The SunThe Sun
pants down around my legs,
shirt unbuttoned—
the stink of my sweat—
i walk with small steps,
shoes untied.
the sun is coming up.
(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 7, No. 6, Feb. 11-17, 1998. Copyright 1998, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
Small Blue Poem #4Small Blue Poem #4
Snapshots
returned from the drugstore today—
Come see!
My angel,
Italian with a moustache and passion enough
for two—for ten! The whole town!
Her hand on my leg, my hand
on hers, then; Pink Baltic Hand,
meet Brown Adriatic Hand—shake.
Here, she sits at picnic table
and eats—a piece
of her chocolate birthday cake.
“Is it my chocolate birthday, then?”
See
how she holds the white plastic
fork poised
before her mouth.
See
how her breasts push against
her green silk blouse.
See
how her legs are
lost in shadow cast
by her flowered skirt.
(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 7, No. 6, Feb. 11-17, 1998. Copyright 1998, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“Notwithstanding all that has been said about the beauty of a ship under full sail, there are very few who have ever seen a ship, literally, under all her sail. A ship coming in or going out of port, with her ordinary sails, and perhaps two of three studding-sails, is commonly said to be under full sail; but a ship never has all her sail upon her, except when she has a light, steady breeze, very nearly, but not quite, dead aft, and so regular that it can be trusted, and is likely to last for some time. Then, with all her sails, light and heavy, and studding-sails, on each side, alow and aloft, she is the most glorious moving object in the world. Such a sight, very few, even some who have been at sea a great deal, have ever beheld; for from the deck of your own vessel you cannot see her, as you would a separate object. One night, while we were in these tropics, I went out to the end of the flying-jib-boom, upon some duty, and, having finished it, turned round, and lay over the boom for a long time, admiring the beauty of the sight before me. Being so far out from the deck, I could look at the ship, as at a separate vessel;—and there rose up from the water, supported only by the small black hull, a pyramid of canvas, spreading out far beyond the hull, and towering up almost, as it seemed in the indistinct night air, to the clouds. The sea was as still as an inland lake; the light trade-wind was gently and steadily breathing from astern; the dark blue sky was studded with the tropical stars; there was no sound but the rippling of the water under the stem; and the sails were spread out, wide and high;— the two lower studding-sails stretching, on each side, far beyond the deck; the topmast studding-sails, like wings to the topsails; the top-gallant studding-sails spreading fearlessly out above them; still higher, the two royal studding-sails, looking like two kites flying from the same string; and, highest of all, the little skysail, the apex of the pyramid, seeming actually to touch the stars, and to be out of reach of human hand. So quiet, too, was the sea, and so steady the breeze, that if these sails had been sculptured marble, they could not have been more motionless. Not a ripple upon the surface of the canvas; not even a quivering of the extreme edges of the sail—so perfectly were they distended by the breeze. I was so lost in the sight, that I forgot the presence of the man who came out with me, until he said, (for he, too, rough old man-of-war’s-man as he was, had been gazing at the show,) half to himself, still looking at the marble sails—‘How quietly they do their work!’ ” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
King’s HillKing’s Hill
hey—you like poetry? well
sometimes it’s all i can do
to keep from killing myself
rhyme that
(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 5, No. 5, Feb. 7-13, 1996. Copyright 1996, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
Subsets and VariablesSubsets and Variables
Some wives get up in the morning and say,
“Good morning.”
Some wives get up in the morning and say,
“This place stinks.
We need to open some windows.”
Some objects are massive,
Too heavy to be easily moved.
Some objects are dense but small,
Wieldable,
And will sail across rooms.
(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 5, No. 5, Feb. 7-13, 1996. Copyright 1996, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“No pencil has ever yet given anything like the true effect of an iceberg. In a picture, they are huge, uncouth masses, stuck in the sea, while their chief beauty and grandeur,—their slow, stately motion; the whirling of the snow about their summits, and the fearful groaning and cracking of their parts,—the picture cannot give. This is the large iceberg; while the small and distant islands, floating on the smooth sea, in the light of a clear day, look like little floating fairy isles of sapphire.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
Final Line from Abandoned PoemFinal Line from Abandoned Poem
come back to me now as I knew you then
(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 5, No. 5, Feb. 7-13, 1996. Copyright 1996, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
Capitano’s RomanceCapitano’s Romance
Valentine and Spider
Fucking on the couch—
Spider works his mandibles,
Valentine cries, “Ouch!”
