“Saltwort” Book Launch!

saltwort-front-cover“Saltwort” is selected poetical writings by Joe Linker, author of “Penina’s Letters,” “Coconut Oil,” and “Scamble and Cramble: Two Hep Cats.” Forward by Salvador Persequi. Includes 109 pieces.

US readers may participate in a paperback giveaway:

  • Winner: Every eligible entry has 1 in 4 chance to win, up to 4 winners.
  • Requirements for participation:
    • 18+ years of age (or legal age)
    • Resident of the 50 United States or the District of Columbia
    • Follow Joe Linker on Amazon

Follow this link for a chance to win a paperback copy of “Saltwort.” https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/739df558f09931bf NO PURCHASE NECESSARY. Promotion Ends the earlier of Feb 20, 2017 11:59 PM PST, or when all prizes are claimed. See Official Rules http://amzn.to/GArules.

 

  • Saltwort
  • Paperback: 222 pages
  • Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform; 1 edition (2017)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1542768977
  • ISBN-13: 978-1542768979
  • Dimensions: 6 x 0.6 x 9 inches

 

 

March Release! Saltwort, Selected Writings Poetical, by Joe Linker

Announcing, Scheduled for March, 2017 Release – Saltwort is the title of a collection of selected poetical writings from 1973 thru 2017 by Joe Linker, author of “Penina’s Letters,” “Coconut Oil,” “Scamble and Cramble: Two Hep Cats,” and “The Coming of the Toads.”

With a Forward by Salvador Persequi!

Still in proof and editing stage, Saltwort collects previously published pieces (on-line and print) with some alterations and some new writing as well into a fine 1st paperback edition.

saltwort-cover-preview

 

A Load of Dirty Laundry

For you distressed I carry yr clothes
hamper downstairs taste every word
prior to yr ears like mosquito
static in yr hair I sit on yr head
snatch one with my tongue
smell yr salty skin yr cheeks
freckled read as shame burr
sounds around yr funny ear fickle
bone bowls.

Still you don’t care all that mulch
for words can’t help the ear aches
worse for wear and tears fall
fill the worn clothes washer
I don’t bother separating solids
from colors under from outer
and all that rhyme
fill the tub and ounce of salt
wort scrub-a-dub-dub
rinse the soapy nest.

Pin all to these lines
in the sun of daily
breezes off the water
spinning and tumbling
little white terns fly off
as you dry off in dry
bamboo grass we learn
we two live in a slip
and fall place as you slip
a link and fall into the abyss
of this lonely ableness.

awake & asleep

ear to ear
each other
we hear
now there
now here
tilting
tinctures
chandelier
sweeps & swivels
& windowsill
candles glisten

in moved & numbed
dark a sommelier
comes pinches
the wicks dreams
river yarn & damn
earwax secrets
sheets surface
smears of sea
& ocean seer
seal bobs near
freer & freer

On Letting My Hair Grow

letting-my-hair-grow

I’m letting my hair grow.
It’s starting to snow.
Nothing to be done,
Estragon fond.
“Now I’m a donor,” I told Susan,
“on the recent license renewal.”
“They’ll take your anatomical
hair,” she said, the young one
at the Department of Motor
Vehicles: “On your license,
be a donor?” she asked me.
“Sure, and why not.”
“It’s not like you’re going
to be needing it,” she laughed.

I don’t need it now,
I thought to myself,
she in Santa Claus costume
red and white furry thick
and outside snow falling
and her hair black maroon
hanging tussled out
the Santa red cap rimmed
white and the big white
ball at the end bouncing
about as she whirled around
to grab the form
for me to be
an anatomical donor.

My papers in order –
DD214, Birth Cert.,
proof of address – but,
“We don’t need them
this time,” she said.
“You’re in the system.
You showed us all that
last time. You only
have to prove it once.”
(On this I did not
correct her.)
“But let me see
that discharge sheet.
Why don’t you have
VETERAN
on your license?”
She read down my DD214,
taking her time.
I was number 106,
the DMV not crowded,
middle of day middle of
week middle of month.
Not any, any, any.
Middle, middle, middle.
“There it is,” she said.
“Other than dishonorable,”
she happily smiled,
as if given a gift,
or handing me one,
the white ball again
twirling as she turned
and grabbed hold
another rubber stamp.
I was 18, number 16,
that first drawing,
I might have told her.
I looked good a few
of the squad said
of my shaved head
coming from the barber
at Fort Bliss, zero week.
I went in full curled
long and wild just out
of the surf at El Porto.

“OK,” she said. “Take
this to the photographer,
end of the counter.
Merry Christmas!”
And I said it back
to her. It’s best
when at the DMV
to remain calm
and try to relax
and let your hair grow.

“Number 107? 107?”

Bodig

break shoe
tongue
twist
 

flying
by the seat

 

intestinal fracking
of one’s pants

from roof of mouth to eye bird nest
prow brow
head to head
crown noggin
fisticuffs fracus
best foot forward
tripped up
from behind
nose to nose
dried honey crystals
hundred years old
rub a dub dub elbow grease
unfair to the fare thick skinned
heartless
calloused
body out
of tune
with mind says
without a punch thrown “you go your way
and I’ll go mine”
Genet tolls
neon tubes
afterglow
mouse muscular
green scapular
easy way out
chest
prayer ov
er drawers
 

tasseling hair

offer cauliflower
ears
 

ago

loose lips
hips tip
flip
banana trunk
carrot leg
zucchini toe
feet flap
tongue roll
slip slap

Body a la mode

Hair is home
host to vermin
both lowlife
and high fliers

little lady bugs
after aphids
and crickets
around the neck

head is open
for business
enter up
escalator nose

bay lips open
for winnow
shopping
the ears parking

garages for
diverse scads
take elevator eyes
to the penthouse

sweet
down now
to the fruit and nuts
the walnut shaped

butt rarely sees
up as down it sits
a-squish in fat
the thighs arise

down to deal knees
legs akimbo down
to ankle gears
pulleys the feet

monkey wrenches
between toes
grease growing
mushroom nails

this being husk
breath munching
crunching
masquerade

and inside the body
marching things
really grow
interesting .