2013 Challenge: One Poem a Week

[GuiltyPleasure]

41 - The Man who Fell in Love all over Again

That Saturday afternoon
she looked radiant.
Light behind her eyes
gave her a glow
he hadn't seen before.
Her news scared him.
A child in nine, short months.

The next few weeks,
a roller-coaster of unbidden
tears and sudden laughter,
hormones ruled
as her body readied but
man! the sex! She was
insatiable.

It wasn't that, the frenzied
teenage coupling or her
constant aura of sexuality
that made him fall
all over again but
the Madonna in her.

As her belly swelled
he delighted in the smooth
curve punctuated by the
nipple of her new outie.

Never shy, she was eager
at every turn to shed the
restriction of clothes,
walking naked and proudly
pregnant.

Later he massaged her
strained back as she felt
for him once more and
he was always ready
entering her, cradling
their creation.

She serenely presented him
with their son and he
fell in love all over again.

 

[greenmountaineer]

42

Fire in Eyes

Some say my end will be a gun,
some say with a knife.
When last I heard "Cy's found us, Hon!,"
t'was a blade took my life.

Yes, t'is true I perished once,
but then some goddess shouting "Stat!"
true blue in my ambulance,
Hallelujah! brought me back

despite the blood that I had splat,
and though t'is trite, t'is arrogance,
I swear, I swear, t'is a fact
she smiled when she unzipped my pants.

But if I had to perish twice
I wouldn't want the jewels sliced.
Trigger happy angry Cy's
not so great but would suffice.

 

[corndog_]

Fire in Eyes

Some say my end will be a gun,
some say with a knife.
When last I heard "Cy's found us, Hon!,"
t'was a blade took my life.

Yes, t'is true I perished once,
but then some goddess shouting "Stat!"
true blue in my ambulance,
Hallelujah! brought me back

despite the blood that I had splat,
and though t'is trite, t'is arrogance,
I swear, I swear, t'is a fact
she smiled when she unzipped my pants.

But if I had to perish twice
I wouldn't want the jewels sliced.
Trigger happy angry Cy's
not so great but would suffice.

Ha! Frosty.

 

[Tzara]

42

.....

 

[Angeline]

42

is here.

 

[corndog_]

Rules

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The worms play pinochle in your snout…​

Pharaohs entombed with cats and manservants and precious
organs in jars that they might live
as before: attended and soft-stroked
about the ankles. The Lakota with beads
to trade and weapons to hunt the green spaces
that follow, and even Tim, whose daughter placed
a deck-of-cards on his chest that the diversions
from this world might divide
the long, hard silence.

..............................But the playing cards remain,
and the arrowheads, and the canopic jars and even
the swaddled cats wine-bottle stacked. The train departs
but your luggage stays. You find yourself at a new station
without wallet or keys or fetish stone. Your isolated heart
flutters in its cold case.

..............................Now consider: a fresh start
in a new place. Wisps of bags, mists of keys. Time,
abundant as dirt, grants opportunity
to try something new: the difficult rules
of pinochle, game of the dead. In your pocket spirits
of Jacks and Dix. You shuffle and deal, ghosts gather
to play, to greet you, to pat you down,
to see what you’ve brought.


.....

 

[greenmountaineer]

The Brahmins

"And this is good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where the Lowells talk only to Cabots,
And the Cabots talk only to God."

John Collins Bossidy

The inmates down in the debtor's prison
said to the Congregational chaplain
the next time Sheriff Munt says to eat it,
they'll cut no more stone for the Commonwealth.

Reverend Emerson said it was wholesome,
but no crustacean could ever be Vedic,
while all the dinner guests nodded agreement,
not really sure what the old man meant.

In the meantime Grady served a la Russe
plum sherbet to cleanse the palate for quail
as Kate, a young wench, outside the scullery
quipped it was worse than Lord Boyle's pertater

soup she slurped before fucking the Earl
while Bridgit and Maeve, both holding their noses
to grow Madam's roses on Beacon Hill,
mixed horse shit in holes with their lobster tail.

 

[Tzara]

43

Intelligent Design

He kissed her here; he kissed, well, there.
He kissed her all around.
She knew, though, what he wanted was
To lay her body down—

For Sex is not Romance. What's more,
It's not supposed to be.
It's simply how God planned we all
Originate species.

