Tuesday, March 24, 2015

WHAT CAN WE MAKE OF THIS?: A Red Shuttleworth Poetry Chapbook




What Can We Make of This?

four poems

Red Shuttleworth



What Can We Make of This? is a four-poem Red Shuttleworth chapbook issued in a limited edition on fine paper by Bunchgrass Press.  The table of contents:

Revelations Saturday

As Months Merge

What Can We Make of This?

Shrub Desert.... Individuality



Red Shuttleworth
(March 24, 2015, photo by Kate Shuttleworth)






Sunday, March 8, 2015

Shrub Desert... Individuality



Shrub Desert... Individuality

Airplane crash ghosts

crow-scream into so many memories
until those who remember are also ghosts.

Today a blue-lavender sky
and tomorrow you will notice
thick plastic panic handles
above windows inside some cars.

This evening a cheap predator
whistle to play a rabbit-in-agony
song for local coyotes.


This poem and others from the 2015 fire season in Washington State are included in Red Shuttleworth's Woe to the Land Shadowing, a book published by Blue Horse Press... available on Amazon.





Saturday, March 7, 2015

MAILBOX SHOOTERS & PROM QUEEN RUNNERS-UP, A One-Poem Red Shuttleworth Chapbook




Mailbox Shooters
& Prom Queen Runners-Up

a one-poem chapbook

Red Shuttleworth



Red Shuttleworth wrote Mailbox Shooters & Prom Queen Runners-Up in March, 2011.  Although it has been particularly popular on Shuttleworth's blog since April 10, 2011, the poem has been revised.  No longer available on this blog, Mailbox Shooters & Prom Queen Runners-Up is now a Bunchgrass Press (limited edition) chapbook.


Columbia Basin Mail Boxes
(More often hit by pickups than by bullets.)



Red Shuttleworth

Thursday, March 5, 2015

What Can We Make of This?



What Can We Make of This?

Plastic pouch of dried, sugary blueberrries
to help keep off Copenhagen-with-bourbon,
the Wolfhound happily back seat grinning
from an open window, you slow drive...
watch neighbors disc thawing fields.

No effect in wrestling with CNN news:
ISIS tosses Gays off Syrian roofs,
New York/London fashion week
and leather accessories,  a Delta jet
skids off a snowy New York runway.
The jasmine scent of a certain Delta
stewardess comes sweet-memory back...
grace and poignancy of a motel bar drink.

Early March on a lonesome sage steppe...
mourning doves in non-native evergreens,
fifty degree afternoons for baseball,
contrails of Navy fighters thundering
from Whidbey to Mountain Home.

Half a small Milk Bone at every stop,
a mile walk every hour and a half.
A young Wolfhound and an old man
ride-out a swaybacked sunny morning,



Sunday, March 1, 2015

As Months Merge




As Months Merge

Slaughterhouse nap-dreams... brass bullets
straight to swine-squeal foreheads.
You have been reading newspapers,
barrel-bomb stories set in Syria or Iraq,
sidebar crucifixions, beheadings,
runaway London teens crossing
the porous border from Turkey to....
Now the east window is cracked open
to a starry night... some thick-haired
dwarf planet entering human consciousness.
So many natural wonders... neglect or appreciate.
You awaken sweaty, crusty-eyed, not yourself...
neither protagonist or antagonist, nor deciding agent.