30 Poems in 30 Days

[wildsweetone]

18


Divorce

They go through the motions, the appointments
with attorneys, the picking through photo albums
and saucepans, with the only thought given
to what they might need to get through this
Christmas that will be so different to any
they once shared. They pack years
into cardboard boxes, crates of memories
and drag them off to separate worlds
where they won't be re-lived with relish,
just stockpiled like some dusty archive
no one wants to finger.

 

[wildsweetone]

19

it seemed so natural, to continue
laying there, uncovered, quietly talking
about mundane things as fingertips stroked
heat-sweltered skin, the Summer breeze
turning the smooth pink into dimpled mountains
that only the earnest could climb,
only the brave would try to climb.
shadows stretched, garnered the bed
with the iridescence of twilight tangled
in the twisted sheets. soothing sounds
of tomorrow's dreams
echoed within the room.
outside the crimson pohutukawa lit the beaches,
a tui suckled from the flax flower and sang
of the brilliance of the day.

 

[wildsweetone]

20

wade fishing

they toss a line in the fog
where the water ripples
with early morning
breezes that blow
the dark beyond the horizon,

a line that holds straight, weighted
with lead melted from nails
used in a roof before Ike, now settled below
in a brine laden sea deep and steady, ready
and set to catch.

 

[wildsweetone]

21

what i saw on the way home from the airport

he staggered along the street edge, walking
with an exaggerated model's steps -
zig zagging from one side of the path
to the other. though his legs were jelly,
he managed to hold steady a white plastic bag
against his flushed face, unseeing eyes over the top
glazed in the sunset, glared out as if daring
the world to save him.

 

[wildsweetone]

22

she lives next door to the man
she wants in her bed, under her body, panting
while she rides him into tomorrow
without the use of stirrups or lacy stayups.
she watches him, knows his skin
and is ready for his claim

 

[wildsweetone]

23

it might not be here yet,
but the breeze carries the scent
of fruit mince pies, the tree holds
the lights of the rainbow, its pot
the pile of gaily wrapped presents
beneath. curled on the skirt
the cat, a ginger swirl fast asleep
from dangle decoration toying.

 

[wildsweetone]

24

it's raining and the sound seems so foreign
that I strain to listen, to hear each drop
as it lands. I tried to hear
the falling, but their race from cloud
to earth is so swift, I could only feel their wake.
the birds sleep, lulled
by the constant tap of raindrop on leaf
and bough, a comfortable lullaby
edging layers of dreams.
the ground swells, closes its cracked crevices
nurtures early Summer growth
in the shadows of young Spring leaf. Dandelions
pucker, their sweet faces risen to worship
the rains that pelt petals, rains
that wash the dust away and bargain
another season's respite
from a burning earth.

 

[wildsweetone]

25

Christmas day and there's no inspiration
nothing except coloured lights, a silver angel
and two presents still sitting under the tree.

 

[wildsweetone]

26

We conjure up the dream
the cottage in the country
with its white picket fence,
the two point four children
and meat and three veg dinners,
the evening cops and robbers shows
on the tv in the corner. The dream
where we'd all work,
where needs were all well met,
and luxuries were the norm.
We lived it until the bubble burst,
the market crashed, petrol skyrocketed
until a Sunday drive turned
into afternoon walks
and the house was filled again
with the scent of hot homemade bread.

 

[wildsweetone]

27

we'd stopped talking somewhere
around midnight and listened
to a distant dog, its bark
a grave call to the dark
where there were no shadows
only black on black and silence
as if every living being slept
while the trees continued growing,
while the stars sparkled cold
because the sun never gave up
its claim.

 

[wildsweetone]

28

they're out in the sun
with their paper skin glowing
under the ozone hole
as if it doesn't matter,
as if old age will get them
before the dreaded c. prayers
seem answered and smiles abundant
though everyone knows early Summer
in Auckland has its drawbacks, that rain
will wash out a picnic quick as the turnout of sunburn
strap marks, that bikes on the beach leave
gulls gliding near the cliffs. in the sun
on the black sand, they're laid out, curing.

 

[wildsweetone]

29

the dressing table is laden
with jewellery. homemade
necklaces dangle
from a wooden hanger hooked
over the mirror, bracelets
laid out in rows
on the embroidered doily -
pearls, gold, glass beads
of green, red, blue in every hue
from matt to sun-caught sparkle.


(note to self: work more on what else the dressing table holds... what pieces of life lay there? where did they come from (bought/inherited/gifts)? their use? their purpose?)
((ps note to self: dust the dressing table.))

 

[AChild]

1

This is an epic poem.

