30 Poems in 30 Days

[PandoraGlitters]

4-14

Valentine Terza Rima

when our love is a waning moon
that trails its toe in velvet sky
sweep its glitter into a spoon

exhale with lovers' moonless sigh
and hold your thumb to what is missed
pressing crescent crust for pie

here is a girl who is needing kissed
you know by the way she pouts her lips
to whisper baby I insist

when our love is a silver slip
knit slowly fuller, spidersilk fine
Eden's child calls tides with her hips

when our love is a valentine
blotted lipstick swells night's cheek
pledge again, your hand in mine

every month when moonlight's sleek
the night wind hungrily will croon
till petted plump in dark physique
but love wakes shy in a waxing bloom

 

[StepStransky]

1-17

I do understand the new task.
Having fallen, head first, into this place,
I now have to find a way to live here.
This sudden lack of interest in the
'regular features' is stupid, I know that.
This constant clock watching, this
endless subtraction of five will
do neither of us any good in the end. I do
understand the new task. I know
I must somehow manage to make
all this 'normal', find my own
shoe shopping to be getting on with.
Please be patient with me. And try not
to mind my scrabbling around for stuff
to thumbtack. I do understand
the new task. I aim to enjoy all
the old flavours once again – well,
most of them, maybe – without
constantly thinking of your
aftertaste. I aim to be complete
by myself again, because I know
there is no alternative. It's up
to me to sort through all the old
boxes now and decide what I want
to keep. I do understand the new
task. And I'm pretty sure I'll
sort it.

(Even if, partly,
I kind of hope
I don't).

 

[4degrees]

20-20

ah, to be clever
and with perfect vision
infusing the dreamer's dream
deep into mankind's guts
pull a punch with permission
make it good, a forever memory
the kind not forgotten with hypnosis
yesterday's cleptomaniacle poet
is today's fucking oprah
the pedistal you built
is no more than sand
and will fall through your fingers
when all the particals get
sucked up by the sun.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

4-15

The problem was the hexagons
guiding the combs were too big
leading to larger bees, susceptible
to mites. To get rid of the mites takes
chemicals all because we wouldn't just leave
bees to their own size of hexagons.
Let them build it snug, tight as key
holes, housing honey pure of men,
speaking on our tongues the language
of the sun, gilding our throats.

 

[StepStransky]

1-18

Beloved, my eyes would look into yours
until you were no longer able to look back.
In darkness, we are forced to love each
other now, but I will never, ever find deficit
your voice inside my head, my name upon
your lips, the gentle climb to silence you take.
It is the moment when your tiny gasps stop – an
actual absence of sound – that puts joy
upon my face. In my darkness, I see your legs
rise around me, feel your fingers in my skin.
I will the silent moment longer for you.

Beloved, I can sustain
myself on many things; none
come even close to listening
to you come inside my head.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Valentine Terzanelle?

Trying again for a Terzanelle!

when our love is a waning moon
that trails its toe in velvet sky
sweep its glitter into a spoon

exhale with lovers' moonless sigh
and hold your thumb to what is missed
that trailed its toe in velvet sky

here is a girl who is needing kissed
you know by the way she pouts her lips
and holds her thumb to what is missed

when our love is a silver slip
knit slowly fuller, spidersilk fine
you know by the way we pout our lips

when our love is a valentine
blotted lipstick swells night's cheek
knit slowly fuller, spidersilk fine

every month when moonlight's sleek
the night wind hungrily will croon
of blotted lipstick on night's cheek
sweep its glitter into a spoon

 

[4degrees]

20-21

my poem comes on tip toes
while minutes tick
there are not enough waking hours
even if sleep doesn't come
at all,
to find the words that
would construct
the poem that speaks
to my heart.

