poetry, punx, and prose

delta migrant backwater blues

2010-05-20T14:22:00.000-04:00

smokestack northern skylines

beckon dusty southern hands

brothers

and husbands

take the rails

trade

muddy water

banks

for

howlin’ bloody

streets

factory fair share

lily white lie,

american dreams

gone in

smokestack lightning

blues collars look best on black necks

scent of memory

2010-05-17T14:05:00.000-04:00

wiff of

parking lot

cigarette smoke

wraps me

around

hfstival mosh pit

1999

***

bar bathroom

vapor

stale floor

beer & vomit

and i’m pledging

STG

class of ‘02

***

spliff stank

drifts

on clink from

cheersing friends

snaps me

present and

accounted for

to brand new

Boulder CO.

abode

pint raised revelry

welcoming to adulthood

***

ten years from

now

freshly brewed tea

medicinal only

reminds of mile high

house warming

2010

The Gaslight Anthem & Bruce Springsteen - The '59 Sound

2010-05-10T11:51:00.000-04:00

no title

2010-05-06T18:56:00.000-04:00

there is a place

near the Maryland border

where the rock breaks right through the ground

and the gray hands that pull it from the earth

are the same that lay the foundations

of the little gray houses that line the road

cut to fit without mortar

the granite smoothes its

rough edges to gentle parabolas

under two hundred years of gravity

built before the great depression

before the dust bowl migrants

and mr Jackson defied the supreme court

when black was black

and white was white

before The american dream

gray hands built gray windows for gray faces

to, upturned, catch the sun on a sunny day

and the only dreams

are those that came to tightly closed eyes

MediaVirus Monday

2010-05-03T10:52:00.002-04:00

The new issue of MediaVirus is now up! You can check it out here: MediaVirus Magazine. In this issue we feature poetry from G. David Schwartz and Gary Beck, new short fiction from Christopher Kugler, and a review by Lawrence and myself of Puma Perl's new poetry collection Knuckle Tattoos. Also featured are two new, unpublished selections from Lawrence and my libraries. Enjoy!

The Flatliners - He Was A Jazzman

2010-04-27T10:49:00.003-04:00

Yusef's blood

2010-04-23T21:05:00.000-04:00

To create anything

you need

a deep abiding love

of the sound of man

making poetry

from air

Comprehend the drive,

the need to shape the natural world

to our design

sculpt breath and will and

sex into acoustic control

god’s gift and man’s mind

melding together into momentary reality

fixed in that instant of creativity

forever

and fleetingly

in the left brain of those present

Musicians spitting gold

coins from under their tongues like

greek kings in the maestro box

No wonder Apollo was

the Archer

white night

2010-04-20T10:43:00.007-04:00

Corner store scumbag

Flashes cigarette smile

And pin up prosti’s

Twenty-buck suck

Fifty-buck fuck

STD on the house

Flash him forty

Call it even

No tip for Jane

Back room jitters +

Belt line bulge

= Trigger finger twitch

Take your pick

And dip your prick

Line crossed asshole

Steel flashes, room redecorated

In femoral firestorm

And brain matter grey

Good deed done

Cobra Skulls - H.D.U.I

2010-04-15T09:22:00.001-04:00

well publicized secret to success

2010-04-12T16:47:00.000-04:00

Most writers

eventually

write about cats

They are noble beasts

and if you want

to be a writer

you should adopt one

at some point

timmy and the story of AA

2010-04-08T12:09:00.000-04:00

I saw Timmy a few months ago

he was doing better

staying clean,

staying sober.

He said meetings

were really helping

hold back the need

to rush out and drink the town.

But his roommate told me

he relapsed once

a couple weekends ago,

spent two days as a puddle.

He seems fine now

roommate assures me,

but I know Timmy

and I know about the bottle

he keeps under the couch.

MediaVirus Monday

2010-04-05T10:23:00.002-04:00

Addicted audience! Welcome to a brand new MediaVirus Monday! MediaVirus is proud to present our new April issue #9. Head over to MediaVirus Magazine to check out the new art, poetry, and fiction.

skater

2010-03-29T10:39:00.001-04:00

A bearded skater

honing his craft

in the cement wonderland

under the bridge,

oblivious to me as I pass.

Existing only in the cradle

of baptismal asphalt,

streaks of skin and denim

tag the cement with commitment.

His junky chic silhouette,

a millennial bohemian.

