30 Poems in 30 Days

[4degrees]

18-30

to not use the
predictable ways
more deja vu poems
discribing unrequitted love
or a murderous urge
might be the very
thing that kills
this poet

my undead insaisions
bore many nights
full to the top of luna
a depraived dialogue
between two sides of
a single man

my love encrypted
hiding behind walls of words
and a violent facade
smiling the whole while
so genuine it is,
as is she--as we laugh
and sit close, i want so much
to take her thin hand and
tell her
kiss every knuckle,
each bone to her nail
and decend onto my knees
while singing a ramones song

this is the last poem
for a few days,
poems will be written
in my mind and in between
my sheets,
i will muse myself to sleep
while i dream about you.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Summer 08 30 w00t

.


Notes on Card VI, the Lovers

part 6

Notice too the roses and the club
held by the twins
assume that they are contained within you

These seem obvious until you see
the sere sand colored pillars
of Mont Ste. Michel and realized
that the tower of deity, the
Sword of god is straight
and plain, the thick smooth
thrust of the warrior

and the roses, of course,
except for the windows of Chartres
the blue roses, holy open
eyes, with their sigils
of the zodiac, their
animal saints, the Bull
and the Lion.

Remember
that the Eagle is a Woman
in white, with a silver crown
Arianrhod, the Wheel of Stars
the bird of the pale Moon
the white horse you cannot
quite catch.

When he rode after Rhiannon
he was always a little after,
though it was miles,
though his horse sweated foam.
After he called,
Lady will you stay?
She said, It would have been better
for both our mounts if you had asked sooner.

Ask, and the twin comes, willing.
Ride after, sword raised
and you escape yourself. Both rose
and club are contained
in these blue windows.


.

 

[the Snood]

1 - 11 - Venus

your stark geometry
intrigues me.
i coast into orbit,
examine you
with a dozen senses.

your chemistry
transports me to
the beginnings of life,
your heated self
beckons to me.

i enter you,
immerse myself in you,
touch your surface,
and once within
i sense nothing without.

your ever-changing,
ever-renewing body
fascinates me
and i trace
lovely creases and faults.

i cannot
tarry long,
but while i'm here
you are
my entire universe.

having barely
scratched your surface,
i must leave,
must return
to myself.

i know that
next we meet
you will be
utterly different,
may not know me.

i feel you near me
in quiet moments,
remember and relive
a dangerous romance.
are you busy tonight?

 

[champagne1982]

summer2008-1

On Touch

My dog has the softest
ears in the world.
You may not agree
but you aren't allowed
to argue the unique texture
since you've never touched
softer silk persian carpets
or egyptian cotton sheets.

Yes, 200 knots per inch
and a 400 hundred thread
count weave a luxury
to your fingertips,
but oh, the sensual
joy of feeling living velvet
as he nuzzles your palm
can't be created
without God.

 

[the Snood]

1 - 12 - Miller Time™

stale light, yellowed with age
drifts across the floor to us.
swaying slightly,
we make for the door -
a carnival of two,
our minds irrelevant.

we go to her place to find
what there is to find
in barren times,
what she might like
if she likes anything,
what she can do
at this neglected hour.

with the invasive
light of day,
clawing its way to
the edge of the city
to vomit cheer and
wakefulness upon us,
to remake us in
its dirty, burnt-orange image,

she might have bad teeth,
blotched skin or
the scintillating
conversational skill
of an oyster,

but by then it'll
have no bearing on
the present.

i'll not have to stay,
only to make sure
her door is bolted
behind me.

 

[champagne1982]

summer2008-2

Moments of Import on National Orgasm Day

Elusive bliss hides in
panty silk and satin
frippery; between soft bowers
lingers escape, a plethora
of pleasure, just there.

First to drift casually
across the soft invitation
then to tease a sigh
that wakes desire

from slumber. Sweet need
tugs Pleasure's nipples
and draws her upward
from the humid nest;
fluffs feathers to surround
the heated skin that pants
beneath, waiting

for the slap of wet sting
against the swollen
fibres of sexuality
to burst relief
all over the satin and silk.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

2-1 Do as thou shalt

. . . . .

 

[the Snood]

1 - 13 - After the Interchange

Your eyes ask me
if She Knows, as
you stand beside Her.

She rushes
down the jetway
to Her beloved me.

She greets me,
a warm hug and
showered kisses,

while our eyes meet
behind Her back and
I shake my head.

During courtship and
a year of marriage,
you simply never came up.

You stand there,
Sweedishly stolid, while
hurt and envy vie for dominance.

I wistfully remember
a time before Her,
your transitory perfection.

Then come guilt,
comparison and
pangs of regret,

your un-grasped,
love-bonded hand
that I fail to shake.

 

[champagne1982]

summer2008-3

In Your Eyes

I have seen how you hunger
how you fear your imagination
can't suppose this is you
invisible

I can see it all
as you look
away from my eyes
and I'm left
watching your lips
as they name me
in release.

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

1 - 1

Self-image

Reflection stuck
replaying early wrongs-
mistakes of innocence,
dusty images of humanity.
Polish clears the image
until streaks remind me
of imperfections.
Darkness assigned
to beige experience-
a sense of “less than”

 

[PandoraGlitters]

2-2 (two)

. . . . .

 

[sassynyc]

1-1

Peer Pressure

She fluttered on
a triad of night wings
above the bar

Peddling elixir
smartly dressed
in angular stemware

Sleight of hand,
she used no jigger
to tempt me into
a proposal of poetry
to last a fortnight
times two

 

[the Snood]

1 - 14 - cikala wicasa wowaglake?