 

[StepStransky]

1-19

I'm hardly a fan, you are saying now, but this
I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Everyone nods,
gravely. Someone mentions the kids. Gordon
lets everyone know he knows, of course, and praises
with subclauses attached. Out of interest, when
you called her a fucking bitch - you do remember
saying that, right? - when you wet yourself
with excitement at the prospect of the exit

to boos, to jeers; when you delighted in a
career destroyed, did you not then imagine this
was a mother who could in theory become ill? I'm just
curious to know how this empathy of yours fits
into the larger picture. I'm like that. If she does
go all the way - become Truman, but reversed - will
you watch? Will you weep when her eyes shut and,
if you do, will it make any actual difference?

 

[4degrees]

20-22

every instant
this one, for instance
is encrusted with
poetic ways
like jewels on some
dead king's crown
the leather i wear
creaks with each movement
and smells like the
most masculine
dead buffalo
i see invisible black blood
dripping from the corners
of an injured pouting mouth
and i drool with affection
while my befogged head swims
in a sea of
dead love

 

[PandoraGlitters]

4-16 Crocodile

Polishing his teeth in the brine
he opens a smile made of hunger

where death glints in rows.
Oh the crocodile salivates even
from his faithful eyes.

 

[StepStransky]

1-20

There we were, just taking a casual, everyday
stroll. It was waiting round the corner,
just sitting there in front of us; blocking the way. I swear
I never thought there'd be something like that
in our pathway quite so fast. We each sort of
edged around it, thinking quietly surprised and, frankly, fearful
thoughts. Okaaaaaaaayyyyyyy. Let's just deal with this
as quickly as we can. On the other side, we stayed walking
until we reached the next corner, then we legged it.
Now, we walk together in that same old carefree way, but
I'm guessing that moment's in the back of your mind, just
as it is in mine. If it wasn't you, I think I might be worried about
it. As it is, I think we'll laugh eventually. x

 

[4degrees]

20-23

with fleshy intellect
matters of a soul shrink
the color of ripe fruit
beckons and nearly begs
for teeth to sink into
its skin
this is sin
fractured lust from within
black passageways like
catacombs in a poet's mind
the dead come there to fraternize
the time runs short again
it ticks behind me
reminding that this poem now
must end.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

4-17

It's not THAT big. Just a piano.
In the middle of the stairs.
But if you edge to the side . . .
or maybe not.

Hm. Well perhaps you should just
play it. I'll climb on top in a vamp dress
and set out a tip jar. When life
hands you pianos . . .

 

[StepStransky]

1-21 scraps of a day

Yes, I suppose we should call time
on this Saturday routine. There's no
point in going on and on about it. He
doesn't like it any more. Still. Six years.

It's getting to the point where
the only me that is real and true and free
is the person I become
when I run.

He annoys me, because I see a man
seduced. He doesn't appreciate the value
of what is given. He would prefer the kisses
in his ear, the hot breath of sweet indifference.

On the ski slope, Henry realised
that things look different in the dark.
He had to turn down the lights if
he was going to see her properly.

 

[4degrees]

20-24

Tonight my third son. And I are waiting. In the er while I post. On my girls blackberry. Because he swallowed a battery not a double a but. Just a penny sized remote or. Watch one...but it is stuck. In his little esophogus. And they have to get it out. Tonight. Before it burns a hole in him. Sigh

 

[PandoraGlitters]

4-18

The wheels rolled more and more
slowly
until past the time
it seemed likely, past
the time it seemed inevitable, even,
that the driver would brake. That's when
we should have reconsidered, when we should
have zoomed out on the bus, on the street beneath
not quite
parallel.

Though just mentioned, the driver
is invisible and is later to be vindicated
as blameless. Only the hat and the serious
blue shirt seem to register
on the retina as you slide the pass through
its specially made crevice, the metal embrace
and laser stroke that the bus
saves for its own tender.

We might have guessed as we walked half way
back that doom filled
the bus more than passengers, even
more than the scent and gaze of its women
aging quietly in shallow plastic buckets, ankles
shepherding shopping bags.
Despite not guessing, we sat in back,
anyway and read
the instructions on the emergency glass.

 

[StepStransky]

1-22

The uncle arrives, ten minutes
late (which is pretty good going,
actually; the food is still fairly
warm). The boy regales him with
new jokes learned. There is
adoration in his eyes for the man
I once knew as a boy.