Raku

2010-03-23T08:37:00.000-04:00

Flame erupts from scarred trashcans as

Dragon’s fire burns pots green hot

Gas fired fury belches

Masterpieces of hand and mud

White men scramble for the samurai’s grace

Ripping off lids in eastern ecstasy

While copper smoke blocks out the world

Figures swirl in the haze

Momentarily attaining bushido

Reaching back to touch the cherry blossom

Time and space be damned

These men caress Earth’s flesh

Into vessels that catch the past

Punkrostic

2010-03-19T08:28:00.000-04:00

Pink hair and

Upstart anthems

No future for the Pistols

Know your rights as given by the Clash

Manic pits, energy flows

Up through the floor, explodes

Skyward releasing restless

Incandescent rage, youthful

Candor keeps us sane for one more show…

Gregory Corso discusses Jack Kerouac

2010-03-15T10:35:00.001-04:00

Pennsylvania hills

2010-03-10T17:55:00.000-05:00

The blood of coal mine rioters

and whiskey revolutionaries

ride down the fog

History waters these evergreens as

roots burrow deep into the

skulls of forefathers and

the spines of gentleman farmers

Men and lives and families

have come and gone

on the steppes of these giants

Ever guarding the commonwealth

from the forgetful tendencies

of human whims

I Knew You Were My Wife

2010-03-07T10:41:00.002-05:00

Star sapphires flash

Pale blue possibility

Across the room

Be careful with those

Boys’ hearts break easy

Under a woman like you

Words follow well

Practiced patterns but

We both know how

To speak with our eyes

Cell level logic and

Prehistory guide us as

Thought dissolves into

Shared movement

Heads thrown back

We alabaster angels

Find each curve and

Follow every line

Backs arch and

Momentum takes hold as

Hands clench

Griping harder

Trying to hold it off

We steal a moment

In the softly fading glow

Lives start again with

A clear eyed morning as

Last night lingers between us

MediaVirus Issue #8

2010-03-03T08:14:00.003-05:00

It's a couple days late but check out the new issue of MediaVirus at MediaVirus Magazine. This issue features some great new poetry, fiction, and visual art. Thanks for your support and enjoy!

maria

2010-02-28T20:13:00.000-05:00

Maria always sat next to me

smiling and giggling

hiding her head in my shoulder

all the while exchanging sidelong glances

with the Kappa Sig down the bar

She accepted my invitation

and my ride

she drank my beer

and my shots

all the while ignoring my company

We left her house at the same time

rode in the same car

went to the same bar

but lived miles apart

never coming home together

Every week the same date

and the same disappointment

following her bread crumbs

to a bar tab for two

and an empty bed

Ted Leo - Johnny Appleseed/Rudie Can't Fail live

2010-02-25T09:54:00.001-05:00

burned out city

2010-02-23T16:42:00.001-05:00

The grain silos

stand above the skyline,

keeping watch

for returning prosperity,

guards from a time

when this was the

Queen City

modern queen mab

2010-02-18T13:59:00.000-05:00

deep explosions rumble in my frontal lobe

bringing bursts of blues and off-whites to a

place behind my optic nerve

like far off artillery fire,

a swirl of every face i’ve ever known

cascades a righteous sleep to my eyes

and i awake sagacious

comfortable with the face of the universe

homeless question

2010-02-15T09:47:00.000-05:00

asked of me outside a bar

‘hey man, can you spare?’

‘the missions here are $7/night’

sure I can spare

5 in his hand

and his foot in the door

before my bills are in his pocket

when I realize missions are free

and beers are 3.50 a piece

Twitter!

2010-02-12T11:17:00.003-05:00

Today is your lucky day! You can now follow me, Stewart Grant, and Poetry, Punx, and Prose on twitter at poetrypunxprose@twitter.com.