Book-lung’s punk inside her,
Sowing next year’s crop—
When he lets his poison flow,
Valentine grunts, “Stop!”
Our arachnid rides her,
Thinking “Stop!” means “Go!”—
His Valentine’s a girl known for
Confusing “Suck” with “Blow.”
Done, old eight-legs hides her
Underneath the stair—
He says, “My wife, she doesn’t like
Fish; it fugs the air.”
Val rots while he derides her,
Sucks her juices out—
He’ll wear her nipples on his vest,
And on his pants, her pout.
(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 5, No. 5, Feb. 7-13, 1996. Copyright 1996, 2023 by Tetman Callis.
“The captain was on deck nearly the whole night, and kept the cook in the galley, with a roaring fire, to make coffee for him, which he took every few hours, and once or twice gave a little to his officers; but not a drop of anything was there for the crew. The captain, who sleeps all the daytime, and comes and goes at night as he chooses, can have his brandy and water in the cabin, and his hot coffee at the galley; while Jack, who has to stand through everything, and work in wet and cold, can have nothing to wet his lips or warm his stomach. This was a ‘temperance ship,’ and, like too many such ships, the temperance was all in the forecastle. The sailor, who only takes his one glass as it is dealt out to him, is in danger of being drunk; while the captain, who has all under his hand, and can drink as much as he chooses, and upon whose self-possession and cool judgment the lives of all depend, may be trusted with any amount, to drink at his will. Sailors will never be convinced that rum is a dangerous thing, by taking it away from them, and giving it to the officers; nor that, that temperance is their friend, which takes from them what they have always had, and gives them nothing in the place of it. By seeing it allowed to their officers, they will not be convinced that it is taken from them for their good; and by receiving nothing in its place, they will not believe that it is done in kindness. On the contrary, many of them look upon the change as a new instrument of tyranny. Not that they prefer rum. I never knew a sailor, in my life, who would not prefer a pot of hot coffee or chocolate, in a cold night, to all the rum afloat. They all say that rum only warms them for a time; yet, if they can get nothing better, they will miss what they have lost. The momentary warmth and glow from drinking it; the break and change which is made in a long, dreary watch by the mere calling all hands aft and serving of it out; and the simply having some event to look forward to, and to talk about; give it an importance and a use which no one can appreciate who has not stood his watch before the mast.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
CongruenceCongruence
light from the next room
one loose strand of her long hair
her hand, mine, her touch
(Published in Weekly Alibi, Vol. 5, No. 5, Feb. 7-13, 1996. Copyright 1996, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
In Working Real Life (from The Surfacing Tool)In Working Real Life (from The Surfacing Tool)
Coming up next, anyone could, then, in a working real-life family,
believe women could not have children.
What are we, a beer? Ah, thanks. Thinking my
name behind it, the right side changing direction, I’ve been
working all summer just to try and learn a holler,
as well as the first word: Stingrays don’t attack humans.
You are home to the first search for work: my family.
She’s got something to get on the road: kissing noises (it’s a miracle).
Join us and our furry little friends, speaking German rapidly.
Yes. Or ja. Now, we’re going to go on to the next question:
every move you make?
