Jeffrey McDaniel

Rookie (1967 / Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

Jeffrey McDaniel Poems

1. 1975 2/14/2008
2. 1977 2/14/2008
3. Absence 7/14/2005
4. Air Empathy 2/14/2008
5. Alibi School 7/14/2005
6. Arrivederci Lipstick 2/14/2008
7. Boner Etiquette 2/14/2008
8. Boss Of The Nethers 2/14/2008
9. Day 29, Where The Self Divides 2/14/2008
10. Disasterology 2/14/2008
11. Ethel's Lament (Ethel Rosenberg) 2/14/2008
12. First Person Omniscient 2/14/2008
13. For The Artist Who Paints My Balls Fifty Shades Of Blue 2/14/2008
14. Friends And High Places 7/14/2005
15. Hunting For Cherubs 2/14/2008
16. Letter To The Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back 2/14/2008
17. Mannequin Complex 7/14/2005
18. Meeropol 2/14/2008
19. Objectivity 2/14/2008
20. Renovating The Womb 7/14/2005
21. Survivor's Glee 2/14/2008
22. Technology 7/14/2005
23. The Archipelago Of Kisses 7/14/2005
24. The Benjamin Franklin Of Monogamy 7/14/2005
25. The Biology Of Numbers 7/14/2005
26. The Boy Inside The Turtle 7/14/2005
27. The Day It Rained Splinters 2/14/2008
28. The Forgiveness Parade 2/14/2008
29. The Jeffrey Mcdaniel Show 2/14/2008
30. The Jerk 2/14/2008
31. The Obvious 2/14/2008
32. The Offer 7/14/2005
33. The Quiet World 7/14/2005
34. The Secret 2/14/2008
35. When A Man Hasn'T Been Kissed 2/14/2008
36. Where Babies Come From 7/14/2005
Best Poem of Jeffrey McDaniel

The Quiet World

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly ...

Read the full of The Quiet World

Technology

The sinks dishes are the sinks problem
as I ooh and aah at the complexity of balance
implicit to keep the structure: eight glasses, thirteen
bowls, a valley of forks, intact, while I run
hot water over a knife for my onion.

There's a science to the bathtub's archipelago
of grunge colonies that's necessary to America.
My toothbrush is the pin keeping Detroit from collapse.

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