RX Bandits - To Our Unborn Daughters

2010-02-10T11:39:00.001-05:00

city lights

2010-02-08T11:53:00.001-05:00

charlie chaplin san fran misnomer,

metro chic one floor up

detracts not at all from

basement bar vibe,

smoke curls the stacks

of plastic sound

around aural knowledge,

thomas wolfe hand me down

wrapped black flag

carried by ghosts of

hexagon accelerated junkie hipsters,

bohemian bhagavan asks no supplication

all the sad poems

2010-02-05T09:21:00.003-05:00

Why are all the sad poems about women

is it just more tragic for them to be in a bad way

or do men keep their sad stories to themselves,

bottled up and hidden away

I feel bad for Brandi and Connie and Ellie

I really do

but what about Timmy and Tommy and Dan

Tom’s wife Bonnie got pregnant a few months ago

and Tom is just so excited

he rushed out and bought arm loads of toys

dolls and army men, just to be safe

and the whole time we was out

running from store to store

Bonnie kept trying to think of a way to tell him

the baby isn’t his

And Timmy, poor old Timmy

we go way back he and I

all the way to Orange Run Elementary

playing on the monkey bars and big blue slides

but now Timmy is five years a drunk and

rehabed twice

but it never really took

he stays sober a while

then something happens,

loses his job, fights with his parents

and it’s right back to the bottle

we talk about it sometimes

when we’re sitting around bullshitting,

throwing back beers,

Larry and Brain and Memphis and I,

the old gang, and we talk about

how we don’t think Timmy has too many

relapses left in him

Finally Dan

we were never really close Dan and I,

more of a friend of a friend thing but

we talked a little, played sports together in high school

Dan came from a proud military family

fathers and grandfathers back to the civil war

serving their country

Dan couldn’t wait to be the next in line

and when his chance came a few months out of college

only a few days out of basic

he was ready, chest full of pride and glory

he led his men into battle

20 men, most younger than him,

on October 3, 2006 outside of Kandahar,

when the mortars and RPG’s died down

they found most of him crouched behind a boulder

and dragged it back to the city,

he still talks pretty well,

if you catch him on a good day

and when you look in his father’s face

and see that little shine of something behind his eyes

its hard to tell if it’s pride in his son

or disappointment that he’ll be the last in the great line

I’m not sure if these stories are any more or less tragic

than any others

but I just felt they deserved a telling

MediaVirus Monday

2010-02-02T11:58:00.002-05:00

Addicted audience, give us your ear! Welcome to MediaVirus Monday and with it, the February Issue #7. This month features the most fictionMediaVirus has ever included in a single issue. Not to be outdone, the poetry page presents a pair of Washington D.C poets. This month's publication also offers three mixed media art mediums, as well as selections from Stewart and Lawrence's libraries, including previously unpublished material. So sit back, relax, and soak in the creative juices gushing from Issue #7.

poem for a jazz song

2010-02-01T14:40:00.001-05:00

Well shit,

Thelonious is telling me his shit

is gods instrument

and the sax is the

devil’s work

someone get me straight

cause jazz is too difficult

and I’m done with that poetry

too well done

and played out

and performed in

ensembles

and in front of

art gallery mics

i’m gonna write nice poetry

from the (sober) heart

for the (straight) mind

but the truth is

I’m always drunk and

my sister-in-law is queer

so I guess this

is for someone else

Dexter Gordon - Blue Bossa

2010-01-30T20:18:00.000-05:00

panther attack

2010-01-26T23:25:00.001-05:00

baby i feel good

with this bourbon scotch whisky

running through my veins

and your fingers in my hair

my unreliable eyes

reading the unreliable lies of

a clock across the room

which appears to indicate

it’s bedtime

but baby i’m too drunk to fuck

too drunk for bedtime

and what a waste of sacramental southern spirits

to sleep now

i know, i know there’ll be a headache tomorrow

but right now all i care about

is dancing to the panther

with you

and proving

dexter gordon was right

the sax is god’s instrument

john 'woody' mellor

2010-01-24T20:29:00.001-05:00

leather jacket three chord strut

amphetamine amped adrenal gland

fists precede piss and vinegar vitriol

fervent gutter politico posturing

dime a dozen descendents desperately mine

riff and rhythm from the only band that matters

Scene police

2010-01-22T18:36:00.001-05:00

Another pink haired punk in my face

telling me what’s what

be careful kid

I was there before you’d ever heard of a Monroe piercing

and if you don’t back off I’ll put my Prince Albert somewhere you won’t like

I do like your hair though

looks like the same shade Kelly Osborn had a few years back

I guess you’re as punk as her

Don’t forget to put on your uniform

before you go to the show tonight

all black head to toe

maybe a little eyeliner if you’re feeling real good

bangs across the eyes

ink and metal in full display

hang a bandana in your back pocket

like this is still DC of the eighties

remember your Marlboro Reds

no menthols or filters tonight

pruning peacock in a boozy zoo

Allow me a little advice I learned awhile back

it’s ok to drop that well practiced bored look for one minute

go head and jump in the pit

we’ll pick you up if you fall down

that’s what we do down here

it’s why people say it’s better in the basement

because we all know each other without having to give names

drop that look for one minute

and have a little fun

The Black Keys - thickfreakness

2010-01-19T11:58:00.001-05:00

black key bloody holly northern punk blues

2010-01-17T20:45:00.000-05:00

sonic two step

fuzz tone

glass slide

wa wa

swamp hop

52^nd ave.