(shouting)(cheers and applause)
(Originally published in EOAGH, Issue 5, 2009. Copyright 2009, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“At twelve o’clock we went below, and had just got through dinner, when the cook put his head down the scuttle and told us to come on deck and see the finest sight that we had ever seen. ‘Where away, cook?’ asked the first man who was up. ‘On the larboard bow.’ And there lay, floating in the ocean, several miles off, an immense, irregular mass, its top and points covered with snow, and its center of a deep indigo color. This was an iceberg, and of the largest size, as one of our men said who had been in the Northern ocean. As far as the eye could reach, the sea in every direction was of a deep blue color, the waves running high and fresh, and sparkling in the light, and in the midst lay this immense mountain-island, its cavities and valleys thrown into deep shade, and its points and pinnacles glittering in the sun. All hands were soon on deck, looking at it, and admiring in various ways its beauty and grandeur. But no description can give any idea of the strangeness, splendor, and, really, the sublimity, of the sight. Its great size;—for it must have been from two to three miles in circumference, and several hundred feet in height;—its slow motion, as its base rose and sank in the water, and its high points nodded against the clouds; the dashing of the waves upon it, which, breaking high with foam, lined its base with a white crust; and the thundering sound of the cracking of the mass, and the breaking and tumbling down of huge pieces; together with its nearness and approach, which added a slight element of fear,—all combined to give to it the character of true sublimity. The main body of the mass was, as I have said, of an indigo color, its base crusted with frozen foam; and as it grew thin and transparent toward the edges and top, its color shaded off from a deep blue to the whiteness of snow.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
SnailsSnails
snails make the most disgusting sound
when they’re crunching underfoot
it’s a wet, fleshy crunch,
light on the crackle component
somewhat exotic and french,
in that regard
still, one wouldn’t want to walk
about in the grass
barefooted after it rains,
when there are scores of snails in the yard
many of them up by the house
right in front of the doors
camouflaged by darwin’s god
better it would be now
if they were day-glo orange
or carried harder shells
or less meat
or moved faster
or weren’t snails
(Originally published in Oxford Magazine, Vol. XVII, 2003. Copyright 2003, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
The Three SistersThe Three Sisters
chicago’s the dumpy one
nobody ever asks her out and nobody’s ever going to
except maybe that guy
the one who works for the plumber
she doesn’t have anything to wear
it’s like trying to dress a potato
her sister new york’s the one who got all the looks
nice figure too and lots of style
lots of taste
always well dressed and going somewhere
she can have any man she wants
but she’s picky
she has class and she’s not going cheap into the bargain
their sister ellay is the one they don’t like to talk about
but they will if you ask
chicago will frown and new york will stick her nose up in the air
and they will tell you what a tramp their sister is
she goes around dressed in bathing suits and t-shirts and flip-flops
everywhere
and she will sleep with anybody
anywhere
and she’s a druggie too
whatever she can get her hands on
they won’t tell you they secretly think she’s the most interesting
even though she has never read a book
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The customs as to the allowance of ‘grub’ are very nearly the same in all American merchantmen. Whenever a pig is killed, the sailors have one mess from it. The rest goes to the cabin. The smaller live stock, poultry, etc., they never taste. And, indeed, they do not complain of this, for it would take a great deal to supply them with a good meal, and without the accompaniments, (which could hardly be furnished to them,) it would not be much better than salt beef. But even as to the salt beef, they are scarcely dealt fairly with; for whenever a barrel is opened, before any of the beef is put into the harness-cask, the steward comes up, and picks it all over, and takes out the best pieces, (those that have any fat in them) for the cabin. This was done in both the vessels I was in, and the men said that it was usual in other vessels. Indeed, it is made no secret, but some of the crew are usually called to help in assorting and putting away the pieces. By this arrangement the hard, dry pieces, which the sailors call ‘old horse,’ come to their share. There is a singular piece of rhyme, traditional among sailors, which they say over such pieces of beef. I do not know that it ever appeared in print before. When seated round the kid, if a particularly bad piece is found, one of them takes it up, and addressing it, repeats these lines:
‘Old horse! old horse! what brought you here?’
—‘From Sacarap to Portland pier
I’ve carted stone this many a year:
Till, killed by blows and sore abuse,
They salted me down for sailors’ use.
The sailors they do me despise:
They turn me over and damn my eyes;
Cut off my meat, and pick my bones,
And pitch the rest to Davy Jones.’