 

[Angeline]

43 10/23/13

Villanelle for WCW

So much depends on the little things
a pause of breath, the shutting of a door
the All condensed to nuts bolts springs

the wire or the ligament that holds the limb
the creak that hints of rot beneath the floor.
So much depends on the little things,

the casting of a glance, the slurred note Lady sings
that lingers on the beat that came before
the All condensed to nuts bolts springs,

and what of winter piling up the flakes thin
glass sheets, crack and craze the constant shore.
So much depends on the little things

so little, really, on the grand illusion wings
of angels monumental notion nothing more,
the All condensed to nuts bolts springs

the All in all more cabbages than kings,
all in all less more than more.
So much depends on the little things,
the All condensed to nuts bolts springs.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

42 - Among the Bones

Speaking from among the bones,
the detritus of his life,
he leans in, yellow teeth and fetid breath,
sunken cheeks and claw-like hands
that grasp my sleeve.
"I am your brother, father, son and
I ain't got long. My next hit might
be my last so listen well."
But I pulled away, left him there
with his hard won wisdom
found too late..

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

43 - Arbutus

We are guardians
of the western shores
striding down to the sea,
watching winter storms
whip the waves white.
We are the ancient ones
of the rugged shore
glowing red among dull browns,
sunset bark peels to green.
We are the keepers
of your dreams,
silent sentinels, witnesses
to your wonder.
We wait for no man
and all time.

 

[greenmountaineer]

44

Primordial

After the fiddlehead came undone,
having poked out of the ground,
I watch its frond's erection,
unfurled in a soft morning breeze.

Having poked out of the ground,
it won't last long as a frond
unfurled in a soft morning breeze
but rise like a blood red sun.

It won't last long as a frond
as if the earth is its mother
but rise like a blood red sun
while frogspawn floats on the pond.

As if the earth is its mother
a vixen naps nearby a cypress
while frogspawn floats on the pond
as if the beginning of time was

a vixen nearby napping,
frogspawn floating on a pond,
and a blood red sun was rising
after a fiddlehead came undone.

 

[sexnovella]

44

Living dead


burning leaves swirl around my naked skin

chased by a darkened night monogram

devouring my soul's last light

Manes cold altar rail is covered by my solidifying blood

I know I was butchered

so why do I live?

hunted every night by the bloodthirsty enemy

choking on my own breath

a trap of my sorrows

my coffin carries my blooded fingers trace

my eyes have lost their stars

I want to laugh

feel calm

I only want to see my scars with the monocular

mocking tongues licking my skin clean from my salty tears,

sharp cutting until the blood runs out of my ending well

while I breathe again the air is filled with razor blades

miss my laughter

miss my calm

 

[Tzara]

44

.....

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

44 - A Dignified Death

The party's been great but it's winding down,
the conversation is starting to pall.
The best is behind and I'm leaving town,
it's been wonderful knowing you all

but the conversation's starting to pall
now I have lost the love for this term.
It's been wonderful knowing you all
and I do not mean to make you squirm.

See, I have lost my love for this term,
this body is past it's due-by date
and I do not mean to make you squirm
but I'm not the kind to sit and wait.

This body is past it's due-by date
but the mind is conscious and present.
I am not the kind to sit and wait
for a slow death that's most unpleasant

The mind is still conscious and present
and I've lost the tolerance needed here
for a slow death that's most unpleasant
now it's time for me to disappear

NB I'm not planning to carry this out, in the near future at least.

 

[Angeline]

44 10/31/13

is here.

 

[greenmountaineer]

45

Witch Tale

Round the cauldron I cast my spell
with mercury, toad, and lead.

Carbaryl products no longer sell.
This plant is just about dead.

Bubble, bubble, boil new trouble,
sodium bicarbonate,

citric acid, a rodent's knuckle,
a quart of ethyl acetate.

To shroud the odor from the goo
I'll add an attar of roses

so ne'er a soul will look into
two score hence, psychosis.

With a second dead man's cock,
skim the skin from the first one off.

After they unscrew the cork,
the second one will turn to froth,

but if the dregs still look bizarre,
we'll say they're brettanomyces

as in the finest pinot noir
to put the FDA at ease.

Marketing says it's Vinho de Port
with a Drip Dickey for the slime.

My broker says it's selling short.
Buy the stock. T'is time, t'is time.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

45 - The Ghosts Of Storyville (re-worked)

They lurk at Liberty
and First. The hiss
and slap of Buddy's strop
drifts out from the open door
of N. Joseph’s Shaving Parlour.
The barber’s pole still squeaks,
singing the blues in F minor.

Buddy Bolden’s Blues
that Morton wrote before
he blew town
spice the air
still not making much sense.

You might find Willie Johnson
with Bechet and Pops.
Satchmo' smiling his toothy grin,
wiping it off again,
his hanky stark
against the big, black face;
he and Bunk never were
on friendly terms.

So many souls hang out
waiting for a blow,
lined up in ghostly queues.

Kid Ory telling his history
in Creole,
Bechet treats it gentle,
always understated
like any ghost should be.