down chord strut

strummer and th’ wolf

makin’ love to

hat tipped

r-o-b john lovin’

soho dressed

art school hipsters,

hoping not to share in

strychnine straight

whiskey back on ice

dog screamin death

delta chaz and west end john

equal parts sires to

williamsburg watering hole

white boys

with no home in the delta

21st century love story

2010-01-14T23:05:00.000-05:00

facebook update

i hate rebecca club

html cornerstone

ca. 2001

IRL proposal

ca. 2008

ring on finger

suitor uncertain

members vetted

via e-mail

her real name’s emily!

engagement annulled

binary breakup

judging eyes

2010-01-12T11:16:00.000-05:00

Judging eyes

question

all the way

to the fridge

Is that his

fifth beer?

Does he

need another?

Do I need another?

Didn’t T***y

just check into detox

Maybe I should

pack a pipe

instead

After all

zero studies

show what

every user knows

There are no

addictive qualities

to tea

If

2010-01-10T22:55:00.001-05:00

my thoughts

are cliché

stanzas

make

them

clever?

Muddy Water plays Mannish Boy

2010-01-07T09:20:00.001-05:00

Preditor/Editor Awards

2010-01-06T15:37:00.002-05:00

Very pleased to announce that MediaVirus Magazine, the publication i co-edit with Lawrence Gladeview, has been nominated for a Preditor/Editor Award in the category of Best Poetry E-Zine. Voting is taking place now until January 14th, so please make your voice heard and let you vote be known!

The Hellhound Would Be Proud

2010-01-04T10:43:00.001-05:00

That white girl’s

blues voice

covers

the green eyed crowd

Her honeyed delta thickness

takes us back

to our poor black days

and twelve-bar nights,

spent sky howling

and

back room crawling

Looking out for that devil we dealt with

down those Memphis crossroads

Wishing our blues history

extended past

safe college classrooms

and

warm cubicle wombs

wondering if

The hellhound would be proud

Bukowski black and white

2010-01-01T14:22:00.000-05:00

I saw a picture of Charles Bukowski

in the back of his book today

I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or crying

His wife took the picture

I wonder which she thought he was doing

I wonder if there was a difference for him

Hot Rock Punk Rock

2009-12-30T16:30:00.001-05:00

in town tonight

pink and black

plastic heart

shred by light

pray to fat god’s

hexagon sluts

worship and tribute

in three chord struts

strung across pit floor

fish net thigh

dreams of

anoxic brains

po-go-d high

hot topic lockstep

dyed black crush

into the underground

liberty spikes mush!

So What - John Coltrane and Miles Davis

2009-12-28T23:14:00.000-05:00

SARs (starving artist romantics)

2009-12-25T00:54:00.001-05:00

Tired, hungry, and frankly unappreciated

Masks do nothing for this infection

It’s in the culture

Chinaski: “The myth of the starving artist was a lie.”

Whiskey and women fuel me too

But I’m not published

I don’t wanna write I just wanna be a writer

Here’s a check for my dues, consider them paid

Just don’t cash that for about thirty years

I’m between credibility’s right now

I’m not worried, it’s temporary

My break’s on the way, writing the novel

Gonna bang out 5,000 words after work

It’s like if Fitzgerald wrote Catcher in the Rye

But with Hemmingway’s pen and Kerouac’s cool

Shopping it by August, mingling in LA by November

Riches and respect to follow

imported afternoon

2009-12-21T12:29:00.001-05:00

brazil nuts

fall

from my

hand

costa rum

from

my glass

to cook

in hot

virginian

sun

the ants-

feast

like kings

Stars are meteors

2009-12-17T07:58:00.003-05:00

This poem is a response to this weeks Read Write Poem prompt. The site posts a list of words and challenges poets to create an original work including all or some of the words. I managed to use all except for to or three of the words. Read Write Poem is a great community and a great resource for poets and writers.