There is a story current among seamen, that a beef-dealer was convicted, at Boston, of having sold old horse for ship’s stores, instead of beef, and had been sentenced to be confined in jail, until he should eat the whole of it; and that he is now lying in Boston jail. I have heard this story often, on board other vessels beside those of our own nation. It is very generally believed, and is always highly commended, as a fair instance of retaliatory justice.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
after work today
i sat in a chair on the balcony
and read a book
a drying blue flower
fell out of the sky
and landed at my feet
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
christmas party with paralegalchristmas party with paralegal
hi how nice to meet you the weather’s been awful late-
ly would you like to hear about an interesting
gangland murder how about the counselor up on
assault charges with his car let me tell you who has
a messy history of assaulting lovers and
wives how about child molesters there’s much of inter-
est one could learn with regard to those odd fellows or
if this were halloween and not the birthday party
of a swaddled infant there’s the dark tale of the qui-
et guy who drugged his trusting roommate then video-
taped what they did together a genuinely night-
mare-
inducing story sure to keep the children up for
days oh then there’s the matter of conditions in the
jail that’s a perennial favorite plus ça change
this is wonderful cake by the way the icing is
so creamy and smooth i think i’ll have another drink
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“A live dog is better than a dead lion, and a sick sailor belongs to nobody’s mess.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
this is the newsthis is the news
this is the bbc news, the real thing,
coming at the top of the hour
immediately after a broadcast of the can-can
dedicated to an old guy for his birthday (he turns 86)
okay, here it is, here goes
couple robbed and murdered on their honeymoon
opposition politicians circle for the kill
scores of people killed in a stampede
a dozen climbers missing up a mountain
a couple of guys rescued at sea
an oddity of nature
the weather is rainy or not
or rainy and not
there are several traffic problems, listen close
that’s it, i don’t know what to do with it either
except do this
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the true story of the missing yearsthe true story of the missing years
yesterday was my daughter’s thirty-fourth birthday.
my eldest child, born while i was still in high school.
at the start of our dinner yesterday evening, my third wife and i
raised our wine glasses and drank a toast to this daughter.
while we ate we watched a movie on the magic talking box,
a movie about a businessman and a whore who fall in love.
it was sweet, and not overly unintelligent,
with a happy ending.
last night i dreamed it was thirty-four years ago
(and somewhere in this universe it is).
i was in the hospital room of the mother of my daughter
and my daughter was just born. she was still gooey;
that is, covered in the blood and other goo of the neonate.
the mother of my daughter was my girlfriend and never my wife,
though we did talk about it. her parents were in the room, too,
though their presence was not central to the plot of the dream.
though she had just been born, and i may even have seen
the last few moments of her birth, my daughter—our daughter—
had a full head of short, spiky hair, dark at the roots and
golden at the tips. and she was laughing! she was the happiest
baby you could imagine, laughing and giggling, and her mother
was laughing and smiling, too. she said to me—that is,
my girlfriend of thirty-four years ago said to me,
this is the true story of the missing years. she said,
i’m not giving her up for adoption like i did,
i’m keeping her and raising her as my own, she is
my own, you saw her come out of me. we were happy.
when i woke up this morning, i was in a part of the universe
at least thirty-four years removed from any hospital rooms
with laughing newborns and new versions of true stories.
i was back in that part of the universe where my girlfriend
never held her baby, our daughter, and neither did i;
where we gave the child up for adoption a few days after
she was born, never saw her smile, never heard her laugh,
don’t know how she may have come to wear her hair;
where she was as gone as though she had never existed,
and as ever-present as our hearts.
(Copyright 2009, 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The sailor’s songs for capstans and falls are of a peculiar kind, having a chorus at the end of each line. The burden is usually sung, by one alone, and, at the chorus, all hands join in,—and the louder the noise, the better. With us, the chorus seemed almost to raise the decks of the ship, and might be heard at a great distance, ashore. A song is as necessary to sailors as the drum and fife to a soldier. They can’t pull in time, or pull with a will, without it. Many a time, when a thing goes heavy, with one fellow yo-ho-ing, a lively song, like ‘Heave, to the girls!’ ‘Nancy oh!’ ‘Jack Cross-tree,’ etc., has put life and strength into every arm.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
the conduitthe conduit
if there’s nothing new under the sun,
should our searchings be confined to the shadows?
in the shaded places would we have any hope to find
crystals that might in the open reflect and refract
colors we could never name?
our world is old and dying.