I've decided that I am beautiful and the felling stayed after the high.
------------------
School

piss smell
more than in the halls
on the throne
porcealin on thin water
tile, brunt earth helps echo senses

sun light
my mother's lover
reluctanly comes
drifting down with letters
of joy

I write return to sender on them
and leave them on the high ceil

I don't know why I wish for
spiders
why I want to hide in the
webbed places of my mind

the clock it ticking
hands laugh still

a tear escapes to a lizard lick
I shake and laugh empty
scraping up emotions water can't
inhaling deep through my nose

 

[AChild]

2

This is an epic poem.

I have lost the art of "going to sleep". I now can only "pass out". In dreams my ideas for word confront me. I wake with harsh commands in my mind. I tear muscles at the keyboard.

---------------------------

Breath control involved

in the next stall
sits a smooth cat
he never showed me he knew
his flaws

I show him mine all the time
depending on my mood he
is stronger than me

David,
of the many pockets
music man for balloon heads

beneath the wall he passes
the candle that will cut my sting

sip smoke and float
pausing breath to hear my heart push
eye now able to cut light
dissect the blues from yellow, the green from blue

cones can dance,
although my umbra
keeps it's pitch

David,
of the always boppin' hepcat
s-cool hats and air sax
would share his music

"when it hits you feel no pain."
in my swing set
I Fear the end of song

 

[wildsweetone]

30

an apple half eaten

She talks ramrod straight
as though only her shadowed mind
is laden with untold truths.

Her eyes sparkle and words drip
from her lips, tempting, stomach churning.

The facade she shows, reflects
in the mirror and the impression
is of overpowering bling, blinding

you to what lays beneath.
The serpent coiled to strike.

 

[AChild]

3

This is an epic poem.

Soon. My first book will be ready this will be the second one.
---------------
Approach the mirror
it calls me from inside myself

I stay away
getting dressed in the dark
one time I came to
school in my mother's clothes
So little a price to pay to avoid
those eyes

seen them in the dream,
they keep insisting they are reality
that I should help them be more pleasant
I know they lie, I told it to myself
no need bleed conflict in my waking life

grab the sink
a life saver in the porcealin sea
the water plinks and the whole room rolls
ebbing and flushing

David's gone bopping out the door
and I'm alone

Carefully I let the water flow
it won't get hot here
public schools don't heat

eye corner catch a flap of mirror
it pulls and pushes
breath iron and lock teeth

"I won't give in to vanity"
eyes eat more mirror
"I won't give in to vanity"

on magnets adverse attraction
the guy in the reflective plane
wears polka dots of gravy and
pants streaked with snake sauce

on contact with them black holes
all is red, not skin cut but bone poke
pink as something vital

if only I could fall back and break my head
too late

caress the glass
reach out to choke the image
nails thirst for the dirt they hold
to become life mud

hands open at the line like packages
and lots of me goes spilling down the sink

I try to kill the beast with my forehead
instead I fall

 

[AChild]

3

This is an epic poem.

I never get to sex in dreams
---------------
Fall

there is death at the bottom
of this I am sure
its wanting me as I want it
for now its just the darkness

darkness is a fire
consuming my thoughts
churning with a bloody depth
redefining with its fuel source

changing aspects as I come
to add pattern to effect

head over heels and straight down
lids blink on habit without a
difference in what is revealed

try to escape this like the dream
peeling back from the theater
just an pixel in the eye
running toward the portal of nonfiction
as the monsters close

I will the real reality no avail

downward - felling
the words compile upon each other
the metaphor creeping back and forth from mood

tears spinning out
no lunch to lose
drums sharpen
for the water impact

but there's no floor
soon the the ground will come
and use my bones for teeth

 

[AChild]

4

This is an epic poem.

My book is twitching in the dark. I got labor pains and junk sickness.

----------------
Love my mind though I do
it lies

it recreates the world most too grim
"prepare for the worst" my father
but if I had a treasure
for every time I put lips to ass..........

the meter inside that gauged
certain death is broken
'cause I came down on pillows
soft as toasty mallow

fall complete but no light still
to add context to surrounding
hands bound around my waist
forced to love myself
feet are a hard mount

at first a Stooges shuffle that
would have made Curly proud

on heels I remember Poe
and walk in way weary
of pit and pedulums

The room round and
coated in such pillows as the floor
all hope is lost when I fail to find a door

 

[AChild]

5

This is an epic poem.

Moods change with the mood, sun mad with out sick days.

-----------------------

heard a cry in the darkness
it caught me by my eardrum
daring to untie the leather

moving to escape it in a round
the farthest point inside the cell
it not enough

water from above
rivers my face
burning trails, brands cheeks to twitch
puts salt on my tongue

can't tell if the tears are
mine although I feel them in my heart

'who are you?' I ask.
'I'll never tell. you always use my name to hurt me.'

the presence changes the room
it becomes smaller
in comfortable/intimacy ratios

'what's wrong what are you afraid of?' I ask
' you see you use my name against me again.'

the sounds grows
a whale dying on a bed of coal

run away to end up chasing
this painful thing
chasing to a crash
on the ground a heap of limbs

we both are broken
of tears and expectation

 

[AChild]

6

This is an epic poem.

only cause its long.

