Look at me, I created a bandcamp! So far, I've got six poems on there, with full text and free to listen/download. This number will grow if I remember to be competent.
Posts
A Poem with Character
https://bnw-mag.blogspot.com/2018/10/jenne-kaivo-poem-with-character.html The poem I wrote without any words has just been published in a special issue of Brave New Word magazine! I think I managed the rhymes pretty well, but it's not good for reading aloud.
A Poetic Assortment
The End of The Advent “I am eating the days of the month, all the days at one time”, says Rebecca. Her patience has ended: she flung wide the doors of the weeks still to come. The suns go down hot. She washes them down with the liquor of evening. If I had known she was an eater of days I’d have begged her to take all the rest of the year. Eat all the seasons, the cicada spring, the summer and fall when the world could not sleep for the scratching of chicken-foot houses. In the woods with the corpse-flowers blooming, their talons dug deep in the dirt. When they clawed up a snail, they cackled, flapped open their windows with pride and made sure that people came running. They let the worms stay undisturbed. In the spring is the hatching of insects. (This year, I bit down on a chocolate but my tongue touched the flesh of a fat and white maggot instead, and I swear I could taste its small hairs.) One day in the spring there were bees and they covered the city in...
End of the Advent read aloud
Here is my first recording of myself performing my poetry in a controlled environment. I hope to do more of these. I confess to having gotten frustrated after two hours, and just posting the first take I was able to make all the way through. What is with upstairs neighbors? How come they're always rolling bowling balls around and setting off small explosives?
Parable of the Health Care Bill
When the health care bill was born it had teeth. Little scraping teeth, rows of leech-mouths waiting inside the pages, hungry and gulping. The proud parents held it and said, “A son is born! He will be the death of tyranny!”, but the villagers knew better. They took it in the night, holding carefully but not successfully avoiding those rings of razors, those voids that wanted blood. “This should have been a stillborn,” said the wise woman. “It is animated by evil as some things are.” Her cure was cheap. She placed it on the fire and let its sickness burn away. At the end, the blackened teeth were left in the grey ash. “Make these the tips of tiny arrows,” she prescribed, “and each of you take some. Shoot the parents when you can, sting them with the cruelty of their child. They will live, but they have too much blood in them, which must be drained away ”.