let this be a flower in a field on fire

let this be a flower
in a field
on fire.

let this be a train
that moves backwards
the more it moves
forward.

let this be a broken bone,
a fractured sense of self,
a painting with a bullet wound
in its acrylic heart.

let this crack open
the shell of everything.

let this be an ambulance
through the small hallway
of your childhood home.

let this be a wound
that you pick open
every time it scabs.

let this
be spelled incorrectly
but sound perfectly incorrect.

let’s invite god
into the winter of our
grieving.

let’s dishevel
what’s left of our hair,

unbrush the back
of a once-wild horse,

uncover our garden
and introduce it to the frost
like a handshake with a hope
that looks like a blade.

let this kiss you
on both of your kidneys,
two red chalices
holding the anger
of your everyyear.

let this blister
before your lover
invites it to burst all over them
like an afterbirth.

let this sleep
through the war.

let this fight
through the dream.

let us weep
like our tears
could cool down the soil.

let me love you
in a language i will never
learn to speak.

let us honor arrows
for releasing the chi.

let us have an abundance
of only what we want and need,

a poem
that cannot be written,

a million wrong ways
to love each other.

let us dance with the king
of carrot flowers
who only speaks in maybes
until we too wear his carrot crown.

let it die like it was meant to.

let us never cease to grieve
anything,

let it muddle,

and let the muddle muddle
into more muddle,
as is where we birth tomorrow.

let this be a flower
in a field
on fire.

that does not dream
what it can sense before its very very face,

that there is no line
between what is burning
and what is drenched in rain.


Photo: Michael Benz

The Anatomy of a 32-Year-Old Man

What arms are these
that I have found
set gently against the
ground?

They fit just fine
and within them
is a sense of something
new.

An eastern wind
blows in
as I pluck an apple
from the tree
that I grew beside.

These arms change
in an intimate set
of seasons.

These arms
that wish to be wings
and thus move
to become them.

Flower petals fall
all around me.

I do not flinch
at death

nor do I
make myself big
in the face of its
bear.

I cup my new hands
at the end of these new arms
and pray for rain
that pools like fire.

I pray to gods
that look at me
evenly
from the other side
of a healing Earth.


every year on my birthday i write a birthday poem. “the anatomy of a ___ year old man.” thank you for reading.

Image: Joe Pilié

Thought For Food | Submit to South Broadway Press’ First Poetry Anthology

I’ve been sitting on this new project, South Broadway Press, for a while now and as of late, some members of the team and myself decided we want to put together a poetry anthology to raise funds for a local non-profit, Denver Food Rescue.

TFF Banner

Here is the details which you can also find on the South Broadway Ghost Society site:

In these times of COVID-19 and social isolation, many people are out of work and lacking the resources necessary to even feed themselves.

South Broadway Press, the parent LLC of South Broadway Ghost Society, would like to help suppport local non-profit Denver Food Rescue by raising funds through an anthology of poetry entitled “Thought For Food”.

Denver Food Rescue

What Denver Food Rescue does:

We increase health equity with Denver neighborhoods by rescuing high-quality, fresh produce and perishable foods that would otherwise be thrown away by grocery stores, farmers markets, and produce distributors. With the help of our amazing volunteers, the food we rescue is delivered (often biked!) to Denver neighborhoods for direct distribution at No Cost Grocery Programs (NCGPs).  NCGPs are co-created with existing community organizations like schools, recreation centers, and nonprofits that are already established and trusted within the neighborhood, decreasing transportation barriers. Residents of the NCGP community lead the distribution of rescued food, and many also help with food rescue shifts. This participation decreases stigma of traditional food pantries, empowering each neighborhood to create a program that is appropriate for their culture & community.

“Food For Thought” will be an anthology featuring a single poem by each selected contributor. Copies of “Thought For Food” will be available to contributors for $6. They will sell to other folks for $15 each.

Poems can be on any theme. If you’d like to be prompted, consider writing on the theme of food, or on life in the face of a pandemic.

“Thought For Food” marks South Broadway Press’ first release.

Submissions for this project will close on May 11th of 2020.

We will accept previously published materials.

If you would like to submit please send an email to submissions@soboghoso.org with the following information:

Subject: THOUGHT FOR FOOD

  1. Your name.
  2. A brief 100-word-or-less bio.
  3. Up to three poems as a Word document or a Google Doc. We are not paying contributors for this project, but contributor copies will be available at a discounted rate of $6 each.