-----------
in the jagged cut of the crying thing
a memory

grandmother's house
were we lived
The Family
a matrilineal line
cousins in every room
warm feeling in every splinter of wood floor

on the second level
I sat playing
enchanted by a porcelian
clown bank

it had a name that was only a sound

baggy pants smiling
carrying balloons of every
cartoon color soft bright
sign in the eyes that says
only for you

Noise down stars
my fathers coming
keen eyes lost in a beard

Mom is with her new friend
I remember not understanding the words
but riding on the wave of bad feeling

Dad grabs the closest smashable
my bank
the shards of first loved thing
bounce out to cut

it's just a memory not reality
just some picture in the head box
marked childhood subtitled
my first memory of father

it can't hurt me any more
it didn't hurt me then
besides the blood that day
I shed no water

this memory makes me feel
just as all the others
in opposition of the ideal

 

[AChild]

7

This is an epic poem.

Today I am sleepy.
--------------------------
mind running on
freedom

what is it to be free
to be with our restriction
but how many people
must I be slave for my own
paradise

straight jacket gone
grey lights coming from above

nail between the wall pillows
don't even hurt to pull

I get to running up
the sides, as if to escape a box
first straight up
then twisting and turning

want to be the grey light that feeds the room
almost but never too close
I fall on my ass heart pumping
quick ballads

 

[AChild]

8

This is an epic poem.

These words hurt to write.
--------------
Flashing
riding a blood vessel
through a heart verge bursting
look up
at the center
orchestra

what color does
the blasts from adrenalin come in?

"Hello, I don't quite understand how I came here but all I can say is that it's not my fault and If I you please I'd like to leave now."

Nothing
the heart explodes
the blood vessel perspective is seen when blinking hard

from grey skylight come a change in mood
there is a ripple and the walls shift into rock

swallowed by a hole in the world
before there is an attempt to climb
the ground boils to lava
the room is exotic death save for the
pillow I sit on

from earth soup, a figure
not horrible in intent
horror springs from the perspective
if this things peragative is to shake dry
burns go to the bone

he look quite like my father
cept beardless and missing
eyes
mouth sewn shut with a lover's hair
tip tips open jagged to the ear
exposing teeth that appear all dogs

its hands moves slowly to loose
the mouth stitch
"Please don't!" I scream

 

[AChild]

9

This is an epic poem.

I don't even think i'll think about that tonight!
-----------
pillars of flesh
cuts bring odd
waterfall magic

trigger on mind
pull a wind blow
boom there goes another
pillar of flesh

they must like
to loose body
working on a weapon for the soul

its a poem that keeps
repeating
a dead end street
where an interesting orange moon
keeps captivated cats and roaches

the paint is peeling here
my fathers in the corner
bugging eyes, laughing

 

[AChild]

10

This is an epic poem.

If you see me choking be sure that it is on bad poetry.
-------------
back from vision
again in the forefront
of reality

reality?

no days
no nights
hunger doesn't even visit
at that I can be happy
what would I eat?
the padded walls

some braying laughter
turn to see appeared out of
nothing another ghost

what symbols are at play here?
whose magic am I under?

the current distraction
is fading in and out

"that's it your all most there figure it out." it says
"Who are you I ask?" I ask

as I speak the words he pops into focus
it's a clown just the bank I used to have

his smile is easy
eyes drugged they roll in his head
the show he would give would be funny and sad
because of the way he would butcher a gut busting rutine.

"The "who" that I am is just a pig fart in the wind compared to the all that I am. Why tell? When I can say fuck you?"

 

[AChild]

11

This is an epic poem.

That wood killed my arm muscles.
---------
Braced myself and he laughed
a low tsk tsk came from his throat

he pulled open a door in the wall
and reveled a rollercoster waiting
just out side

straight jacket back
he bowed low almost scarping
the ground with his forehead

breath in my mind
not in my lungs
stepping on
the track his thick strands of hair

we travel the universe inside a ball of string
looking down I can see a god's view
visions in my mind

it echoes
the doing and the thought of it
two worlds
both real

Mirrors I stand in the middle
and in both I see the me that is
truth

close eyes thinking open

black a star that's far away
tales the story of a boy staring in the mirror
the sink is plugged with something
the water is on low
the sink is filling like a seasoned tippler

what happens when the sink overflows
water in the halls
parents come
and I'll go off to the hospital