30 Poems in 30 Days

[WickedEve]

1-10

a siege of bitterns wade the marsh
of my veins. bloodlogged crevices deepen
in sharp edge of night. he drives

dooms crossing.
"i am at the end,
waiting."
despair flies in our dust.

 

[Remec]

2-17 Tik-Tok

He's run down, once more,
and I have no idea
where they've put the
key this time, so I left

him standing in the foyer
for a couple of days; then
slid him onto a dolly, thinking
some sunshine might be

nice. (Not too much, although,
weathered copper looks nicer
than silver.) I was going to
try to wind him without keys,

(though it's probably impossible)
but the Glass Cat says we
must be off, right away,
Button Bright is lost again.
-----

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

2-24

Pattern spread in response to fear
and dread from authority’s speech
about scribes’ work, but they don’t hear.

Giving sunglasses as they preach
as they stun with bright monologues
and dread from Authority’s speech.

Listeners warned to remain hogs
accepting the words spun in quest
as they stun with bright monologues

Hungrily obeying the easy to digest,
The Word reduced to baby food,
accepting the words spun in quest.

They never question or conclude,
pattern spread in response to fear-
The Word reduced to baby food
about scribes’ work, but they don’t hear.

 

[4degrees]

19-17

blue
looks so good on you
the shade that indicates
cessation of circulation
and absence of oxygen
allow me to disturb
my way into your mind,
inside your dark and secret place
where death becomes you-
we are fascinating together
next to a six foot hole.

 

[WickedEve]

1-11

Chronic Agony Maria

This precocious ache, my Agony
Maria on endless barbed swing,
with pins and pricks of monotony.

Such an incurable cruel thing
that pendulums from sighs to shrieks,
reaches high on endless barbed swing.

Sinews strain and the bone seeks
to ease away from prickly seat.
Pain pendulums from sighs to shrieks.

Agony's folds gather and pleat,
ill-fitted, then suffering billows
with to and fro on prickly seat.

Maria comes to me in throes,
drapes my form in heavier skirt —
ill-fitted. My suffering billows.

Swinging Maria, suspended in hurt,
she is my ache; she is my Agony.
She fits me in a pleated pain skirt,
pricking me with pins of monotony.

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

2-25

The Contradiction: Human Perfection

dedicated to UYS

What’s that?
That speck right there?
That smear is my badge,
permission to myself to be human.
Disapproving looks in mind’s mirror
are no longer tolerated.
A mistake? Hardly.
It’s a lesson,
an opportunity for growth.
To be shared or hidden?
That’s my choice.
I fashion my mask as I see fit.
I won’t apologize.
Everyone wears masks.

 

[Remec]

2-18 (wip)

The grey clouds are back overhead,
adding moisture to the chill wind
and increasing the overall feel of dread.

Something is coming to judge my sin,
my lack of remorse for what's been done,
too late for amends, no time for spin.
----

 

[hmmnmm]

1-6

calyx slicker
anemone
tenants wiggly
in cloaks, peek, wink.
Unknown known, ever
new. Yet. Not true.
Pavlovian
tingles, strings, kicks,
volts, numbness. Cupped
dope blows, smears, blurs
shame deftly muted
protestations
finger-snap-pop
lies lay shriven

 

[4degrees]

19-18

a savage love
a spiked needley touch
too much
for you but for me
never enough
rejected and dejected
just as expected
repeating over again
patterns promoting fear
every other way is
forgotten
my heart bristles
with antagonistic lust
unlovability wins
and i am me again
a taste of coins on my tongue
and i am you
too soon

 

[Remec]

2-19 Chess?

"Will you be white or black?"
"You mean I get to choose?"
I was taken aback

when they nodded--my goose,
as it were, good and cooked,
I shrugged, being bound to lose

no matter my colour, rooked
and mated in no time
flat. I was glad I booked

the early flight. A mime
would make more noise than me,
merely make the timer chime.

I tried, as always, gamely
to prove I had a grasp
of what it took when we

sat before the board. A clasp
of hands gets us on track,
we play until I pass,
I just don't have the knack.
-----

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

2-26

Sweetheart, I‘m truly blessed you hold me.
While I cry, I suggest you hold me.

Nightmares arrest my peace in your arms.
Whenever I’m depressed, you hold me.

Dodging life and love for years, I ran.
Forever your conquest. You hold me.

Questioning world and soul mechanics,
thoughts flow. When I’m impressed, you hold me.

Puzzling mind and body scurrying
When I finally rest, you hold me.

 

[hmmnmm]

1-7

?