Please email us at submissions@soboghoso.org with any questions.

shallow focus photo of sliced orange fruits
Photo: Kristof Zerbe

Cover Photo: Nordwood Themes

Head Room Sessions: Love Poem for Everything

I recently recorded my poem “Love Poem For Everything” through Head Room Sessions. Thank you to the always-wonderful Von Disco for accompanying me on this track.  This poem is from my second collection of poetry, Hero Victim Villain.

Cover Photo: Mana5280

Punketry the Album: Oppenheimer

This winter, I was a part of Black Market Translations recording session Punketry the Album, based on the event of the same name. Punketry is a monthly Denver showcase of poets reading over punk music. My first track that came out of the session is called “Oppenheimer” after Robert Oppenheimer, who was involved in the creation of the atomic bomb, and famous quoted the Bhagavad Gita upon its completion saying “I am become death, destroyer of worlds…”

How to Read My Poems

slink up
behind them
in the stale of
night
with a baseball bat
with nails
sticking out of the end
and bash them in the
head
like a zombie
terrorizing your childhood
home.

do not listen
to their
bullshit.

bitch back.

stomp
on their
toes.

poison
their drinking
water.

let the fucking
curse words shout
at their
stupid
fucking
faces like
unintentional spitwads

but don’t
talk
behind their backs.

my poems
keep their friends close,
but their enemies
even
closer.

(C) Brice Maiurro 2012

Cover art: John Jennings

Poetry EP Release: Everything is on Fire

Last fall, I had the distinct pleasure of heading to the studio of the one and only Chadzilla Johnson, where we took a few of my favorite poems from my new collection, Hero Victim Villain and recorded them, with Chadzilla accompanying me on drums with a couple appearances of other instruments. As of yesterday, those recordings have come together as an EP called “Everything is on Fire.”

I hope you’ll take a minute and listen to these tracks. One of my favorite ways to perform is accompanied by this amazing drummer and music teacher.

the anatomy of a 31-year-old man

it’s the bones that i’m thinking about. the frame. that which goes unspoken for but consistently holds me up. there is a stream that runs through green hills beneath a harsh sun. the grass has barely started to brown, to burn. and at the far edges of this still life is a frame that holds together like a family. there is a nail that trusts the wall. a wall that trusts the floors, the ceiling. light shines in through windows. i step, lifting a congregation of bone and marrow by muscle, over and again, in ten million years of motion leading to one moment where i look outside the window. my neck twisted upward to the golden sky i look for any trace of saturn and i think to myself where is it? and i answer back to myself it’s gone.

 

every year on my birthday i write a birthday poem. “the anatomy of a ___ year old man.” thank you for reading.

Hero Victim Villain – Book Release

hero victim villain

EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE AND I WANT TO SLEEP FOR AT LEAST TWO WEEKS.

I’m excited to say my second collection of poetry, Hero Victim Villain, will be released on June 24th from Stubborn Mule Press.

This collection is mostly an accumulation of poems that I wrote late 2017 to early 2019. The first poem in the collection, The Canary Who Swallowed The Coal Minekind of set the tone. I say in the poem “everything is on fire, and I want to sleep for at least two weeks.” The poem goes on to basically explain how everything is on fire, a commentary on my own anxieties and paranoia and feelings of helplessness, the way I can play the victim at times.

My friend Brandon Pooley calls it the poet’s disease. The way that some creatives will be self-destructive ultimately in the name of art. Something I want to get away from. I think that art is born out of self-discovery. Yeah, if you’re going through some hard shit you are possibly growing as a person, but it doesn’t have to be hard shit. Go on a trip, walk backwards to the grocery store, change jobs. I think what’s better than drinking yourself into a coma every night is pushing yourself out of your comfort zone by pushing yourself to be more. Henry Rollins says it well:

“If you hate your parents, the man or the establishment, don’t show them up by getting wasted and wrapping your car around a tree. If you really want to rebel against your parents, out-learn them, outlive them, and know more than they do.”

The book goes on to explore these themes more. Savior complexes, the monsters we are and the monsters among us, all with a healthy dose of humor. I’m really excited about this collection. I hope to stop by the blog a bit more over the next couple months with more short writings, but thank you for reading. I hope that not everything is on fire for you.


photo: henry desroches