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Poetry by artist Gregory Zeorlin. If you mix magic, logic, chaos and order together sometimes you get poetry.


  • Not Memorized

    but still remembered (a collection of poetry)

    Gregory Zeorlin

  • Published 2013 by Gregory Zeorlin and Tyler, TX USA

    Copyright 2013 Gregory Zeorlin All rights reserved.

    Version 1.1, Nov. 2013

    If you are interested in discussing ideas for a poetry/art presentation, workshop, residency or visiting artist project

    for your community or school please contact Gregory Zeorlin.

    Book design and art: Gregory Zeorlin Font Style: Perpetua

    Cover image: Missives 3+4 (Josef Albers Fire and Water). 2012 Mixed media painting on paper. 24 x 30

  • To Anne, Claire and Miles and the ways you influence my

    poetry and art.

  • Introduction If you are reading this sentence it means my pdf document (my book) successfully downloaded into an electronic device. Now the poems and art can be read in all sorts of places. Even so, I was reluctant to make this digital book. I like flipping pages and carrying a dog eared book. But it is costly to print and distribute a paper book. I assume the convenience of downloading this digital book will trump my Luddite tendencies. So make sure and use the hyper-links in this pdf document to access other information, additional images, video, etc. (Internet access is needed whenever hyper-links are used). About the Author I am a visual artist and poet. I create mixed media paintings, sculptures and write poetry. You can see examples of my visual art at I write poetry because the experience is similar to the way I make sketches for my art. I write and sketch to save ideas. I have written poetry since 1977. I never planned to write poetry and started after attending informal gatherings where others read their poems. The initial attraction to those gatherings could have been the Scotch and beer. After attending several gatherings I started imagining my own poems. I started writing poetry once I equated it with the intention of sketching. Over the years my poetry has examined situations and routines of daily life. There is not a lot of external drama or catchy lines in these poems. My poetry is not the kind you memorize. But Im told they are remembered by readers as they reexamine the stuff in their own lives. The poems become another point of view. Ive also written Going Somewhere and Around That House which are available in print. About the Date and Time of a Poem You will notice the poems in this book are dated and most include the time they were written. I record the time because many of my poems are written in under 10 minutes. I do not spend much time editing the initial composition. I write poetry this way because I see each as a sketch. It is a matter of stopping to put words on paper or type them at a computer because my poems are usually lined up as thoughts ready to go.

  • Contents Poetry In Transit 6 If Billy Were My Neighbor 7 Natural Conclusion 8 Vanishing Point 9 Calling Again 10 Odd Shaped Room 11 Encore 12 Glide 13 Repellent 14 Cash Money 15 Just Before 16 Ringing 17 December Trees 18 Smoked Sausage Recall 19 Loved the Rains 20 410 Grams 21 Like Planting 22 Clean Restrooms 23 Spirits in My Bones 24 Average Day 25 Word Art Social Commentary Art Project 26

  • In Transit A bus pauses opening double doors for travelers lined up their views into or through the windows doesnt matter Its an empty bus or standing room only too hot too cold scented with bodies from young to old no matter how many theres room This bus keeps moving some read while waiting, a few nap many palm gaze into electronic screens we pretend to know where were going though no one recognizes the driver. 1/3/2013 8:15am

    Transit 2012. Digital photograph


  • If Billy Was My Neighbor It is odd to read about Billy Collins and how he writes his wondrous poems. When I didnt know of him I wrote poems which could have seemed I wished to be just like him if I had known him. Except I have no formal English literary background I dont read Shakespeare I cannot quote works by other poets. But Collins poetry arrived in my mailbox hand delivered from a neighbor who likes my poems. So hello Billy! If we were next door neighbors would we be social or would I secretly wish to be famous like you? Would poetry become our horseshoe pit? You always making a ringer as I search for my shoe lost somewhere in my yard lush with grass you envy? 3/22/2011 9:36am


  • Natural Conclusion At some moment we are untethered lingering habits yield temporary comforts nothing will keep us from going, going, gone. Procrastination abrades our skin until one scratch finally scars we can no longer pretend to be impenetrable. We are tough until we wear thin decline is a natural freedom the release from gravity presents such a confounding message. Signs are posted and ignored we imagine tomorrow and miss today until one-by-one we are going, going, gone. 2/16/2012 10:45am

    Scatter. 2012. Mixed media painting on paper.


