StandUp Poetry

Poems By: Ryan Downey

from "Shapes of Perfect, Hollow Ring"

Somewhere in the wreckage of the plane
A black box exists. 57 coast guard guys
Are searching for a black box. A tricksterR
painted it white and the guys are confused.
A diving team looks underneath the water.

Atlantis, mad cow disease, relentless beauty.

The man in the moon is scheming.
He is reading a book called Genocide
for Dummies while his skin burns
from within, microwave-style.

Tides are changing.
Half of California was swept away
In the last ten days and scientists
are pointing at L.C.D. monitors with
alarming tranquillity.

An army of astronomers armed with ak-47s
and house-sized telescopes are visually probing
the moon's skin and looking for promotions.

The man in the moon has hidden his book
on the dark side
and so doing
has eliminated the evidence.

Cool water lapping around his ears,
a polar bear spies a pack of seals
on the iridescent horizon.

Polyhedron is drawing polar bears now.

He has a news tick in his left eye
which corresponds with his brain
in such a way that he only sees
polar bears and melting ice caps
and seals.

Scientists are busying themselves with the recent discovery of Atlantis.
Also, with the possible variety show skits about mad cow disease.

An address from the president:

Circles…Circles…Circles…Scotch…
Circles…Colony…Circles…Scotch…
Atlantis…Liberation…Squares…
Good night.

Skyman is lonely.
Atlantis has rendered him obsolete.
His fat pale fingers do not fit the circles
of his rotary phone.
He cries and draws stick circles
on an Etch-A-Sketch jumbo.

Floods!
Earthquakes!

The man in the moon fumes.
In a fit of jealous rage he hurtles
himself toward the sun
The gravitational pull immense,
earth begins moving slowly toward
the furnace.

Five circles form an emergency committee.
They hold each others elbows.
They decide to hold a continuous Olympic Games.

from "Speed Checked by Airplane"

What of the dinosaurs
children's books ask.
At what altitude?

A triceratops plying his ivory trade.
Will we find:

fossilized human teeth?

A Heinz 57 bottle?

A pacifier burned
in a missile detonation?
Will you find us slinging
arrows, caressing bedfellows,
as the air of government lungs
fills our get well balloons?

There is nothing left to cry at.

Some sling rocks
it is worth noting.
And the notation self detonates
our jewel encrusted jawbones.

It is a trap
this wire we trip
and we are finding
at this altitude
there is much
to be exploded.

Bypass, if you will,
the paleontologists
chattering amongst themselves.
Buy me a set of futurists
at the dollar store
and let us burn this temple
down.

Pop-up tigers on the prowl
their axis set
not yet evil
these distinctions are made
by we, us three.

We will close the book.
Inter the tigers.
Forget the pictures.
And never know the words.

It is a blood river.

The futurists
and the paleontologists
have agreed upon this.
Dragon floats and vocal chords we have aplenty.
We will meet
our Oregon Trail.
We will remember
in the end to bypass.
Stop.
Don't check our speed.
You will find us
not moving
at this point in time
and vomiting
at this
altitude.

We could become
rock throwers.
Grow dozens of arms.
At security gates, bypass.
Revolutionaries.
Quiet failures.
Make the massacre slow.
Feel the bullet
in our lovely hands.
Rough edges scraping off
thin flakes of our downy skin.

Let us be romantic.
Kiss me at this altitude
at the speed of light.

They beat a pop-up tiger
with dozens of clubs.
Its cubs watch
with tearless empty faces.
They checked her speed
too fast.

From some altitude
judgment was rendered.

Can we be tree-like
in our current state?

We grew the arms
but we lost the patience.

Trip my trap
with your heart bypass.
I can't read science books
with this monocle.
If we install pop-up tigers
in science books
the river will dry up.

We need to drink.

Is this the solution?