With brazen disregard for the patently futile,
I cogitate deep into no-man's time
to separate her meaning from her language.

Strange phrases, almost another tongue,
it's hard to believe that they were formed
and made indelible by the latest conflict;

such glossolalia refuses to translate.
"If you don't know, I won't tell you!"
is hardly the apotheosis of communication.

I try to form worthwhile sentences
from alternate word meanings,
cleave is after all its own antonym.

And every square root has after all a twin,
one positive and one negative.
Is her negativity in reality positive?

Some things do of course come across -
bright flashes of insight and fondness
occasionally mar my Stygian mood:

a few, easily missed happy words,
beauty that beggars my vocabulary,
the soft dialogue of the flesh.

 

[sassynyc]

1-2

Mojo link

That certain something
that defies description
and refuses to be bound
by the confines
of consonants and vowels

Discernible only
to the sixth sense
it goes unseen, unheard
The flavor of suggestion
The scent of primal heat
The feel of the indomitable

Presence that drapes and swings
like a cloak

Not like shadow
trailing, obediently behind
or off to one side

This force encapsulates being
It does not wait to follow steps
but orders them instead
Walks proudly on its own legs

When truly ripe, it enters the room
moments before you do.

 

[the Snood]

1 - 15 - completeness

She is my best friend,
far more than a fuck-buddy:
a thorough lover.

 

[champagne1982]

summer2008-4

Blueberry Memory

Blueberries conjour a memory
a moment captured of a busy
day and indigo tinted lips

and tongue, stuck
out of impertinent
saucy grins, that hide
behind the flour bin.

Dusty nose and sugary
toes, a clean up tomorrow
but not today, today
we swim at the beach.

So, I eat blueberry crumble
and think of you,
as I taste this memorial

oats, brown sugar
and wild weed fruits
the wonder of worlds
for the children
at your table.

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

1 - 2

Dear Inner Critic

Leave your judging hands off what is mine-
attempting to squelch all you don’t know.
Your dirty grip won’t tarnish my shine.

Your rantings and judgment are a whine-
quick to point your finger and bellow.
Leave your judging hands off what is mine.

You view your opinion as divine.
On your head, a halo doth not glow.
Your dirty grip won’t tarnish my shine.

To your dismal view, I won’t resign.
My value I refuse to bestow.
Leave your judging hands off what is mine.

My art I’ll continue to refine.
My steady growth I intend to show.
Your dirty grip won’t tarnish my shine.

Doubt and inner critic intertwine
and if left unchecked, transform to woe.
Leave your judging hands off what is mine.
Your dirty grip won’t tarnish my shine.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

2-3 The Tower

. . . . .

 

[Tzara]

6 6 6

En V.

It's that look in your eye, biological,
that causes me to walk your elbow through the crowd
on the Piazza San Marco, past
the booth selling guidebooks in Estonian
and Xanth, past
the Tom Cruise figure in the Carnivale mask.

I told you the guy was short.

O, but it's because, you and me, Missy, have a date
on the happy side of the Bridge of Sighs,
and I, for one, will not be late,
though perhaps underdressed
fashionably,
at the just right just in time.

Please wear a mask
for I love how owl feathers with your eyes.




Link to number five here. After that, you're on your own. I'm taking bets on whether I'll finish.

 

[sassynyc]

1-3 Duetto

He traversed the vale of collar bone, slow
like molasses pouring on a cold day

Over petal-soft skin, kisses whispered
sacred, as if uttering prayer

He breathed a hymn, close to my ear
composed, not of words, but dew drop sighs

I returned his verses, line for line
We sang a duet in ¾ time

 

[champagne1982]

summer2008-5

teach your virgins well

teacher must touch
the fibre of the subject
and spin it into a garment
for the student
worn drawn over the head
like a robe and wimple
embodies virtue
and initiation into mystic
mastery until intellect
overflows when student
becomes fuller than teacher

 

[Tzara]

Seven

Lucid Dream (Not About Pulcinella)

Imagine my surprise
when I drew your slacks down over your hips
to find a linden tree, and in the trunk's cleft
between two graceful, sturdy limbs,
a nest, guarded by a hummingbird—
a lovely ruby-throated thing
hovering in quiet air.

The iridescent bird fixed an eye on me.
Its slender beak rose haughtily,
then it suddenly sped off,
perhaps to guard some other flower.

Later there was a cave, and bats,
but that may have been another dream.


.

 

[the Snood]

1 - 16 - What pleases my beloved pleases me

For me jealousy is a myth.
There's more than enough to go 'round.
I worship the one I am with.

Possessiveness reeks of the Sith,
and I find this principle sound:
For me jealousy is a myth.

What training we get from our kith!
"Steer straight! Rocks and sandbars abound!"
I worship the one I am with.

If I'm smiling, then tell me wherewith
do you argue? Again I expound:
For me jealousy is a myth.

I say 'tis a thought of some pith,
is simple and shouldn't confound.
I worship the one I am with.

So loosen the mores and therewith
step into a new life unbound.
For me jealousy is a myth.
I worship the one I am with.

Mayhap I should fit in
"There's no need to hobble your smith."
Hmmm...

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

1 - 3

Shadow-laced ground-
a carpet for me
Paled in introspection,
oblivious to what I see.

Breeze inundated with music-
the birds in chorus rejoice
Though all I hear
is the critic’s voice.

Chattering squirrels play,
enjoying the summer day.
Morosely caught in a web of thoughts,
is it my choice to be that way?

 

[PandoraGlitters]

2-4 Queen of Cups

. . . . .