Twitterization Nation

Welcome to
Twitterization Nation!

 

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What time is it?  It’s our August Guest Poet premier!  Each day enjoy a poem by one of our guest poets!  A perfect way to end the summer!

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You can now follow us on twitter @nationOtwits

or on Facebook at “Twiterization Nation”

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017
Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Poetry & other voices in roughly 140 characters (give or take, when needed)…
If you have the attention span of a goldfish… you’ve been Twitterized!

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Tribute to Las Vegas by poet CARRIE DANAHER HOYT



Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017
Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017


BIO:

CARRIE DANAHER HOYT is a life-long lover and writer of poetry. It is her humble opinion that poetry is the highest form of human communication. Poems (she says) at once highlight what is unique and what is universal in humanity; the bond between writer and reader is intimate and sincere (kind of like Facebook, only better).

Carrie lives in Massachusetts where she is a wife and mother of three school-aged kids. To pay the bills (as her poems don’t yet do this) she works as an estate planning attorney. Beside family and poetry, she loves travel, volunteer work and concerts.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 10-15-2017


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE:

© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.


 

Hidden Tracks

Hidden Tracks

from Issue #1
Image by Ryan Schaufler 2017


Editor’s Note:

Mr. Pitchford’s poems bookend our first issue of Twitterization.  Normally, we select a poem and work to pair it with a photograph or piece of art.  Sometimes we send our photographer/artist to create an image that will compliment the poet’s work.  Since Mr. Pitchford’s poems provide an introduction, we chose to work a little differently and sent him a collection of photographs that would hopefully inspire him to write a few poems to close out Issue #1.  We were not disappointed.  The only change we made was with the image used for the last poem “Purple Pastoral” (at the photographer’s request). Enjoy.

-EW/editor 2017



Poetry from Bryan J. Pitchford

Images by Ryan Schaufler

Untitled

Setting up shop in a condemned building = $0

Board games & puzzles missing pieces = .75¢

Scratch & dent kitchen dishes = $4

Eternal salvation = .50¢

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017
Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Universal Majestic

never seen a comet drop out of the sky,

tail of fire burning off the blues,

as it passes through the sun’s eye.

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Connected

kneel down here, feel

warm, vibrating metal

listen, stories on the tracks

from everywhere and nowhere

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Kingdom

man forgot his fear of God,

forgot Babylon and Jacob’s ladder,

erected steel altars to scrape the sky.

lost his footing and fell further than Lucifer.

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Armageddon

after the games have been played

and the crowds leave the stadium,

the sky bleeds and light struggles

in the haze. beautiful and terrible

black lightning strikes.

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Under the Bridge

they wait in the junkyard under the bridge

praying for new life, new purpose, but

only cannibals come to cut and gut them

until they oxidize and slouch into the dirt

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Refrain

Grandma found an angel in a thrift store.

Soon more angels apparated on her piano,

guiding her students with mæstro-like precision.

Conjuring notes from their wands.

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Obsolescence

Assembly lines march past brick & mortar storefronts,
corner diners, and row houses sinking into the concrete.
Blue collar men & women leave their children at the gated doors of dreary nurseries.
Guided by pillars of salt & smoke, they trudge on and on wearing grooves into sidewalks.
Factories allow strict 15 minutes for morning cigarettes, 30 minutes for lunch, and 15 minutes for afternoon cigarettes before the final whistle blows.
They buy their clothes once from generation to generation, sometimes passing them down along with their guilt and hereditary ailments.
Trees do grow in concrete jungles, but there are no nests. Birds all flew South the last Winter, and North and East and West in every direction.

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Purple Pastoral

Worshipping between adobe walls before there
was ever a roof.
Eating peyote before there was ever bread and
wine.
Speaking in tongues to mask their disdain for
one another. The congregation waves and
sways like blades of diseased grass.
Acid melts the landscape and blends the trees
into the buildings and surround sand.
The Lizard King was here twice; once as a child
in the back of the family Buick, and again as
an adult searching for his soul.
Now the tin roof echoes, deflecting the pastor’s
spittle, the fire and brimstone ricochet from pew to
pew drilling through thick and hollow skulls.
Hallowed ground made holier in reverse.

