Two Trumpet Poems

Sounding From the Trumpets of Heaven

by Alexis Faulkner

Blonde rascal provokes louder horns

Sounding towards skyways

Hiding

Certain shrouded

Mystery only for

Speckled so many humans across global

Awareness spreading

You know, like the fire spreading

Possess heart, do you?

Possess fear, do you?

Hunger for wealth

Depth

Earth’s center

Sinking center depth

Holds a lot, parking lot of ammunition

Blonde rascal

Sounding off the trumpet of heaven

Golden horns

Light enough brightens

Instruments speak for

Who

Power corrupting nearest stars

From

Angels

Black angels

Angels holy to

Harness magical projection

Of what a blessing looks like on your mind

winter
by Douglas Slayton

sad songs
squealed across the highway
flowers on either side of a tunnel
a weekend every year

i am still picking pieces
of you out of my clothes
so it never really ends

Alexis Faulkner is Unicorn Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 

Doug Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

Two Rock and Roll Poems

Rock n Roll

by Alexis Faulkner

Plane down

Wings ripped apart

Strewn

Not staged, not on a stage

This is not a test

Let us examine the interior of the rock n’ roll suicide

Flesh guts wound round wires neon

Spiral center tight bound toward the brain

Electric spark shoots also up, comes and goes

Rock n roll is not really a go with the flow art

Follow the unprotected surge too

High demons with razor claws sewn in and with gravity, stuck

Sparklers once more up the center

Fluid inside dripping rainbow tears psychedelic from goddess tending towards ornamental elaboration from, say, Hendrix

There were notes in the suicide and then there were addresses

Structures inside they have furniture composed in waves of tension

I mean, you can still sit on the sofa

Dance uneven jerk work can wash right off skin

Death inside downed plane

Takes psychic vision

For internal view and dissection

Maybe this is a test

Maybe

On a stage


surfing
by Douglas Slayton

pressing down
navigating dim lit nights
three times a month
i catch myself smiling

Alexis Faulkner is Unicorn Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.
Douglas Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

A Sloppy Thanksgiving Contribution for 2015

While Watching the Parade While Sitting in Brooklyn

by Alexis Faulkner

Today in New York City there is a parade

One most grateful day twenty fifteen

Facts being delivered by one French-Canadian-named person about a parade

Balloon hitting a plane

The peril of the twenties

Thinking about the environment was not a big deal to anyone at NBC then

I did make sure to get cranberries without any dolphin parts in them

INSPECTED

“oh god, is that just snoopy’s head?”

Perhaps this parade is a simple terror

Brussel sprouts and bacon and turkey to come

Comes with worry

My first time

Can’t wait to bite into the dark meat

The man with the lisp on the teevee won’t lie to us about the lions

Syrups and chocolate pieces for the pie delight darkly warming

What a wonder a feast a time for just eating

Alexis Faulkner is Unicorn Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 

Three Wine Poems

by the Editorial Staff of Uncanny Valley Magazine

In Wine Country

by Alexis Faulkner

Dead field in a land flash
Wine-beaten and weathered in the late season’s sun
Who begs most for the water cast
From the clouds on the one

Wish of these golden hills
Globe glass waiting for deep, rich liquid
Pride of the fair skinned and faith-filled
Hard to remember what last night we all did

Most of all the earth demands waiting
Manicure the offerings to be rows upon rows
Ask for peace from labor and with it patience bring
To me the wealth and then land once more to sew

One time a prayer for the worker
Seen waiting only for the work

Tele-(communications)-machus
by Chris Alarie

As Odysseus looked
Out at the wine dark sea
He checked his phone & sighed
It seems the one challenge
He could not overcome
Was simple loneliness
What a fucking loser

The Flat of the Knife
by Douglas Slayton

it was the view
i didn't appreciate
but watched everyone
revel near that cliff

there have been walks since
they are always longer

i have been standing in the mirror
still finding evidence

i sit still sometimes
when the air is cool
and the light is obscured

i reconsider constantly
the way it tasted sweet
it must have been thick
in your blood

it lingered
on my fingers for days
sticky and inconsistent
leading me to misconceptions

Alexis Faulkner is Executive Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 
Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.
Doug Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

Three Water Poems

by the Editorial Staff of Uncanny Valley Magazine

All of the Earth's Liquid

by Alexis Faulkner

 

