tuckova

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Interests: Alfons Mucha, Archibald Leach, big words, Bob Hicok, Brian Eno, Cat Power, Charles Bukowski, Charlotte Masaryk, cheese, clarity, dark chocolate, David Byrne, David Foster Wallace, Dorothy Parker, Douglas Adams, Edna St. Vincent Millay, E.E. Cummings, Frank O’Hara, Fred Rogers, garlic, Gaudi, Gertrude Stein, ginger, Gustav Klimt, Iva Pekarkova, Jane Austen, Jaromir Nohavica, Jeanette Winterson, Josef Skvorecky, Joseph Campbell, Joss Whedon, Just a Minute, Kate Bush, Kurt Vonnegut, laughing until it hurts, Laurie Anderson, Leonard Cohen, little kids singing, Lloyd Alexander, mandarin oranges, making lists, Margaret Atwood, Miss Manners, New Yorker, Paul Simon, performance, P.G. Wodehouse, poetry, Rebecca Solnit, Rob Brezsny, Robert Anton Wilson, Robert Creeley, salt, Salvador Dali, secrets, silence, Star Trek, Stephen Dunn, Talking Heads, Terry Gilliam, things that stain, This American Life, Tom Waits, T.S. Eliot, vegetable juice, veiled cultural references, vinegar, water, wine, W.H. Auden

Category: POETRY

  • mine

    An explosion of color and words about love The microscopic image of a tear  Clay formed by a child's hands both clumsy and sweet Icarus falling into the water, the black sun watching him with neither anger nor mercy An old man's gnarled fingers gripping his cigarette as he stares into the distance  A boy…

  • RIP, BLK

    The first time I remember seeing you was when I was in 7th or 8th grade. I was 13 years old and full of the anguish that comes with that age plus the added sadness from still feeling not quite at home where I lived, the idealized longing for what I'd lost. There was a…

  • in this time

    All day I carried you with menestled in the crook of an autumn leaf.I smudged you with perfume,Sugar and applesIf you had come before spring, you would have stayed, you would have had little choice.I would have woken to your breath on my neck. All day I did what I always doin my haze of…

  • Intrusion, by Denise Levertov

    After I had cut off my handsand grown new onessomething my former hands had longed forcame and asked to be rocked. After my plucked out eyeshad withered, and new ones grownsomething my former eyes had wept forcame asking to be pitied.  

  • Nocturne II by W. S. Merwin

    August arrives in the darkwe are not even asleep and it is herewith a gust of rain rustling before ithow can it be so late all at oncesomewhere the Perseids are fallingtoward us already at a speed that wouldburn us alive if we could believe itbut in the stillness after the rain endsnothing is to…

  • The Solitary, by Sara Teasdale

    My heart has grown rich with the passing of years,I have less need now than when I was youngTo share myself with every comer,Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue. It is one to me that they come or goIf I have myself and the drive of my will,And strength to climb on…

  • Onset, by Kim Addonizio

    Watching that frenzy of insects above the bush of white flowers,bush I see everywhere on hill after hill, all I can think ofis how terrifying spring is, in its tireless, mindless replications.Everywhere emergence: seed case, chrysalis, uterus, endless manufacturing.And the wrapped stacks of Styrofoam cups in the grocery, latelyI can't stand them, the shelves of…

  • A Settlement, by Mary Oliver

    Look, it’s spring. And last year’s loose dust has turnedinto this soft willingness. The wind-flowers have comeup trembling, slowly the brackens are up-lifting theircurvaceous and pale bodies. The thrushes have comehome, none less than filled with mystery, sorrow,happiness, music, ambition. And I am walking out into all of this with nowhere togo and no task…

  • Instructions on Not Giving Up by Ada Limón

    More than the fuchsia funnels breaking outof the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor'salmost obscene display of cherry limbs shovingtheir cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slatesky of Spring rains, it's the greening of the treesthat really gets to me. When all the shock of whiteand taffy, the world's baubles and trinkets, leavethe pavement strewn with…

  • Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out, by Richard Siken

    Every morning the maple leaves.                               Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts            from one foot to the other. Every morning the same bigand little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out       …