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017


Bio:

BRYAN J. PITCHFORD earned an MFA in Creative Writing from National University. He is an aspiring U.S. Poet Laureate. Aside from writing, performing, and publishing poetry, he works for the Florida Army National Guard as a Logistics Officer. For more information, visit https://bryanjpitchford.com/.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 9-15-2017 (hidden tracks)


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.

 

“Year of Sirius” by KEN WOODALL

Year of Sirius

 

A working man who no longer knows more than
the work he’s done over a cluster of time,
has now entered a “dog year” of his career
in hope to redirect his point of being without
the rabid effect from Sirius’s bite.
Yet, how can he sell his soul to another company
for equal or greater value than the stranglehold of his master
who groomed him in the new world long ago?
The equity of his indentured service is so close to freedom,
he can’t start over now!
He doesn’t understand a bridge loan towards a new home,
for he has forgotten his natural born blessings
and fears exposure of his calculated sin!
His “what ifs” fly like leaves from an autumn shook tree,
and the sky doesn’t have any youthful heat
to melt the blustery gray flurries that trap him
in a self-raked pile of incapability.
He wishes the parental gods could speak again
upon the rays that once guided him,
but now the clouds shall never break
and his prayers are only showered on his will.


Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017
Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Bio:

KEN WOODALL has been writing poetry for over 30 years, beginning with creative writing in high school, and minored in English at UW-Milwaukee with emphasis on creative writing.

During college, he was introduced to open mic reading at a number of venues in Milwaukee. He was featured at a popular local venue for the first time in 2006, and has been featured annually since.

In 2007, he began an open “mic-less” night at a coffee house, and in 2009 shifted to another coffee house where he continues to host the venue.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 8-31-2017 (evening)


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.

“Time’s Perspective” by KEN WOODALL

Time’s Perspective

 

Time never finds time to linger on bright lights
from your finest stars,
nor time never offers time to reverse the darkest hours
of travel within your void.
Time never allows enough time to watch every slow motion
bloom of a child in your orchard,
and time always denies time to fully heal from the falls
caused by gravity’s constant tugging on your skin.

Yet, just when time seemed to erase the murkiness
from a morning sky,
under the eyelashes of sunflowers are still black pupils
where the seeds hide…
and just when time seemed to pull out colors
from a rising sun,
midnight remains seized by splotches of invisible ice
on the asphalt.

Time is now a revitalized trend of wearing designer hats and stylish wigs
to blanket a barren scalp that suddenly
dropped your signature maple leaves…
time now comes to alleviate any photogenic personality
from your eyebrows that always
balanced your face, accented your smile…
and time now sustains the chemical waiting game that toggles
hope and despair within your civil war as told by
the many closed door days your office displays.

This kind of time though, elevates you higher than
any other time of your life,
for you can look through a coin operated telescope
and see magnified before you beginning and end
sharing the same horizon,
then come to peace with understanding
how time is always irrelevant,
beyond.


 

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017
Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

 


Bio:

KEN WOODALL has been writing poetry for over 30 years, beginning with creative writing in high school, and minored in English at UW-Milwaukee with emphasis on creative writing.

During college, he was introduced to open mic reading at a number of venues in Milwaukee. He was featured at a popular local venue for the first time in 2006, and has been featured annually since.

In 2007, he began an open “mic-less” night at a coffee house, and in 2009 shifted to another coffee house where he continues to host the venue.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 8-31-2017


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.

“Shadow Under the Light” by KEN WOODALL

Shadow Under the Light

 

As the good Lord’s light shines throughout a home,
where every incandescent bulb never flickers,
how can the devil’s shadow still slink around
the corners in some rooms?
As the healthy sun spreads its arms across the whole sky,
cleansing all eyes from speckles of night,
why is the moon sometimes visible within
peripheral view of the horizon?

An inner city’s Mother Theresa is compliant
to the good Lord’s contract.
She’s always converted weed-mortared buildings
into countryside granaries for those who
were never holistically fed.
She’s always composed songs only sung by angels
for children born without hearing their designated music.
Yet, somehow gangster crossfire still pierces her armor
when she retreats to rekindle with herself.
A budding philanthropist has earned the good Lord’s bonus
from early completion of a Devine project scope.
His paper fingers have never folded to cover
any pennies on his palm.
His drive has never run out of gasoline while transporting
others along the highway to their colony of stars
only fathomed in science fiction.
Yet, somehow marital infidelity has infected
his libido to gangrene
as his intimate compassion is amputated.