Today South Carolina is

Submerged in the world’s greatest indicator of

Well-being

There is no greater pull on my conscience

Than the ocean

Large waves against earth walls

I dream about running

Sprinting down splintered piers

Wood breaks apart as my bare toes lift off each board

Falling away behind me

Leave me to a dark sea in the middle of nothing

Peace be the spirit that water dedicates

To the human body

Memory

Repetitive motion, please wake us when

The waves are coming on too strong

Water forces us to stay present

To look at the fortune consumed, the resources

We must stand near the ancient cycle of movement

Eyes open and waiting for our turn to swim

It is easy to feel large on the land

It is easy to be lost in the sea


Kill Van Kull
by Chris Alarie

The divide between where I am now
And where I would like to be
Doesn't seem to be as wide as the bay
Between Oakland & San Francisco
It's more like the Kill Van Kull
Or even the estuary
Between Oakland & Alameda
But the bridge is gone                      
And I can't swim                     
(That is a lie. I can swim.
I just can't swim very well.)

Oh sure, NASA can find
Evidence of water on Mars
But I can't find a god damn job

Open Container Ordinance

by Douglas Slayton 

i know i don't
but have been saying for so long
i need it to sleep
when i have slept every night regardless
if i lay here long enough
i just want all of this to be over
even if just for an hour

and in the morning
water pours over me
filling every empty space
left in the interim

for that moment i am fresh or new
or whole
even if just for a moment
again

Photo by Alexis Faulkner

Alexis Faulkner is Executive Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 
Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.
Doug Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

Three Blood Poems

by the Editorial Staff of Uncanny Valley Magazine

Super Blood Moon photo by Benjamin Stark

Blood
by Alexis Faulkner

Humans are mostly liquid

Had I longer planted myself

In a familiar landscape

My blood might have hardened

And kept me quiet and still

Tomorrow

In the evening

The moon fills with blood

Only then to hide in the Earth’s shadow

In New York

The sky will be cool and clear

And the moon will be bright

Barely bright enough to be another light in the landscape

That can hold our attention just long enough

To read its meaning

And carry on with the counting of our kingdom’s gloried pieces

Days passed that tomorrow

A new sense of blood pain

Feeling woven into the feminine landscape

Feeling forgotten and feeling tiny but not without a home

Warmed by the shared responsibility to keep our blood contained

Lifted by the shared passion to show off our wounds

Remembering the blood moon and the newness shown afterwards

Showered in the light of that big moon

I saw a distant path

And suddenly it appeared underneath me

To bridge the unknown with bold spirit

Would be to map my own blood onto dreams

And to chase life with new, bright bliss

Blood
by Chris Alarie

Our life's blood that sustains us
Will someday portend our doom
In Revelations, John writes,
"And there came a great earthquake
The sun became black as sackcloth
The full moon became like blood"

Individual bodies
We will die, we will bleed out
Lividity will set in
Blood will pool, coagulate
Red and blue, black and purple
Blood tells us that life ends

But blood, like death, connects us
With each other and also
With the creatures great and small
That populate existence
Warm and cold blooded, even
The stupid, stupid horses

12:35pm, August 27th
by Douglas Slayton

there is more of you inside
than there is me.
racing from my chest
to my fingers
but i still can't feel a thing.

i have known more doubt
than anything else.
swallowing smoke
with the sugar metabolizing,
my head is swimming
but i am sinking.

touch my arm the way you did,
again, and feel me run cold.

Alexis Faulkner is Executive Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 
Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.
Doug Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

Three Pizza Poems

by the Editorial Staff of Uncanny Valley Magazine

Holy Trinity (Cheese, Crust, Sauce)
by Chris Alarie

I suspect that God
created Pizza
so that there'd be one
thing in this sad world
incapable of
disappointing us

A bone thrown our way
A sole island in
life's wretched ocean
Free of consequence
A lower limit
afforded to all

Given the choice
between pizza
and any of life's
eventual disappointments
a person whose
soul is intact
would choose pizza
every time


No Subject
by Douglas Slayton

I am at the bottom
and can't see up

I am standing still
and can't find the next step

I can't taste it anymore
but I am sitting in the dark
swallowing as fast as I can

if I fill it fast it can't keep growing


Pizza
by Alexis Faulkner

grease

slices soaked in all types of extra sauces and maybe olives 

pepperoni mushroom anchovy

tropical hambits and piña with your more 

adventure-driven buddies

grease again and 

extra cheese

sprinkled with cheese dust on top 

also garlic pesto basil 

thanks to Chicago and Brooklyn 

Blondies, Tony's and Little Star

I have too many people to thank

I'm running out of time 

I love you, earth pizza

I love you

Alexis Faulkner is Executive Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 
Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.
Doug Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

Three Oakland Poems

by the Editorial Staff of Uncanny Valley Magazine

There Was Something I Just Thought Of (Sixth)

by Douglas Slayton

When it was late I'd stand under the lights

on the platform, waiting for the rattle

of the tracks, as the dark blue black of night

sinks my cover of yellow light crackle.

