Official Sounding Press Release

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

CONTACT:
thom ingram
PoetGuru.com
206-350-5436
poetguru@mac.com

PoetGuru.com Launches

Columbia, Maryland, August 19, 2007 - Today thom ingram announced the launch of the permanent home of the PoetGuru Podcast and his other poetry and training related pursuits, PoetGuru.com.

Over the last three years the podcast has moved around, being hosted on free sites such as Blogger and Wordpress. The new site will host the podcast, information for the annual writer’s conference Convergence, information for thom’s free training sessions and more.

“I have been waiting nearly ten years to host this site, ever since I signed up for my first free poetguru email address. Sites like Livejournal and Blogger are awesome for people to get out there on the internet, but there is something very special about having your own space. Hopefully, I can do the best work of my life now, having a permanent online home.”

Archives of the previous sites will remain up and are a great resource for over 600 poems written by thom and his poetic friends.

For additional information contact thom or visit www.poetguru.com.

ABOUT THE POETGURU PODCAST: thom ingram is a poet, podcaster and trainer living in Columbia, Maryland. His poetry has appeared on his own sites, The Cloudy Day Art Podcast, The Everyday Muse, Indiefeed Performance Poetry and has been published in local and national journals including Elysian Fields Quarterly and upcoming in 29, The Magazine. The PoetGuru Podcast has existed since August of 2004 in many incarnations and is a member of the Association of Poetry Podcasting at PoetryPodcasting.org

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Shoving Consciousness Through the Side Window of a Lexus

A better man would drive on, offer no proof,
realize it’s no use ruffling your own nest
trying to better a goof who made it this far

in grey silk suits. Mr. Trendsetter’s
got a nil chance of hearing proof, less
than he’s got reading prayers scrawled on trash.
Here’s a fool, best left aloof.

Seven tables

On one we flip colors, cheer faces, boo numbers.
Two hosts a hot meal, but just once a month.
Three wobbles when leaned on, a page folded under its leg.
On four rests a discussion from college, hung on a wall, left unfinished.
On five I’ve marked out the beauty of my friends using equations and colors.
Six sits in the desert of my imagination, a towering mesa.
On seven we make arrangements, set a vase and a picture, place flowers.

In Poplar Glen

Some guess they hear singing. In my younger days
it sounded like an argument, like Congress
or dinner, or free press. I wondered what passes

for news in the forest. But today
I hear recess: robins on swings, crows
erasing lessons from blackboards, dorks
stuck on pavement playing chess.

This muggy summer

The air, thick like eighties hair held up and poofed
with Aquanet, keeps us hid inside, subdued
with freon and well conditioned. A crew cut day

may come soon, but first we’ll need thunder
storms, wind, shampoo we must massage deep
into our scalp to renew our split
ends, this gooey sky turned blue.

The Champ and Buster *

The champ, undefeated, undisputed, yet,
something in his visage suggests the ride’s clicked
to its apex, feet planted on the mat while Buster

dances and bobs, raring and weaves.

By the third round the fight’s over, by the eighth
our eyes are swelled shut, a last ditch effort
to slide a bullet proof vest into history.

Space shuttles at landing (and take off).

Here lies facts we dare not admit; brothers,
Presidents, heroes and foils gunned down,
leaders succeeded by mediocre men.

We all miss Cus.

From our torn chairs, our stained carpets, from walls punched
that we’ll never repatch, we pay our debts and cast
votes holding our nose, knowing the awful choice

leads to less tears (and less death).

--

*also an assignment, from yet another friend.

Gray, slow, and gravity *

If first life were easy,
if for a buck or ten,
one could be tall and thin,

man or woman, with a click
find the perfect dress,
if conversations

were free and flawless.

But change is often gray,
slow, and gravity flows
in the wrong direction,

so for an hour or day
I will forget the first
and take the second.


--


*an assignment given to me, proving again that you can "order a poem like you order a taco"