A panel
of experts
superhuman
women and men
vast and deep,
worldly wise
acutest
perceptions
pronounce verdicts
on talents

You’re on
Time to impress us
You’re on
the world watches
you’re on
you get two minutes

tears are effective
and the fashion if,
after you sing, you
try to cry. Ratings
always skyrocket

hope you’ve rehearsed
more than your licks
hope you are an
emotive convict
got a story
to go with those strings?
Exploit it. We’ll pray
candidates buy
advertizing time.

 

[4degrees]

19-19

embracing the soft
and the dead
the world's own ugliness
is measured by
a small corner of
those called civilized
who am i-
who are you to say
there is no beauty in decay?

 

[WickedEve]

1-12

Oh, I forgot about yesterday. I think I'm suppose to start over, but I doubt I'd ever finish, if I did. Since I'm doing the 30/30 for me, please forgive me for posting two for today.

He places his wind palm
on her back. Bicycle has wings
and child spills. Mother's living hands
lift her.

Father is in the trees,
whispering songs
for girl to sing
when she needs him.

 

[WickedEve]

1-13

I love my little Anjou tree,
heavy green until Autumn. Then limbs
droop low; ground is dappled
golden. A yellow bowl
forms in the hollow
of my shirt.

Sadly,
the worm tastes ripe,
like sweet pear.

 

[hmmnmm]

1-8

insubstantial jog (?)

Weirdos. Oddities.
Outside chances. Do
any set out to
be so? Or to be
perceived so? None do.

Standards already
in place, they came along,
where they are. The oddness
of standardizations
oddities; appeared
odd relative
to standard. Or tried
admixture into
standard standards:
obscenity,
misshapenness,
grotesqueness;
standards spat them out;
ostracized; expenses
outweigh identity
sacrifice outlay.

 

[Remec]

2-20 Delectable

Do you think I didn't notice
each and every
lovely curve, my hands are
eager--if not impatient--
clutching fingers to palm
time and time again,
anxious to touch your
bare flesh, to see what
limits there might be,
exhausting every one of them.
-----



(It's kind of cool to write when you have inspiration, y'know?)

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

2-27

I Should Have Known

Same blame game
Please pull the knife
From my back
While you pile on the shame
It’s the story of my life
Before this attack
You claimed to be unique
in shadows of the old strife,
you deliver the same smack-
redness bleeds through my cheek.

Don’t give me the credit
for what I wished would not be
and the pain you do not know.
Reclaim your words and edit.
Stop pointing a finger at me
as if I had delivered the blow.
I should have known it.
My past is clear proof to see
that reward for trust is low
and men treat me like shit.

 

[4degrees]

19-20

two thirds of a lifetime
consisting of poor poems
overfilled ashtrays
empty cans and
pictures of a man
every now and then
surfacing again
a red reminder of
the most intense days
that never happened
outside of a lengthy dream.

 

[hmmnmm]

1-9

?

if conversationalists be
revolutionaries at an
archaeological digging,
contentions pernicious may
threaten contamination in
a documentary sense for
future television viewers
conditioned never to question

 

[Remec]

2-21 Sunday Pancakes

*yawn*
Open the box,
measure it out,
halfcup at a time,
add in some eggs for
extra protein instead
of some of the water,

*stretch*
Get down the pan,
heat it up over a
good, strong flame until
water bubbles right off,
whisk the mix and begin
scooping it onto the
oiled surface.

*lick lips*
So nice of my kids to
volunteer me to making
breakfast this morning.
----

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

2-28

Tree with raw, stripped bark
suffers the forest shadows.
Shielding its lost leaves,
fragile branches wavering
until wind’s refrain ceases.

 

[4degrees]

19-21

paling suicide
violet lips and sunken eyes
crusted rust-red paths
trail from the corners of
an eternal smile
with one so noble to
ensure that these moments
of recent passing
will not be wasted
crying for the dead.

 

[WickedEve]

1-14

He settles deep
into his chair,
with his old man's cock.

From across the room,
I see the gray is waxing,
and I want

this old man. I want him,
even grayed and weary —
fingers do not miss pulling some foolish,
forgettable
Samson's hair.

I come to him
and there is no rest.



edit: wanted to add that this poem comes from an older poem of mine. It is the same main idea, just rewritten into a new poem.

 

[alphe1]

1-1

God scent,
Bold essence
captured
in
the softly opened face
of a fresh cut rose
standing
before me.
Blushing white red,
pink perfume
lingers on its petals,
long after
its glory
fades.