Sunday, May 24, 2026

Sunday Lit

In My Craft or Sullen Art
by Dylan Thomas

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

 

The three books pictured came to my attention again totally by happenstance, I wasn’t seeking them out: the two novels, translated into English from in one instance Spanish and in the other Mandarin Chinese. (Doubly curious: the Mandarin Chinese novel is about translators.)

I source my books from friends, from the media, from the public library, the friends of the library, the little free libraries, and the random book sale here and there. 

Reservoir Bitches is kick-ass hilarious and furious; Taiwan Travelogue is languorous, delicate; (How did the translators do it? What must the original have been like to them!); Things as It Is is clear and enchanting in all its original English.

Reservoir Bitches, by Dahlia de la Cerda, 2022
English translation from the Spanish by Heather Cleary and Julia Sanches, 2024

Things As It Is, by Chase Twichell, 2018
 
Taiwan Travelogue, by Yang Shuang-Zi, 2020
English translation from the Mandarin Chinese by Lin King, 2024

 



Saturday, May 23, 2026

Randos


EARNINGS CALLS, EMBER CAST

Like fanboys stacking messages
On phones in the Aughts
The bees are back
Curating clips today
Had to smoke them out
Last time.


OTAKU NUMERO UNO

Calls himself the “Car closest to the loco”
Beloved, iconic, unforgettable
Nothing less than ardent, relevant, and deliverable.


CROSSWORD CLUE

Yogi’s pose
Asana, true
But squat 
If you 
Know baseball.


COUNTERFEIT BILLS

Both of them
Billy, the youngest 
GOAT, “Kid”
There in New Mexico somewhere
Whilst up in the Dakota Territory
It was Wild Bill Hickock
That Annie Oakley said
Bury me next to 
And got her wish.


A SENSE OF PLACE, AN EPIC JOURNEY

A kind of deep-tech startup ecosystem
Thirty percent more freshness
And often performed separately as a concert work.



© Copyright 2026 Randy Stark

www.randystark.com

Randy Stark’s Amazon Author’s Page

  

Friday, May 22, 2026

And Then They Came for Our Phones

Scrap metal apartment estate.
Zero and E-Z.

We can’t even forget for ourselves
Let alone remember.

An evening of Journey.
Here’s the red snapper.

Where’s my boning knife?
Where’s my mood board?

Only the smudging white sage prevents the
Rats from eating the shoes off our feet.






 

Saturday, May 16, 2026

7:45 p.m. Mountain Time

Clock this said the acorn squash
My twenty-point plan is a hundred already
It slays, it rocks
Via biomats and brain taps
Red lights and cold plunges
I went around to all my friends’ houses
And I told them I said 
Always know that I love you
You mean so much to me
So let me go ahead and
Capitalize on big team big flex
Invert the neocolonial structures
Seize a forward line of defense
I feel an archdukedom somewhere shaking loose.





Friday, May 15, 2026

Here's a Little Thing I Call

 GETTING IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM

“Who looks upon a river in a meditative hour, and is not reminded of the flux of all things?”
Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1836. 

Nobody. Nobody “looks upon” a river. Nobody in Late Capitalism has the luxury of a meditative hour when time is money amidst the logistics, the drops offs and pick ups and obligations and to-do lists and appointments and trysts and assignations.  We build bridges across a river, ride boats on top of it, kill fish and flora by dumping into it human waste and labradoodle waste and viruses and  bacteria from storm water runoff, the cides of pesti and herbi, plus gas station seepage, septic system seepage, construction site seepage of aluminum arsenic, nitrates, copper, lead, uranium, magnesium, manganese. Nobody looks upon a river, unless maybe a dead body is floating by and catches peoples’ attention and has them on their phones (and for a minute, not for a meditative hour). Let’s bring ourselves current, shall we? Besides, the flux of all things cannot be contemplated. The flux of all things is too cold. The flux all things goes hard. 

---Randy Waldo Stark, 2026



Saturday, May 9, 2026

Planet On-a-Stick

Kinda doowoppy
Electropoppy
Dubsteppy
Afrobeaty
Dancehall-ish
EDM-y.

You know, speed doom
Lone actors radicalized online
Call from that number you’re dead
Or militants, separatists
What the K-9s find
Officials warn.

It’s so funny like
Day after Earth Day
Defense chief killed
Guard fatally shot
Two dead in clashes
Then the “all clear.”


Friday, May 8, 2026

Floor Exercises

Rethinking my wardrobe for next season
I need to get with my food group
Cool kids with Tool tee shirts 
Leveraging legacy frisson  
With neural waveforms based on
My likes and preferences.
Charm meets ease, trenchoat to kicks.

Flashing on them pussyass times
When light footprints was considered virtuous
And if it’s true as Lacan says 
That all desire is based on a sense of lack 
Although the jury is still mostly out and
Down the hall to the left
Much depends upon hitting Send.