Skip to content
January 15, 2021 / barton smock

bliss notes

Sickness knows that sleep makes us human.

I die

then the day
changes

January 14, 2021 / barton smock

new work, 6 poems, ‘Poetry at Sangam’

kingsoftrain

Huge thanks to all at Poetry at Sangam and especially to guest editor Sophia Naz for selecting six poems of mine for Volume VIII / Issue 5 (December 2020)

~

Sophia Naz:

Barton Smock is the poet about whom Kazim Ali said that “All the advanced degrees and publishing credentials in the world can’t get you the unspeakable duende that Smock somehow taps into, poem after poem.” Barton’s poems are diaphanous enigmas and the fact that they defy logic and can’t be neatly boxed into this or that category is precisely their beauty. God appears a lot in Smock’s poetry, but he is always a lower case god, disconcertingly intimate. The saints and Sufis of yore would recognize Barton Smock as one of their ilk.

~

*The author photo is of me with my grandfather’s pipe…which means something to me for the right reasons. My last publication had a photo…

View original post 30 more words

January 14, 2021 / barton smock

/ Dec 2020 / rocks have the softest shadows

kingsoftrain

Have put together a collection of work less present to present, self-published. Am not thrilled with Lulu’s new cover options as they are limited unless I want an ISBN and title page and no those aren’t really things I want. Am more toward font and unfollowable handprint but the guts of the thing still make the right shape.

~

rocks have the softest shadows
poems
Barton Smock

237 pages
Dec 2020

~

CONTENTS

pages 1 through 41, DIETS OF THE RESURRECTED
pages 43 through 80, from AN OLD IDEA ONE HAD OF STARS
pages 81 through 167, from ANIMAL MASKS ON THE FLOOR OF THE OCEAN
pages 169 through 208, from MOTHERLINGS
pages 209 through 212, AFTERNOTES
pages 213 through 235, New Poems

~

13.00
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo: @Barton-Smock-1
or CashApp: $BartonSmock

~

work from the work itself:

we talk of teeth and of how…

View original post 361 more words

January 13, 2021 / barton smock

far notes

My eyes when closed live forever in the knees of the awestruck.

Dear grandmother, grandfather, aunt-

All absence
loses shape.

By not killing us, god lost the power to die.

January 8, 2021 / barton smock

far notes

This water a math that measures the longing of the abrupt

This bar of soap a tooth preaching the failed bite of god

It is not easy
washing my son

(dog a dog drowning in a car made of blood

January 4, 2021 / barton smock

/ Dec 2020 / rocks have the softest shadows

Have put together a collection of work less present to present, self-published. Am not thrilled with Lulu’s new cover options as they are limited unless I want an ISBN and title page and no those aren’t really things I want. Am more toward font and unfollowable handprint but the guts of the thing still make the right shape.

~

rocks have the softest shadows
poems
Barton Smock

237 pages
Dec 2020

~

CONTENTS

pages 1 through 41, DIETS OF THE RESURRECTED
pages 43 through 80, from AN OLD IDEA ONE HAD OF STARS
pages 81 through 167, from ANIMAL MASKS ON THE FLOOR OF THE OCEAN
pages 169 through 208, from MOTHERLINGS
pages 209 through 212, AFTERNOTES
pages 213 through 235, New Poems

~

13.00
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo: @Barton-Smock-1
or CashApp: $BartonSmock

~

work from the work itself:

we talk of teeth and of how a son closed his mouth in a dream. two of our children hug and as one are mistaken by mirror for the jawbone of god. dog is half-thunder, half-ambulance. limp if you love me.

~~~~~

(tree

with frozen
stomach) (the wrong

grave) (movie)

that ended
god

~~~~~

I think of my mother in her block of ice summoning a curling iron and of my father sending a robot to prison. Of a leafblower named mercy hugged by my brother for outing my sister’s electric chair. Of nakedness, poor nakedness, always playing itself in the story of had we not been invented we would’ve had to exist. Of how daughter she highlights an entry on hair loss in the cannibal’s diary. Of how one holds the owl and one pours the paint and how both, knowing how to dream, choose this

and how they are both a boy in a bottomless mirror asking if death is still known for its one mistake.

~~~~~

a fish looking for its graveyard

I was in the dream
I was writing
down

~~~~~

because a ghost can do what time cannot, a father gets over being ugly. I have a sister who rings a bell and you a mother who swallows a whistle. the order of my love is wrist, wrist, neck. my brother thinks he’ll be crucified for having two left feet. acts like a dog when it rains.

~~~~~

the clown while cleaning a paintball gun watches a kite as if kite believes there’s a puppet in a cornfield. this is what I mean and don’t mean by loneliness. I learn smoke by combing knots from my mother’s anthill hair and snake by setting a rope on fire. certain diets will bring the baby back. whose blood is this, whose ball

of yarn (were soft things said about losing teeth

~~~~~

today, I will cradle nothingness for a star I’ll never see. ask my sorrow what it remembers of yours. soften the mirror

in its yester

place.

~~~~~

the room
listening
for a room
in the home
of god, the soft
chase
given
by toothbrush
to birthmark, the nothing

we want
like children

~~~~~

January 3, 2021 / barton smock

[ etc, 2020 ] ] ] ]

It’s not so much that death takes, but that death doesn’t take everything. Still here is the hole we made in our ears to record a decoy’s breathing. Still here are the toys we shook to soundproof grief. And here still are the bones, thunder-fled and broken. If I say god, I mean only that a stickman gathered itself in time to impress a scarecrow. If I say them, they trace with chalk the dreamless stone.

January 3, 2021 / barton smock

bliss notes

In my wrist, the heartbeat my ears hid from me.

Eye: The first

fossil of my
blankness.

God only takes suicides.

January 1, 2021 / barton smock

bliss notes

I live in the future with an animal known to predict nothing.

It runs out of food when I forget what it eats.

December 31, 2020 / barton smock

far notes

In my son’s eye an unnoticed lamb has forgotten which eye

gets a lamb