our words echo down empty wells.
something scurries in the darkness.
we don’t know its name,
it draws near.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
the companionthe companion
you reach a certain age, you think about
death all the time. not that it’s an obsession.
it’s a companion, with you while you walk
along the sidewalk, cars speeding past you
down the street, inches away (inches
away). with you when you cross the street
(jaywalking? against the light?). with you while
you ride your ten-speed bike (not fast enough,
your bike, not massive enough, no protective
cage). with you when you eat your dinner.
with you when you do your morning push-ups,
jumping jacks, running in place (going nowhere).
all but holding your hand when you hack up
clots of sputum, too much smoking for too
many years (the surgeon general warned you—
he warned you! you wouldn’t listen). you watch
your diet and watch your weight. you watch
and wait, you’re never alone now. you
couldn’t be more alone.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“An overstrained sense of manliness is the characteristic of seafaring men, or, rather, of life on board ship. This often gives an appearance of want of feeling, and even of cruelty. From this, if a man comes within an ace of breaking his neck and escapes, it is made a joke of; and no notice must be taken of a bruise or cut; and any expression of pity, or any show of attention, would look sisterly, and unbecoming a man who has to face the rough and tumble of such a life. From this, too, the sick are neglected at sea, and whatever sailors may be ashore, a sick man finds little sympathy or attention, forward or aft. A man, too, can have nothing peculiar or sacred on board ship; for all the nicer feelings they take pride in disregarding, both in themselves and others. A thin-skinned man could not live an hour on ship-board. One would be torn raw unless he had the hide of an ox. A moment of natural feeling for home and friends, and then the frigid routine of sea-life returned.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
romanticromantic
you think it’s romantic
you think
it’s romantic that too drunk to get
off the couch
swilling beer whiskey cheap wine
mornings afternoons you think
it’s romantic that too drunk to get
off the floor in front of the t.v.
the baby’s crying his diaper sopping
wet so romantic so poetic well
you go live it
you go live it
you tell me how romantic
you go live it and you tell me
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
microsleepmicrosleep
yard full of dogs
barking two houses down
any and all hours of the night
one dozen local cats (give or take)
fighting spitting yowling
screeching spats in syncopation
with the yard of dogs
snoring wife
she subvocalizes too
sometimes even calls out
words she never hears
middle-aged bladder
parked atop my piss-pipe
demanding attentive relief in the dark
this has gone on for months
secret police know the toll
not long before he breaks down
confesses to everything
later in the day at my desk in the office
no place to lie down
no carpet on the hardwood floor
the boss right around the corner
my chair is on wheels
the floor is smooth
no sleeping here no sleeping
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“It has been said, that the greatest curse to each of the South Sea islands, was the first man who discovered it; and every one who knows anything of the history of our commerce in those parts, knows how much truth there is in this; and that the white men, with their vices, have brought in diseases before unknown to the islanders, and which are now sweeping off the native population of the Sandwich Islands, at the rate of one fortieth of the entire population annually. They seem to be a doomed people. The curse of a people calling themselves Christian, seems to follow them everywhere.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast
not too far from herenot too far from here
it happened not too far from here, last night,
just a few blocks up that way. there was this
guy beating his wife. she ran outside
and down the street, screaming for help. he ran
after her. a neighbor stepped in, told
the husband, hey, stop beating your wife.
the husband said, she is my wife and i
will beat her. the wife screamed. the neighbor said,
no, really, stop beating your wife or i
will shoot you. he had a gun. the husband
said, she is my wife and i will beat her.
you won’t shoot me. the neighbor said, yes, i
will, so stop. the wife screamed, but the husband
didn’t stop, so the neighbor shot him, twice.
once to stop him, and once to make sure.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
bon jour, daddybon jour, daddy
bon jour, man
we made something really bad
daddy, can we switch?
switch arms?
are you going to tell me?
(something inaudible whispered.)
daddy, can I have a drink?
daddy?
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“The difficulties of science are to a large extent the difficulties of notations, the units, and all the other artificialities which are invented by man, not by nature.” – Richard P. Feynman, The Feynman Lectures on Physics, Vol. I