Happy Birthday Walking English!

This weekend celebrates the 8th year of Walking English…. the site’s been a huge part of the Idiom’s content and voice…the poets from the site give great readings and help out at literary festivals and the distribution of The Idiom…last night a group of us went out and celebrated with whiskey and wine and talked about the future endeavors of The Idiom

Here are some of my favorite pieces from the site:

Weather Report 

by Chris McIntyre   (Mac….The creator of the site)

Woody Guthrie wrote This Land Is Your Land
in February of 1938,
hitchhiking through Pennsylvania
on his way to New York. He felt
the mountain range wind laughing.
Over lean miles, he lay on his back,
feeling for the rumble on coming traffic
to disturb the unstirring wilderness.
There was no road but his road,
as I-80 dreamt him along.

If you look for America there, you’ll see it
passing you in scenes, standing like billboards on the highway,
moving pictures of the great, empty
Sunday supper.
The oak doorway straining in the
weather. The toll road charming your
last few dollars. The chyrons pronouncing that
the corners have been turned. It’s like the
bookmark melting into the page. The field
slowly becoming forest.

My father brought pieces of America with him
when he left. There was the dirt on his boots.
He held onto the sky in his pockets.
He could throw it on the wall, and it would
slowly drip into a mess on the floor.
This was not something he would worry about.

Remember, these roads are still holding
a space for you. Remember that Woody Guthrie
in the middle of Pennsylvania
in February
and he saw beauty.

untitled by Stephen McNamara  (F/brownstone)

physicists have shown
gravity to be the only
force that acts across
long distances

when tight rope walkers learn
they are three feet above the earth
slowly developing
a controlled sway
of their feet

there are no crowds
or safety nets
at that distance

haiku  by Erin Baird   (Marionerin)

a night of regrets
followed by the awkward sun
rising to greet fools

Fame by Keith Baird   (Cat’s Cradle)

I used to look like

Jack Black with a beard.

Now I look like

John Belushi without a beard

And Jason “George” Alexander,

Oliver “3 Musketeers” Platt,

And one time Charlie Sheen.

I have never once

Looked like

Keith Baird.

In Words  by Joe McCall   (Joe)

I remember the world as poetry.
it doesn’t happen that way.

It’s not until I sit down,
and scrape my pen against the page,
that I think of the way you smiled
the night I first met you, or

The way your lip gloss would
shimmer and shine,
the light reflecting
off my kitchen chandelier

or the feeling I get, looking back
at all the rainy nights spent together,
all the mattresses on the dining room floor,
all the curses that we screamed at each other
and the darkness of your cellar door.

You were always sweeter in words,
You were prettier in words, and
I loved you more in words
then I ever did in real life.

I call it Voiceterbating  by Amy Dwyer  (Apotheosis)

I’ll hum and click and sing for hours
keeping my fingers busy
dice or jewelry
loose change and trinkets

humming clicking
playing with the sounds, holding them


nonsensical syllables
chopped up and delivered
into rhythms
that go on for minutes
that wind along like lifetimes
and get shot through
with bursts of birdsong,
crystallized howlings
and whooping exclamations of joy or regret

I couldn’t tell you what I’m thinking
starring blankly at busy fingers
dice or jewelry
loose change and trinkets

The Sea gull  by Josh FInk  (Grayson Barlett)

I’m swinging around this world
I’m fucking John Glenn
The worst thing you can do to me is let me touch the ground
Toss me a pretzel
with a pressed and hidden Alka Seltzer
and watch my belly blow

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