Tag Archives: art

What Are You Doing?!?


(An Exquisite Corpse Poem by Zombie Salon members Robin, Anne, Tricia, Andrew, and Julie)

We don’t want you over there getting a hard on
one of your big hang ups is are you too smart for the world?

Cuz if you are too smart than you won’t be fiddling in your pants,
feeling your self get hard but instead or even better you will
write a poem (and not an erotic one, either)
or you will find the perfect art form that allows us to merge our physical and intellectual halves into a perfect whole
be less heart, less feet, less shaved skin scented
more synapse, more tongue pointed, more gray matter
instead of shades of
water reflecting a sunray glinting its blinding void
bright bright flooding the emptiness with
retinal pain and shadows of furious crotch-pounding
focusing on the now, the life
ignoring the end that catches us all

Exquiste Corpse Poem
Zombie Salon Group Poem


Bath Fixtures and Beethoven



I’ve been holding back,
carelessly squandering my verve
in a desire to pass,
repressing urges to scribble lines
or take photographs
when a minister hands a jeaned child
a purple iris
and the wisp girl grips it tightly,
petals forming fireworks
above her silk and sand waterfall
of perfectly trimmed bangs.

I didn’t dance in the aisle at Home Depot
Friday morning
when Slung-lo started playing.
in Home Depot,
like a pretty message from the gods,
and I tried to pretend like it wasn’t,
and that my heart was not cliff diving
in ecstasy
over one of my happy songs
raining down from rafters
as I assessed a display of shower heads.
I failed to drop my shoulders,
allow my head to shake free,
transform to flow and bliss.

I tried not to show
any of the watching world
the depth of the gash
on my spirit last Thursday,
a veritable internal hemorrhage,
hiding instead behind a poem
about a man
being more than his bland façade
might suggest.
Anemic offerings
when I should have splattered
the room with blood,
let loose my murderous thumbs
on words that cut and skewered,
plumbed pain,
making it both singular and universal.

Beethoven fearlessly
wandered around muttering
things like “I want to seize fate by the throat.”
Sure, he had social problems,
failed romantically over and over
and went deaf,
but he wrote Allegro from Violin Sonata, Op. 24,
playing out his jubilation and his anguish
across sheets,
through notes, and strings,
in parlors and on stages.

Every last one of us
alternately stumbles and destroys,
succeeds and glides,
but few possess the daring
to sincerely share the rawest
turmoil and joy,
channel and elevate
pure emotion to art.

I am grateful for the Beethovens,
the fearless,
for those who have let loose,
uncapping the rage and the love,
refusing to hold back
in hardware stores
or concert halls,
braving full exposure
and judgmental eyes,
to bring us beauty,
loan us,
even if only for moments,
hearts capable of withstanding
unsanitized truth.


April 6, 2014
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 6



Career Advice



I was taught
that I should take satisfaction
in jobs well done
rather than songs well sung

In Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs
poetry holds nothing up
puts no coat on your back
or sushi in your belly
you can’t make the mortgage
with verse or lyric
only with your busy hands
and business-minded savvy

Life a To Do list
and worth measured
by how many items get ticked off each day
me running down the middle on Myers-Briggs
one foot everywhere
but with a head preferring height
so I can see forests
even though I’m good at counting trees

I’m too easily frustrated
by the arithmetic of itemization
instead preferring two plus two
equals lotus flower
Guy Garvey keening The Night Will Always Win
the ultimate rhubarb custard pie
laughter from someone dancing alone
bike pedals twisted with indigo ribbons
a well wrought urn

April 22, 2013
Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo #22

Resonant Frequency


The mustard sundress
scored with muted shapes
in shades of blue and green
triangles and circles overlapping
like a piece of abstract art —
you presented me with this gift
still warm from where it had swung
moments before in the soft breeze
on the side of the street vendor’s tent
where it caught you
as you walked home from your day of work
accelerating plasma inside a collider donut

It looked liked something I’d wear
you said
perfectly made for my sugar-sour soul
the curve of my hips
spark and flash of my irises

On that day of woven sunshine
and faultless sky
I never felt more loved
by you

© Julie Ayers
April 2012 – NaPoWriMo 18