30 Poems in 30 Days

[Remec]

2-22

Failing, the old tree
droops and sags--no longer a
source of shade, quickly
becoming nothing more than
a shadow...a memory.
-----

 

[hmmnmm]

1-10

Single bicyclist downhill
dawn stillness
nocturne shift, fade oranges,
tangerines
wrist tap, saucer eyes cool
penetration
majority rulership
shed nightgowns
furred yawn, see, know,
count casualties,
clock out. Next shift, next
star-studded
purple stage
single motorist uphill,
left someone
asleep, alive, or in tears,
cowed, hungover

 

[WickedEve]

1-15

shelby uproots bittercress,
brushes leaves from the dates.
fall mums and autumn flags
in autumn become coffee conversations
and goodbye kisses.

tending his stone
is a marriage.

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

2-29

Along a dirt path,
stems adorned with spring jewels.
Decayed trunk blocking
safety from being trampled.
Left marred among perfection.​

 

[alphe1]

1-2

my reality
my eyes
peering through the lies
perceiving all that’s died
your
giving
everything
never holding back
finding where it hurts the most

going past
pitch black

drifting off to sleep
feel your hands upon my lids
gentle pressure
reassuring
everything’s right
to dream
in light
after the sun fades
into night

 

[4degrees]

19-22

every day is wednesday
and each night a knife
slipping through layers of life
making thinner the time
the man and the mind
carved into nothing
but a cold soup of meat.

 

[Angeline]

Gulp. -2-1

If I were to channel another
voice would you recall I was
your choice? A moment, flavor
of the day, a cool and brief
foray for you to savor at your leisure
in a fluff of feather kisses, velvet
sighs when neither time nor space
confined the bed. You pressed me

on the walls of your mind's eye
and covered me rapacious
in your urgency to have at
till we slid so sweetly past
intention to a base
meant only for desire,
thoughts to light the soul
afire and safely burn
to ember memory.

Imagination sets the pace
and if they were my hands
instead and not your mouth
do you regret dead
space after we power down?

The night fills up with voices,
TV, wife and someone
on the phone. And we are not

alone
if only more
ethereal than ever we dreamed.

 

[Remec]

2-23

When he died, there
was such an uproar,
above and below alike,

No one seemed to care
how or why--it seemed to bore
them to think of Uncle Mike.

But 'round here we took
it all in stride, said some words,
had drinks, Mom baked a cake.

I had to slice it, her hands shook
so bad while aunts chittered like birds.
A clown came to the wake.

His face was pale as the linen
napkins and he wore the greenest of green
from head to toe, but for his chest

where he wore a large red ribbon
and the loveliest harp I'd ever seen.
"Here's to Mike! May he rest!"

We echoed his toast, one and all,
laughing as he danced through the hall.

 

[WickedEve]

1-16

My name is edgar.
I am dyslexic.
Mother told me so.

I used to be afraid of God.
Warning signs everywhere:
"Beware of goD!" posted on gates.

I don't sleep well at night. Squirrels
mock me. I wax the trees
in my yard.

My wife gave me a Dog for Arbor Day.
Hey, god. Beware of Edgar.

 

[hmmnmm]

1-11

Epidermis gauze
aftermath
nostrils twitch, lids
flutter. Recall.
Pores breathe, versions
miniature
dells, plains, sloughs,
drenched, flooded, muddied
feed on fertile
fantasy fields
human emanate
ingestion
nighttime, dipper’s come.
Chemistry! Marvels!
one more hand sniff

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

2-30

Bouquet variant
pink, violet, yellow blooms
vibrant hues
all supported by green stems
none pale in comparison​

 

[4degrees]

19-23

today a trail of your
old tracks mapped a path
across a path
of my own
black cat no
you were the luckiest
i'd seen happen
you said visceral and such
i'd cringe with want
still to this day
the way i live a lonely death
the only breath
bleeds from me like memories
pure intent
black dog yes
we fed them
and now mine is eating
its own heart out.

 

[Angeline]

2-2 Amante XVI Terzanelle

You're my lover; you're the backdoor man.
Glue me to your mouth, tip tongue and sigh.
Then whispers, hot intention. I understand

Amante we are cheek to cheek to thigh
as night unfolds its stars and shivers us a breeze,
glue me to your mouth, tip tongue and sigh,

make me tremble, make me stutter, ease
open to pain, to moonlight's grand and wild purity
as night unfolds its stars and shivers us a breeze

I arch back to your chest Amante, no antipathy
mi dueño, always I surrender to your heart,
open to pain, to moonlight's grand and wild purity.

