Kurt Olson is a writer, musician, and performance poet from Eastern Washington. He has just finished a demo featuring 10 poems and is currently working on a full length spoken word album as well as a chapbook. In order to fund his need for food and shelter, however, he sells women's shoes at a department store. He finds inspiration in the eyes of the homeless and the hearts of children. He also loves Thai food.

                                      Personal Ad
           








Personal Ad:


Single male
wanna-be writer
scrawny build
patchy facial hair
seeking woman
for long-term/short-term/random hookup
no girls need apply
Woman must be willing
to put miles on her shoes
and put Miles on to listen to
I do my own
cooking and laundry
as this is not
“Woman’s Work”
She must treat bookstores
as libraries with less dust
and her favorite poet must be
Dr. Seuss
She must be able to translate
my rants of anger and madness
as my way of saying
I love you
She must have hips
that send me into
a frustrated flight
around Saturn
and eyes
with enough gravity to
pull me back
eyes that dive deep
into the barrier reef
she must treat
visits from parents
as the precise time
to bring up our sex life
and pyramid schemes
she must be bright
like stars on the beach
with a new moon
and cast afterglow
on the blank faces
of innocent spectators
we would be souls upon shells upon
driftwood
sailing onto/into the milky way
She must hold a coffee mug
like an extension of her heart
and hold my hand
like an extension of her; her
That heart must be
a silvery purple blue Nexus
strips of yellow sunrays
radiating radii
across my vision

She must understand
that my love is not strong
my love is not big

my love is gigantic
my love destroys asteroids
and shatters shackles
and resurrects the dead
in an explosion of
greens and blues and pinks and reds
my love
is not a sex type thing
my love is a celestial macro-organism
that inhales whole planets
and exhales the universe
and I carry this love
like an egg on a spoon
and I’m running as fast as I can
and my hands are shaking
and my heart is pumping
and my lungs are heaving
but my body won’t give up
and that egg isn’t going to fall anytime soon

and darling
I know you are out there
the one person with enough patience
to deal with a heart this huge
and a soul this bruised
and a mind this filled with random shit I picked up at intellectual yard sales
yes I am a fact-pack-rat
but there’s still room for you
I designated that room long ago
before I ever met you
because I knew like every episode of Boy Meets World showed me
that we would be together
when the writers decided it was time to stop
and I think the writer of life is getting ready to close the episode
and I think the series is coming to an end
so if all goes well
I will run
smack into you
around the next corner
or maybe I already did














                                    Father Knows Best
                

Father Knows Best

45 Minutes
the amount of time
it would take him
to drive to see me
4 hours
the amount of time
I would wait on the porch
to see him
The man who called himself my father
tried for about 6 weeks
to be a dad
to his only son
the son who told
all the bullies at skool
that his dad was picking him up that day
“so please don’t get my clothes dirty”
they didn’t listen
but that was just fine
because I would go home and change
into something far better
for my father
I would remember everything I learned
everything I saw, I heard
so I could tell him on our drive
and prove to him
what a good smart funny boy I was
and I did this until I was seventeen
absorbing everything I could
to squeeze my spongy self onto him
and sit at his feet next to the tennis ball
begging for pats on the head
I would recite every story I ever read
I would learn all about construction
so I could look like a real man
like he was

but I never got the chance
his moon silver two-door truck came like
a lunar-eclipse
the phone calls like snow in the spring
came for a while
then those stopped too
when he moved closer to me, I was 15
and he still didn’t call.
He was too busy
or too drunk.
My 17th birthday
was the last time I remember
buying an excuse
over the phone from a
strange voice
like a long distance plan
then I gave up


But if you want the truth
I thank him
I thank him for giving me
the knowledge that
when I become a father
that Daddy is earned
And I know
when I hold my child
I will never let go of him
no matter how much he squirms
And I know
that I will never make excuses
that I will never forget birthdays
or baseball games, or graduations
that I will never leave my son
crying on a doorstep
with his backpack in his tiny hands
that I will never make my son drink liquor at eleven years old
that I will never make my son sleep in the living room
and listen to me
fuck the bar trash I brought home
that I will never forget that the most magical thing
in life is a child
who loves you
and looks up to you
and wants to be you
and wants you to accept him
and pick him up
and look at his coloring
and read with him
and listen to him play music
and watch him perform poetry

and love him
and love him

and maybe you did try
but you just had too much pride
to see my mother
happy with someone else
but sir
you missed out
and I grew up
and its been two years since we’ve spoken
and that’s not nearly long enough

 

all copyrights belong to Kurt Olson