Stars are meteors

only when they fall.

Plucked from the celestial shell,

pierced by our neglect

of their glory,

none are moved by their curled descent.

Our backs turned

we feel safer contemplating

telephones and radar,

things built of precious hands

and abiding minds.

We are struck numb by fire

in front of the moon,

confronted with a reminder of

Icarus’ failure.

snow

2009-12-16T16:25:00.001-05:00

There is no greater lie than new fallen snow,

covering hard ground and dead gardens.

The spring thaw

leaves nothing but muddy boots.

Yusef Komunyakaa reading

2009-12-14T08:07:00.001-05:00

Shoot your heroes

2009-12-11T22:57:00.007-05:00

I want your blood.

You OWE me blood.

Why Stewart why!

You lied to me.

Kept me blind with half

thoughts.

You’re all hollow.

Joe told me to know my rights.

Okay, memorized ‘em.

Tim told me to give ‘em the boot,

But two black eyes is enough thank you.

Jack said go, go, go!

Fucking where Jack!

I should have done this years ago!

Liberated myself from your words.

It’s for the best.

Close your eyes, it will only hurt a second.

Whatever Happened to the Cheshire Cat?

2009-12-08T11:24:00.001-05:00

There is a darkness in this play

Words and rhythm

Lead me down the wrong rabbit hole

Wounderland has scars I don’t remember

Alice doesn’t look quite right anymore

None of this world smells familiar

Pluck out my eyes rather than sully childhood’s memory

Nonsense seemed much funnier as a youngling

The need for sense and meaning burrow into my self

Slipping slick tendrils around my brain stem

I dance to their logical beats of

Meaning and direction

Purpose finds a perch on my shoulder as we walk

Slowly back through the looking glass

Too certain too look behind

I slip into the warm embrace of the

Madd Hatter’s 9-5 logic

MediaVirus Monday

2009-12-06T23:54:00.003-05:00

Addicted audience, give us your ear! MediaVirus Magazine enthusiastically presents our new Issue #5! Featured in this month's issue are poets Casey Quinn, Ben Nardolilli, James Eric Watkins, and Phil Lane. Author Cindy Rosmus graces our fiction page and emerging graphic artist Erin Descoteaux colors the art page. Stewart and myself offer selections from our libraries in the editor's corner, and poet Holly Day is this month's editor's pick. Relax and breath deep, MediaVirus Monday is here!

The skin biz

2009-12-05T14:52:00.001-05:00

Have you ever had

a sunburn so bad it

blistered?

Once

but it wasn’t

too bad

considering.

Considering what?

Considering

the sun is

50 million degrees

fahrenheit.

Is there any

history of skin

caner in your

family?

I came here because

I have a wart on my foot and

I want it removed.

The foot?

The wart.

Please just answer

the questions.

No history of skin

cancer.

Thank you. Have

you ever had a mole

removed?

What does this have to

do with my wart?

Please just answer.

I’ve never had a mole removed

but here’s one for you.

Have you ever woken up face down in someone else’s pillow with last night still wet on you. So sick and sober the only thing that can save you is one more whiskey?

I’m not really comfortable…

Really?

then let’s dispense

with the personal

questions and get to

removing my wart.

Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros - Straight to Hell

2009-12-03T17:12:00.001-05:00

Einstein’s Observer

2009-12-02T22:58:00.001-05:00

Lifetimes away a star pops

Dante’s nightmare made manifest,

As worlds burn to dust

Pregnant clouds seeded with

Heavy elements draw new life

From gravity’s embrace, falling

Toward stellar nursery’s rebirth

Lavoisier tells us

Nothing is ever destroyed

Even in a star’s death furnace

Mass to energy, energy to mass

In an endless life giving decay

Today’s dust is tomorrow’s Earth

Waiting for Sol to deliver a similar fate

We’ll be dead before the nova’s light reaches us

Seven minutes for goodbyes

But even in those last moments

As space boils around us

Would it mean anything if we weren’t there to see it?

