The Iowa Source

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Description of my blog

Rustin Larson's Blog
rustin Description:
Rustin Larsonís poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, The Iowa Review, North American Review, Poetry East, The Atlanta Review and other magazines. Crazy Star, his latest collection, was selected for the Loess Hills Bookís Poetry Series in 2005. Larson won 1st Editorís Prize from Rhino magazine in 2000 and has won prizes for his poetry from The National Poet Hunt and The Chester H. Jones Foundation among others. A five-time Pushcart nominee, and graduate of the Vermont College MFA in Writing, Larson was an Iowa Poet at The Des Moines National Poetry Festival in 2002 and 2004, a featured writer in the DMACC Celebration of the Literary Arts in 2007, 2008, and has been highlighted on the public radio programs Live from Prairie Lights and Voices from the Prairie. He is the host of the radio talk show Irving Toast, Poetry Ghost http://www.kruufm.com and lives in Fairfield, Iowa.

Untagged  1 Sep 2017
Honeyfield Oates by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

When Honeyfield Oates,

America’s favorite poet,

was born, it was 106

in the shade. The weeds

withered except where

the air conditioners dripped

from their window brackets.

The air smelled of dust,

and many people

were afraid of the end

of the world, which,

by the way, was not

brought on solely by the birth

of Honeyfield

Untagged  1 Aug 2017
DIARY by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

 

“This End Up” said the lettering

On the package.

What was inside?

A gorilla?

An assassin?

An apple pie?

Twenty apple pies?

The head of Jerry Lewis?

I left it alone.

It didn’t belong to me.


*

There was a year

In the distant past,

1969 or 1970,

When everyone

Looked like Richard

Brautigan.

I would buy American

Cheese for my sandwich

And Richard Brautigan

Would hand back

13 cents

In change.

What was that

All about

Anyway?


Untagged  1 Jul 2017
DAYDREAM by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

Fountaining lobelia: we hang a pair

on the porch to welcome summer and ward

off broken bones. Purple finches weave

a perfectly symmetrical nest. The male

perches on the guy wire and sings.

I dream the Rembrandt Mary cradling,

shepherd’s flute and the muffled lowing,

the infant’s cooing in the cattle-clogged

room, the birds' haunted singing, sun whirling

waters, trees sucking dreams from

Untagged  1 Jun 2017
Bells by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

Someday you’ll forget, he thanked God. Newspaper

where the words for the opportunity, a choice,

came from having my eyes opened by bells.

The dog will hand blitzkrieg, flying chairs;

the mouse made its rapid advance through chamber pots.

The bell became paramount. Three bullet holes

and the cat, the senior staff in the teeth,

will go crashing Camp Commandant. A coil of

will, the gumball,

Untagged  1 May 2017
BEFORE WORK by Rustin Larson Comment (0)

6:35 a.m. Not suffering. The quietest time

Of morning. I can hear a train rumbling

Miles away. A “Charles Pretzels” can serves

As a waste basket. The rodent digs

Litter under its spinning wheel. My senses say

Attack another expectation. Run by another

Temporary solution. I think I’ll make oatmeal.

I haven’t heard a thing happen yet.


The magnifying glass sleeps with the geode.

Maybe I

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