  • Vanishing Point Go in migration drive for miles or fly first then land move towards some high point where we feel we need to be. All this effort to pause and gaze in silence looking until we dont see anything. Back home in constant motion we cant remember what we sought to see eventually, we climb again to gaze beyond the vanishing point. 7/22/2012 6:49pm

    Eventually. 2012. Mixed media on paper.


  • Calling Again I thought the habit was broken a Saturday morning token, my calling you before the day raced. For less than a second your number comes to mind except you stopped answering nearly two springs ago. No words are spoken l only recall thoughts the sound of your voice gone like your body. We will never talk again not on Saturdays or any other day although the phone rings up graced memories. 12/18/2012 9:50am

    Up Links 2012. Mixed media on paper.


  • Odd Shaped Room In an odd shaped room opaque windows go suddenly clear, then fogging before I see through. Memory seeps inside windows painted shut hints still finding me as I inhale the living. This room has doors, too locked when I want in opened as I seek to be alone. Acrid smoke lingering from a burned home or sweet incense of prayer, are you in there? This odd shaped room, its hard to say how many of us are waiting inside here. 11/10/11 ( 4:13pm + 7:41pm)


  • Encore We sang songs long forgotten or assumed to be but our collected minds brought up the deep notes of old friendships We pulled up tempos memories of the past though we dont seek to return just to remember the songs we sing now This unplanned choir of middle-aged men carry the rarest notes of happiness and laughter when we convene We learned to sing for our future wives to sing for younger friends and older ones too. We sing for all who are the blessings in our lives. None of us knew we practiced long ago to do this encore. 7/10/2012


  • Glide She circles the block, without haste rounding several times on early evenings Gliding by the same places paddling gracefully with time Her bicycle coasts a gentle hill the light breeze, pleasing She gazes blissfully on a neighborhood road that eventually becomes less known On each passing she confirms there are reasons not to hurry. 6/15/2012 8:11am


  • Repellent You know someone whos getting old faster than you. Someone old never thinks like you and you know youll never act as old as he or she no you just couldnt be. Itll never happen its easy to see they didnt know how age comes on though yesterday they were young like you and me. Except we take old age head on gray thinning hair and sagging skin doesnt have to fall as fast as it did from them. And who do you think you are drifting around our lives like wasps living under the eaves that we quickly pass to avoid the sting until one day you drop down and old age confronts so we spray and shake the can again spraying until old age goes into convolutions. Now those wasps fall from homes of paper and spit bodies silently flailing but youd scream if you could you would scream for seconds as we watch you die knowing old age has been voided from our lives your flightless bodies the unimaginable pain contracting legs out of control until the brain stops dead still. Weve seen others fall and many of us know our death comes in a similar way although the spray kills more slowly under the eaves of a nursing home. 6/29-7/3/2012


  • Cash Money At a Native American Indian casino stoic faces stare at slot machines smoke blowing from nostrils fingers pushing buttons eyes glazing as spinning icons promise variable rewards. Noise encompasses the mind a constant drone cancels thoughts except for winning and beating long odds in a complex void of time. Inside this windowless cathedral we are crowded but still alone a gamblers hope is brightest here where distorted light beams project promises of cars, clothes and cash. Long lines crawl to ATM machines where people pull cash from paychecks or home equity sure of winning this time stay long enough and take home plenty. Lab mice are better fed by scientists seeking knowledge even worker bees toil for honey as casino creatures starve themselves by salivating for money. 2/20/12 12:37pm


  • Just Before Just before we go to sleep, a quick kiss. Your lingering smile following our two heads set

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