As artesian parents meticulously craft a porcelain doll
for countless years,
and every daily stroke has compiled into a chorus of
colors and patterns vibrantly blaring another
miracle from the good Lord,
how can one minute crack form, then rapidly
expand with jagged edges at an angle so deviant
Heaven’s reflection has faded in its face?
The crack must be glued,
and though the bond will be a scar that could shatter
the whole ceramic if pressed hard enough,
the doll must remain showcased in the good Lord’s fair,
for only then can the devil’s shadow under
the light in its exhibit, cast with no attachment.


Image by Ryan Schaufler 2017
Image by Ryan Schaufler 2017

Bio:

KEN WOODALL has been writing poetry for over 30 years, beginning with creative writing in high school, and minored in English at UW-Milwaukee with emphasis on creative writing.

During college, he was introduced to open mic reading at a number of venues in Milwaukee. He was featured at a popular local venue for the first time in 2006, and has been featured annually since.

In 2007, he began an open “mic-less” night at a coffee house, and in 2009 shifted to another coffee house where he continues to host the venue.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 8-30-2017 (evening)


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.


“September 12th Memorial” by KEN WOODALL

September 12th Memorial

 

Maybe in another lifetime before or after this present one,
we shall meet again in a different world under ripe, high noon light
from twin stars conjoined like mutant egg yolk,
and no telling what kind of species we’d be.
For now though, I’ll live out my life as an impounded cat scratching
the kennel curtains down to thinner, finer dangling strips each day,
only to catch a better look at the sun behind the lines before I decompose
into the same smoke that carries memories of you afar.
You’ve been gone beyond the outer limit mountains of my mind’s eye,
and each distant peak is lined by coniferous barbed wire
to eternally secure you from me.
You disintegrated from our renaissance decade,
for you had to follow a scripted will ingrained deep within you
from your natural deity.
Thus, our miniscule “once upon a time” is shaven day by day against
the guillotine edge of our folded sky,
and my dreams of hanging onto you decapitates my thoughts from reason.
I do regenerate though whenever I wish I’d never met you!
I even weaken the atrophy that plagues my soul whenever I embrace
the law of placement, and only savor your long past breeze
without hoping to trap it in my narrow necked bottle!
Yet, my moment of silence for you every September 12th
forever locks within a time warp the ill-fated want ingrained deep within me
from my self inflicted deity,
and only hallucinations of your initial “Lazarus” life before your born again rising
keeps me happy, maybe even sane!
The “one day” I always await as opportunity to make amends
for the ignorant way I have loved you,
is a compilation of past, present, and future flickers of the stars I watch around me
when I feel truly alone.
Maybe then I’ll find the skeleton key to our alternate universe that was long buried
by Ponce de Leon within nature’s black hole,
and just maybe as we meet again at the mercy of unnatural chance,
our miniscule “happily ever after” will be righted in the same manner
as the most darling section of my imagination.
Meanwhile, wherever you are,
maybe your smile still quivers from feeling my loyalty radiate
from a lost, underworld kingdom you’d rule
whenever your curiosity savors my long past breeze
meant to flow through your double necked bottle!


Image by Ryan Schaufler 2017
Image by Ryan Schaufler 2017

 

Bio:

KEN WOODALL has been writing poetry for over 30 years, beginning with creative writing in high school, and minored in English at UW-Milwaukee with emphasis on creative writing.

During college, he was introduced to open mic reading at a number of venues in Milwaukee. He was featured at a popular local venue for the first time in 2006, and has been featured annually since.

In 2007, he began an open “mic-less” night at a coffee house, and in 2009 shifted to another coffee house where he continues to host the venue.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 8-30-2017


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.

