forest lakes,
for sand-yellow cabins in pure sunlight...
where endless sleep is the only possibility.  

Rain / Dream: 11



Rain / Dream: 11

The dead walk through silver dream rain,
nonchalant and smooth... as if on a conveyor.
You are on your way to a dinner party
at a Chinese restaurant.  You see a flat screen
TV in a store window, dead-grey, no reflection.
The dead smile plaster-white at one another.
You run into a gawky kid you knew in school,
a fifth outfielder in those days, dead a decade:
electrocuted in an ice storm.  The gawky kid
smiles even though it is clear he has no memory.
You are on your way to a dinner party,
no invitation, walking nonchalant... real smooth.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Rain / Dream: 10



Rain / Dream: 10

Rusted-out pistols and old vacuum
cleaner parts piled in a pick-up bed,
neon flash-blink of the Urgent Motel,
overlooked personal situations
that curve back and carve a blood-
gully in your whitewashed niche.

This is you on line at the Safeway
in front of a film noir blonde
making selfies.  This is you buying
a plane ticket to Damascus or Kiev...
anywhere you can write poems
about electrical cord hangings.


Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Rain / Dream: 9



Rain / Dream: 9

What we no longer apprehend....
Certain lost echoes approach,
but fade... like friends
two-decades dead:
Hokusai prints, no-web
1940's Wilson catcher mitts,
burlesque girls' raunchy gags
as enormous pink bubbles popped.

There is the scholarly exhibition
you put on for the Wolfhound puppy,
reading aloud, with oral annotation,
from bleak old Heraclitus:
crayon sketches to vary
disagreeable wisdom.

Our technical advances....
Fall-apart folding chairs,
apple-eating eyeglass clerks,
friends dead for twenty
gear-grind years.


Rain / Dream: 8



Rain / Dream: 8

The moon has so many black eyes.
Awkward night walks on short-cropped
April-green weeds: no rungs to the stars.

Drunk, head down on a greasy rough plank
in a deadfall 1880's Rocky Mountain saloon,
eyes blink as lung-blood drips off Doc's chin.

Skeletal hands, brown beer bottle glass
arranged to approximate a saint's face:
to become a public figure... blood-wool.

Scenarios of magic require upheaved props:
powdered moon rock, painted hawk feathers,
oil from Mother Teresa's mange-flake scalp.


Monday, April 7, 2014

Rain / Dream: 7



Rain / Dream: 7

Willful reactions... as if you are
part diffuse knapweed,
now ancient: a tumbleweed.
You're wind-sent, a rock-tosser...
sip-of-green-tea hermit on barb wire.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Rain / Dream: 6



Rain / Dream: 6

A simple dog bark echo... ancient
millstones of memory: tons of bad
hay set ablaze for insurance money.

Neighbors nourish Tuesday-small
versions of themselves: grown children
with single-use plastic bottles of water.

Get back to the timothy hay, 
the Wolfhound laughs, fire... urinals
exploded with July cherry bombs.

Your copper-thief demons meditate:
time to reduce expenses, rinse...
reuse our plastic yogurt-cup spoons.


Saturday, April 5, 2014

Rain / Dream: 5



Rain / Dream: 5

Cloud-climbers... speckle-eyed eagles....
You sense ancient ghost-wolves slicing hard
through coulees... a hundred years ago:
a plywood saloon gone a hundred years.

The dead pencil-in your name,
sing like poured sugar, more a bone-grind
than the expected yowl and groan.

Black evergreen branches
claw and scratch the farmhouse roof.

A rain-purple afternoon sky...
the confusion of waking
on a bed of  tractor-ripped sagebrush.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Rain / Dream: 4



Rain / Dream: 4

Crackle of stained glass...
brain lesions or memory?

Red thick-petal roses:
pretty girls' beige blouses
dissolving at milky twilight....

Silk banners from a ceiling,
coins ornamenting an indoor pine,
chunks of wax on a redwood table,
laughter of summer ghost-children
in a 19th century hotel lobby....

The habit is to salt-wrap it.
The heart turns silver-grey.




Rain / Dream: 3



Rain / Dream: 3

April shower: dust smears
down a picture window.
An old coulee country hotel
drunk-slides sideward
a crumbly inch or two.

No white porcelain brickwork.
No rooftop veggie garden.
No cocktails-at-four balcony.

A serving of meaty guitars
from a front lobby turntable
stolen back in seventy-nine:
three bent-spine old men
at dog-eared cards...
chin-flecks of amber tobacco.


 

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Rain / Dream: 2



Rain / Dream: 2

The stopwatch catches your breath...
slows you down to a sluggish walk.
The Wolfhound mutters
(This is companionship?),
thinks of herself as teen
marathon champ.
A polyp-yellow house,
tumbleweeds against one side:
the television's Epitaph Channel
asks, What does it all mean?




Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Rain / Dream: 1



Rain / Dream: 1

Social disobedience
like a black vacant night-pasture:
your mood swings... postcards
to others charlie-horse
bottomed-out.
This enthusiasm
in usually absent black rain...
this blood-dead hawk.