 

[Tzara]

45

The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife
After Hokusai

What is it, exactly? The several arms
draped like feather boas
over her arched body

all sucking, sucking at her skin?
Is it that she, in fact, is herself a sea creature—one tide
grasps at form

the way foam clings to the beach?
I have only my four poor limbs
yet can I twine

low among your legs
and, being human, better know
how to root my idiot way among your furrows.

 

[sexnovella]

45. The invisible passion

there is love

which slowly

scratches with blood red nails

cardiac in every room

creates silent screams out in space

nobody

everybody

hear

here is love

that dazzles

Colours the heavens neon

across all the continents

etching the invisible pungency

nobody

everybody

looks

here is love

dancing

hips dance seductive

on earths all streets

in the wild carnival

nobody

everybody

feel

when such love

step

into the room of reality

the silent screams of joy

the immobile touch

nobody

everybody

understand

passion quivering like the tsunami

recognize

when the mind escapes into the wild spirit rides

soft necks and long kisses

the steaming mating dances

nobody

everybody

we

 

[Angeline]

45 11/7/13

Mother's Day

I was never good with rules. I'm a Moische Kapoyer a
leg dragger, how I became the fittest of survivors
is a tragedy and possibly a lie.

I turned you inside out, threw storms of tantrums why
every time your back was turned I motorvated
off to trouble, no end of it, up to here.

I clattered in your shoes and dragged your coat
fine Persian lambswool a sky full of cloud
stole your flowery gold compact

stole your youth truth be told your wild backward
child, your throwback two generations removed
and I wear them on my skin.

My quandary: remain in the safety the garden turn
soil together and plant straight rows peas and pole
beans twining toward the warm

until we move on leave behind the kitchen the side
door that led to a rose arbor built for my
fairy tales we must move on.

Yizkor elohim* not for miracle but humility
the little chair beside the grate where you sat
the smell of bread the stories you read.



*May God remember

 

[corndog_]

The Elbow Room

Belly-up, boys, there’s room
for a story of a girl who fucked
your nuts dry. Here’s a beer, show us
her face flecked with foam.
The game’s on, could ’a been you
shakin’ yer ass in the endzone.
Goddamn Curtis had a can’t miss, had a
college kid to sell the shit, too. Goddamn
Curtis. Goddamn judge. Next round
is on me. Raise your cups to the Powerball
Drawing. Raise your cups
to that sad motherfucker
in the corner, he’s let his life slip by.

….

 

[greenmountaineer]

46

Folio 34R

As young Mike O'Brien pondered the Word
Made Flesh in the Book of Kells exhibit
he wondered if the monk preferred serpents
more than Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
from the Vulgate despite what Ms. Flacker said.

The flourishes made him think of a snake,
Eve in a naked Garden of Eden,
an orange sun melting on the horizon,
and for some reason now in the twilight
a dark bulbous mushroom rising purple.

Then he imagined life as a young monk,
alone in his cell on top of his bed,
wondering why such pigments on vellum
made his blood feel like it swells in his head.

 

[corndog_]

The Persistence of Memory

Window muntins checker
the carpet brown and gold, twisted off-
kilter by low sun angle, an unexpected
geometry. Diamonds
warm with autumn light draped
around my hip Dali-esque is that
a word, I ask? And so the talk
loops over and back, we’ve said
it before could probably trade
parts. I swear I hear
your nose wrinkle when you laugh and know
you have taken off your socks why
do you do that when you talk
on the phone? You have
a new friend me too how’s
it going? A pause is not
what I expect but I’ve been mean and
have it coming. I’m holding you
against my ear inside
my head so close like that upstairs
flat where we fucked standing
against a back door not knowing
it was the attic where the landlady stood
stuck until we finished she was
very nice after that. A memory I won’t let go
of. Time is running
down diamonds creep
across my belly sharp
points on every side and I
already know what you will say
when I ask are you getting married? so
picture my surprise when you
said yes.


….

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

46 - Lost Innocence

Cold wind sweep down
from the Gatineau Hills,
prophesy of winter.
Is it this that makes
these old eyes water
or the memories?

What horrors have they seen,
these mundane men,
grizzled and bent, standing now
like monuments?
Comrades together once more
to salute those left behind
Allemagne,
Dunkirk,
Midway.

There were good times too,
friendships forged and pride
that shines, even now,
in the rows of medals and
those same sad eyes.

None who fought in those four
years remain to remind us.
Twenty million died, but still
we sacrifice our young.

As jets fly low, respectfully
in formation and guns salute,
some wounds are too fresh
and young soldiers crumple,
weeping, mortally afraid once more.

A pride, if not remembrance,
is present in the eyes of a child
holding his mother’s hand
and in the other a picture
of yet another soldier lost in
Afghanistan.