“From God’s Kitchen” by KEN WOODALL

From God’s Kitchen

 

You’re so kind!
You must’ve been the dough hand patted in heaven,
then smoothed out to reach every corner
of the baking sheet, for you always
welcome all earth-faulted chips to rest upon you
while they’re exposed to life’s heat,
and they melt confident that you’ll help them
become as sweet of morsels as anyone.

You’re so caring!
You must’ve been the batter so scrumptious,
every angel have finger licked pieces of you
from the edge of the mixing bowl to assure
you’ve become the ideal cake, for you always
catch the faces of all persons disheartened after
their shallow layer of life’s beautiful frosting
has been eaten away.

Your aroma has lured me
from a den made of mirrored walls where
I’ve been hibernating for quite some time,
and suddenly I was blessed to hold up to my nose
the naturally divine culinary gift of you.
I smelled every element within your recipe,
fresh from God’s kitchen,
and though I’ve seen how you can’t save the whole world,
you’ve given me a strong taste on how to keep trying…
Though I’ve heard how not everyone cherishes you,
you’ve given me the flavor of cherishing everyone regardless…
Though I’ve felt your physical breakdowns
from the weight of everyone’s imperfection placed upon
your glass bottom emotion,
you’ve cleared my palate to savor spices hidden
within jaw breaking burden.

You’re so loving!
You must’ve been the Jell-O mold that God Himself
have placed every kind of sliced fruit from Eden within,
to serve as a preservative for humankind to someday
right the initial wrong with one shared spoonful,
for your gelatinous movement never sways
in a set direction, but is my guidance on how
to unravel my arms from around me and embrace
all the stars I’ve kept light years away.


 

Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017
Photograph Ryan Schaufler 2017

Bio:

KEN WOODALL has been writing poetry for over 30 years, beginning with creative writing in high school, and minored in English at UW-Milwaukee with emphasis on creative writing.

During college, he was introduced to open mic reading at a number of venues in Milwaukee. He was featured at a popular local venue for the first time in 2006, and has been featured annually since.

In 2007, he began an open “mic-less” night at a coffee house, and in 2009 shifted to another coffee house where he continues to host the venue.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 8-29-2017


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.

 

“Control Loss Effect” by KEN WOODALL

Control Loss Effect

 

Your minutes are fattened by settled thoughts
too heavy to stir in your snow globe.
You see thousands of fire ants rushing up the hill
to break the magnetic bunker you cling behind,
but no longer know where to shoot.

Your flag is planted with starched pride
too rigorous to flow from your exhale.
You feel your ankles ache from the shake
of your ground as bombs pop around you,
but no longer know how to run.

If you are defeated by your captors,
you may still watch the northern Christmas lights
the same way you did as a child,
while brilliant colored ornaments flash before you
atop the flames that chars shame out your skin,
from no longer knowing what to command.

Yet, if you defeat your attackers,
you may sleep too sound in a foxhole
below all the structural damage you endured,
ever denying the sun rise
that clears the smoke you learned to inhale,
from no longer knowing who you are.


 

Image by Lori Woodall & Ryan Schaufler 2017

 Bio:

KEN WOODALL has been writing poetry for over 30 years, beginning with creative writing in high school, and minored in English at UW-Milwaukee with emphasis on creative writing.

During college, he was introduced to open mic reading at a number of venues in Milwaukee. He was featured at a popular local venue for the first time in 2006, and has been featured annually since.

In 2007, he began an open “mic-less” night at a coffee house, and in 2009 shifted to another coffee house where he continues to host the venue.


-TWITTERIZATION NATION: 8-28-2017


NOTICE: © 2017 TWITTERIZATION. ALL INDIVIDUAL WORKS COPYRIGHTED BY THEIR AUTHORS; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ALL POEMS AND ESSAYS ARE WORKS OF THE IMAGINATION.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE:
© TWITTERIZATION, 2015-2017. UNAUTHORIZED USE AND/OR DUPLICATION OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT EXPRESS AND WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THIS SITE’S AUTHOR AND/OR OWNER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. EXCERPTS AND LINKS MAY BE USED, PROVIDED THAT FULL AND CLEAR CREDIT IS GIVEN TO THE POET/WRITER AND TWITTERIZATION WITH APPROPRIATE AND SPECIFIC DIRECTION TO THE ORIGINAL CONTENT.