There is no end to us, our circle where you start,
I complete in clench and cry till forest swallows us
mi dueño always I surrender to your heart

and sing our story to the trees. Silence follows us.
You're my lover; you're the backdoor man
I complete in clench and cry till forest swallows us
then whispers hot intention. I understand.

 

[hmmnmm]

1-12 (if I can do tomorrow's tonight)

beany ideas
cloud show
of sorts. Sorting through.
Stuff. Progressive puzzle.
Becoming
… fabric… becoming
mind free, system-free,
bureaucrat-free

buildings
streets
staggered deterioration stages
but the landscape
the natural:
parks, trees,
shrubs, yards, homes
simple, good-looking,
and the neighbors.
Lunch
on the bench:
bread, cheese,
meat, olives…

 

[Remec]

2-24

Hot and unbothered,
I lie awake
alone and untired
waiting for footsteps
in the hall and keys
jangling as they are
hung on their peg

Everything has a place,
from the shoes by
the door to the crisp
envelopes of outgoing
mail sitting on the wooden
wall rack, even the
bathroom towel rack
has a certain order to it.

So why do I feel nothing
but disordered and out
of place? Left to my own
devices instead of being
subjected to yours.
-----

 

[hmmnmm]

1-13 (if it's okay to buy another day)

I’d have politicians for dinner,
except I doubt they’d taste very good.
Maybe a few forkfuls of Pacific
pink salmon, lemon, butter, rice pudding
on the side. But the rest: have to drown them
in ketchup. Use a hand-sized jackhammer
just to get past the wrinkled leather,
petrified fat. White pubes crawling
all over a dry pork chop. No pepper,
no sea salt, no sauce in sight. Force fed it;
chained in an abandoned ne’er scrubbed
S&M dungeon. And for what? Coulda
crammed a big mac; rice pudding on the side.
Or coulda tried my hand at a sonnet

 

[4degrees]

19-24

i thumb out
come to me
be my relief and
make me forget
her
be my forgetter-
this last quarter
i've grown hungrier
and if it were,
her,
she might get eaten alive.

 

[Angeline]

2-3 Jazz Triolet

Jazz is the heart of the home,
Greenbeans mambo in the pot,
Cry an onion river, douse this poem,
Jazz is the heart of the home.
Skillet clang, kettle sing, chicken bones
and kisses swing red, right and hot.
Jazz is the heart of the home,
Greenbeans mambo in the pot.

 

[Remec]

2-25

She is nothing but feline grace,
I watch silently--hands kept still--
the curvaceous flesh before my face,
she is nothing but feline grace
roiling about me, picking up the pace
of her motion and my breathing, until,
she is nothing but feline grace.
I watch silently, hands kept still.
-----

 

[hmmnmm]

1-14

Fantasy and reality are not
compatible. If they were my
fantasy world would be empty
and my real world unlivable.

A fantasy may appeal as
a fantasy and there it must remain. It
is in a beautiful place. Fed, bathed,
watered, exercised; comfy and safe.

Enslavement in fantasy? Hm.
Yummy. Tingly. Whiff a waft through
fantasy’s filter to this casual
but very independent real world? Run.

A war documentary may intrigue:
the weaponry, the battles, strategy,
the generals, the struggles, the drama
but to be a participant? Shudder.

 

[4degrees]

19-25

 

[Angeline]

2-4 The Sky Reminds Me

Contrived patting. Precious preening,
self-gulping mirror gush drowning
in congratulation. The nod, the nudge,
the superior pun that threads intention
just so through the needling natter.

What profited Polonious for all
his pompous platitude? A smirk
harvested in the grave? A child
exploited and unraveled raving
stark amid the bitter garden?

It profits nothing to bargain soul
wholesale for press, propriety.
Nothing comes from strut and fret
just so I crouch small, whisper
to the sky, I plead with the Pleiades:

Alcyone, Asterope,
Electra, Celaeno,
Hear me!

They open vaporous blue mouths and laugh.

 

[Remec]

2-26

Soft click-click tells me
that my time is passing by,
Each hop of the hand
about the mounted circle,
is another moment lost.
-----

 

[WickedEve]

1-17

to be fur, lovely
with mane, or content in fleece,
and blissful in lack of profundity --

only sky and winter,
the grass and moth.

when we are fur:
no sun-skin, thumbprint,
six syllable thoughts of fading
in tunnels of light.

 

[eagleyez]

2-5

bird bones
a spinal clacker
cubist edifice merely a stand in
a go to in a clutch-

a pair of turkeys
a gang of two
the color of hay
and a pile of berries.