He groans on his way up and
down. Much talk is made of weekly
aerobic activity, but I search for
the evidence. To the boy, his size is
strength and merriment. I think about
the middle period he is approaching.
And worry.

 

[4degrees]

20-25

wow what a sad excuse for a poem, last night


the smell of no shower
is strong enough to offend
even my hard to offend self
with every thing and every one
tucked into their rightful spots
i can almost feel the hot spray
beating onto my back

but i know

as soon as i turn that
faucett on, like pavlov's signal
i'll have an instant hard-on
like a rock, exactly the same
as how i'll be sleeping

 

[PandoraGlitters]

4-19

On the first desk paper clips clung
to a magnetic cylinder. It's owner
plucked them off with a tiny snap.

In the next cross-cubical desk,
paperclips squatted in a box;
its owner would shake then tap
to align.

One afternoon, he rose as if drawn
to her side and said this is what
you miss, shaking the box side
to side: a sotto voce castinet.
She would remember him
in that moment, his smile wide,
past his canines, and how big
his thumb looked against the box.

 

[4degrees]

20-26

this physical journey
at unpredictable intervals
tosses things in the path
of the most rightous
or outright insipid
the bones of man break
and splinter while
under duress of a limited
dimention;
while a wide mind's
expansive reality
assures the impossible
is never so


a poem beats in
this chest, matching
a passionate heart
intense and never to rest
action equals results
staying steady ever ready
my arms open to change
willing god's will to
match this man's
silly human plans
get kinked but just think
the effort made is
directly proportionate to
the lifespan of the joy
that you deserve
words are just words
to some but coming
from me, you'll see that
they are my gospel
every day i'll write your name
with flower petals in
soft sand, with a pebble frame
in the shape of a heart
to remind you where i stand
on this topic
i won't stop it, loving you
is my profession
come then and learn these
life lessons
right by my side

 

[StepStransky]

1-23 text

In this place, meetings always
start late. It is no surprise to be
told to take a seat, to wait, that
'someone will be with' me. In my
spot, corporate images look upon me
seductively, inform me that this is a place
of excellent time keeping. The innocent
words, thrown upon out-of-focus backgrounds,
are forced to paint their lies at gunpoint. But
I see none of this. Time to spare
plus a good signal
equals sudden opportunity.

A single sentence later, my day is somehow
different. No font, no scientifically determined kern, no
million dollar colour scheme has been
employed. No words have been harmed
in the making of this message. Somehow,
it feels like a victory for text. And I, once again,
count myself lucky to have someone
to read my messages.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

4-20

one is drawn against the other
like twine
coiled and touching mostly
at the curves of the other
playing at tips

this is the promise I whisper
wordlessly with breath and teeth
scuffing your love line

that I will unwind
my whole length to your
whole length
sharing your center of gravity

merging to one electric embryo
one atomic cat in heat static
release and timpani

 

[StepStransky]

1-24

Oh, the promises they made, those
fresh-faced, would-be educators: "All
will be welcome with us," they claimed. "No-one
will be cast out!" Well, they did come in the name
of God. After all.

When we, the infidels, heard that claim, we
did our best wry chuckles, winked as we played
with it on our tongues. It became a catchphrase; a
handshake. We took bets on how long it would be,
and how many. We had no idea.

Yes, we laughed. But you went to work for them. And today
you sat before us, yet another child to be thrown upon the
sands squeezed between your manila covers. Rest assured,
your red face was commented on later. But no-one laughed.
None of this now is even remotely funny.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

4-21

lazy pleasure
head loll side to side
warm as lemonade in summer
the narcolepsy of need sets in
and my eyelids
sink, giving way
to the heavy tides
pulling me out
further and further
to sea

 

[4degrees]

20-27

fresh ribbons
to wrap you in
sumptous silky greens
with frills decorating you
as the most lovely present
in this present
you'll be quickly de-bowed
with the fervor of some
excited child on christmas-
my forever gift,
i will take you every day.