I miss the moon hanging over my bed,

when I had no where to be the next day.

I miss nights that were quiet in my head

and the bed wasn't mine but I could stay.

I wasn't scared of the streets I walked

knowing they'd be around in the morning.

I hate every night like the one we talked.

You're in my clothes, more with every washing.

I remember every night, they haunt me,

and how the last train was always empty.

Walk Home

by Chris Alarie

A shot sounds at a sideshow

And does not disrupt a thing

Danger is likely, life is lively

Catch a fade, go dumb, super hyphy

A crowd gathers at a warehouse

Tangle of noise & limbs & beer

Money for the touring bands, please

How strange that somebody lives here

Bobby & Huey

Huey & Officer Frey

Little Bobby Hutton

Huey & Tyrone Robinson

New Year's Eve, I walk home

From MacArthur BART, drunk

In the rain, the long way

Past Casper's Hot Dogs twice

Sick to my stomach of

Myself and everything

I buy some Gatorade

Watch The Simpsons 'til dawn

I live here, I am home

Is the bullet hole in the

Window of 'Lectric Washouse

Still there? I wonder, years later

Home

by Alexis Faulkner

Can take your heart at any time

Fashion it into a pretzel shield

And then squeeze all of the blood all over the shoes

Of your tribe

Oakland is a mess of palm trees

And basketball courts and friendly faces

Sometimes turned worried into that frantic well of loneliness and misdirection

It is the punks that press you back into shape

It is the hippies that make you know love

It is the lake that shows you dead catfish

Even the dying are happy to pass

At home

Ivy Drive

The stories I am missing show me that this was a young place

But parents shot at everything

Wrote it all down

My first memory, big shake and smashing the whole kitchen

My mom wrote it in October 1989

Garfield Avenue

The one lemons were three lemons and everyone stopped by to hustle up the tree while my family wasn’t looking

I put my black cat in the swing and Uboo never gave me hell

And Giamocha lent his tail to every occasion

Plum wine, we said, as fruit rained down over the roof

Too many rotten on the concrete

Rottweilers, neighbors and our own kept us all over that hood

Busted hydrants for summer

Winter

Winter was homeless there

Winter has no place in Oakland

My baby sister

My baby bunk beds

My Easter Bunny

My salad of nasturtiums

My friends in Diamond Heights

The school of Redwood Heights

The hills of Grandma lavender and her chemistry

Ever July planning on planting more bushes

A new millennium on Vernon Street

Junk

We had a lot of junk but I kept our books in the best order of the English alphabet And just stuffed the rest in the closet

There was a black cat there too who was sweet with luck

But less than the magic one

BART and the 57 kept late nights up later and long walks up that sunnyslope never felt less than Everest

I haven’t the best habits about keeping memories

Locked in order

I haven’t the best record of where

Shattuck Avenue

The concrete that touched my house touched a cherry plum tree and it broke apart

And threw me off my bike

Gave me the feeling that Oakland would never change

The city would flood and drain with fresh thousands and the streets

Would always be unpaved

This place was right near Ashby

The house had not only been for me

Psychedelic leave-behinds, sharpie skinhead cartoons, tchotchkes generations old

Every crusty creeper in Berkeley left vibes on Shattuck

Shattuck Avenue was a double exposure of holding hands

And spinning as hard as the wind ever blows

Overtop small shadows of dark leaves and flowers

Precious and brilliant and wanting a harder party and never looking back

In the end, we got robbed and I moved back to San Francisco

The best July was the roof on Alcatraz Avenue

First holiday stop: Berkeley Roses

But the view was no good and I’m glad we went back to base

The television volume broke my patience a thousand times over

But this time drowned completely by a campaign of flames

I loved every minute of that dangerous display

I wish memories were something final

I wish memories were easy to keep filed in your brain

And they were an exact representation of a time and place

But mostly they are shifting

Mostly they suit my best fantasy about my own life

All I want to remember

All I can remember

I remember being friends and being in Love with Oakland

Alexis Faulkner is Executive Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 
Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.
Doug Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.