Red Mohawks

2009-12-02T22:47:00.002-05:00

Sixth grade the wolves came out

leapt for the throat but got the ears

music changed, the radio died

jangly guitar with whisky delivery

cigarette riffs and three chord sex

mom thinks I’m too young for this

too late, damage done

educated on six inches of plastic

Box

2009-12-01T22:57:00.000-05:00

I’m pulled in by muted horns and ecstatic neon

A smooth old bar patrolled by rough old men

Blue smoke and earthy piano just past the door

The brass screams, greedy for attention

The sax growls low anger

The beat pushes me deep into a chair

Crawls slow up my spine

And settles with envy at the base of my neck

I never could turn air to song

Get up says my brain, you need a new drink

But the band won’t let go

I turn to a hazy eyed patron

Hey man what club is this?

This? You’re in the Pithos, and that’s Pandora up on stage

Did ma' duty

2009-11-29T22:05:00.001-05:00

My Uncle’s description of Vietnam:

Hill 281 was ma’ war

charged up through jungle

and flies and all kindsa shit

animal shit

shit covered pungi sticks

shit from the dead

when you die you shit

that ain’t no bull

whatever’s in you

you shit

fought on that hill for three days

it ain’t the dead that smelt

it was the shit

left 32 men and 4000 shells

on that hill

still can’t get that smell out

My Father’s description on ‘Nam:

Guard duty at Fort Bragg

army reserve baby

watchin’ the brass and

smokin’ some grass

sounds easy but you know what

we had to clean the Generals’ toilets

and boy could they shit

Same Old Saturday

2009-11-26T01:23:00.000-05:00

The night ignites as the final rays hide behind the mountain

Sun down, bottoms up

Firebrand swill

Dark corners of darker bars

Made bright by insight and staged rhythm

Loosen up, just let it flow

Who the fuck is talking to Kara?

Uh-oh, not again

Beer muscles and tough talk lead to

Mayhem in the street

Duck back inside before the real trouble starts

Cops and cracked skulls

Beer washes out easier than blood

Is this the same place?

Somehow not, different walls same stink

Shoes stick to beer and vomit

New corner, same swill

Deepening haze brings out better stories

It's Time We Defined Our Generation

2009-11-23T21:14:00.001-05:00

I’m Kerouac

Bullshit! I’m Kerouac!

But I’m the one who travels like him

You drove to the Outer Banks

It’s like 10 hours!

It’s not on the road!

I’m Kerouac, you can be Burroughs

I don’t do enough drugs to be Burroughs, have you even read junky?

Fine, you can be Ginsberg but I’m still Kerouac

But I hate writing poetry how can I be Ginsberg?

Jesus! How about Gregory Corso?

Who’s Gregory Corso?

This isn’t working, let’s start again. I’ll be Hemmingway and you can be Fitzgerald.

How are you Hemmingway your sentences are way too long!

You’re an idiot, I’m Hemmingway for sure and you can be Ezra Pound

Again with the hating of poetry

Oh my god! Just be John Dos Passos

That name sounds made up

You make me tired. Last try, I’m Hunter Thompson and you’re Tom Wolfe

Hunter Thompson? Getting a little full of yourself aren’t you?

I’m sticking with Thompson and you get Lester Bangs

Did you really just downgrade me from poet to music critic?

Dark lord give me strength! You get to be Norman Mailer, last offer

I’ll mail you my last offer, and it’s Kerouac

Why do I even talk to you

iPirate

2009-11-23T11:18:00.008-05:00

21^st century swashbuckler

Hit and run

On the USS Fileshare

Tells self:

Fuck major labels!

Yuppie execs count cash

While bands roll flush

Tour stops and t-shirts

Keep wallets fat

Music shop manger

Local legend

“Going out of business”

Massacre on a digital scale

Somethin' Else

2009-11-22T20:59:00.000-05:00

i’m sipping cool brown rum in a glass

with three ice cubes

and just the right mix of melted water and liquor

cannonball on my speakers

with a forgotten voice in the back of my brain

if you play Somethin’ Else late at night

with just the right drunk it will change your life

but the stereo has moved on

before I remember a face with the voice

coleman is picking me back up

off the floor, dusting off my booze addled nerves

with his sax and speed

a friend once asked why I listen to jazz while

pushing me toward a different style

metal will melt your face if you play it loud!

i tried to explain,

with no volume at all

miles will melt your brain

Welcome!

2009-11-20T12:31:00.001-05:00

Welcome to the blog of Stewart Grant! I have been meaning to start this for some time and finally decided today was the day. My hope with this blog is to share my work with as many people as possible and hopefully get some feedback. I write mainly poetry and some short stories, and will share both along with anything that grabs my interest. Thanks for checking me out!