30 Poems in 30 Days

[champagne1982]

9 Aug 2011 Day 1

Float a while on this current
as spirals eddy against shore
to hide behind a rock washed
in a roller of turbulence.
The flow too strong to bouy
a bubble of insulated ideas,
naive faith insists a solid wave
should support even as air
cavitates the stream beneath
the prow of the boat and sucks
this reality toward bottom.

 

[Neonurotic]

Hi champ, sorry, I'm a day late.

1 : Kaze no Regret

A rose petal soft kiss, whispers along,
stirring; arousing a pull of breath.
I see ocean blue in the middle of my eye,
have coconut suntan oil imprints of her,
the tropics. We were happy then,
I was happy, but like a typhoon,
it all whirls away when we are young.

And careless are we,
we don't realize what it is really gone.

The strong timpani of last days,
my heart striking slow against her breast,
its a requiem of love. I've regret
on my lips day after day, alone,
remembering, I left, she stayed.

 

[champagne1982]

Aug 10, 2011 Day 2

Summer Wedding

Paddle down the swollen
river muddy with run off
relentless in a downhill
stride to flatten through
the grassland until split
apart at the delta where
the flowing tresses
of the bride river tangle
with the fingers of her
beloved and eager groom.

(LOL, Neo, did you notice how close to midnight my first was?)

 

[Neonurotic]

2 : An Interlude Deluge

Not far down the beach, a breeze
carries sandalwood, coconuts
and lovers.

Mine, finds delight in play, feeding
pomegranate seeds
one by one with her teeth.
She is tart, with red lips curving
a wicked and wide smile.

Mischief dazzles her eyes and mine.

Suddenly knowing, a hitch of breath
and teeth clatter in a chatter
while wet sands shift, press the print
of my shoulder blades and heels
as hips hunch in escape of rolling waves.

"Let's go back to bed. Sand always
finds a way in the most vexing places."
like she does, under my skin.

 

[champagne1982]

11 Aug, Day 3

This Morning

On the bluff above the westward bend
just before the trestle bridge
you can smell the sweet grass shorn
close along the lines of the upper ridge

The triangle alarm hangs from the porch
post hewn from straight jack pine
and as the clangor fades the clopped
rhythm of hooves sounds down the line

in hasty pursuit of that salty melt
of pork belly fat fried on the hot grill.
Two eggs stare back as they perch
on a nest of toast. You wonder will

the big, fat hen be saddened. Her clutch
stolen as she slept, sated on corn,
tired and replete as potential chicks die
saved by death from a life of chicken porn.

 

[Neonurotic]

3 : Shell Out

I''ve been like this forever,
I don't ever remember being
it this cloudless or the drought's
lasting so perpetual.

Months and months of tumbling on,
I feel dry enough that dust cakes
on the toes. A glance says
it's a tan, but no, it's just dirt.

Water, water, nowhere, only sand,
the wind rolling dead sagebrush along.
I'm contained past overfill.
there is no shift through skin,
or reverse osmosis.

Today I scraped off a desert crust
and though, hallucinating,
one drop then again and again,
a deluge at last.

But it's a mirage, remember?
Remember? Or is it, really?

I petrify, ten feet from the surf.

 

[champagne1982]

12 Aug Day 4

The Old Smith Cottage

A storm could smell so sweet as a cold
wave off the eastern coast, a spray
of roses lends a perfume of floral
balm against tongues extended
to catch the noisy snowflakes
falling through the holey
cabin roof before they
land on the damaged
china plate.

 

[Neonurotic]

4 : Lame Cat Poem (I don't have much time today!)

She sleeps on her head,
an impossible position that looks
uncomfortable to me
but her lips are curved in an upside down
smile, which is really up for her.

Then what do I know?
She's a cat, all I'm here for is an occasional,
BLESSED, soft, head butt and a rub
of her snaggled tooth.
I'm the cat box litter maid
and, AND most importantly,
I'm the food guy. Those are my jobs.

This is fine. Really, she saved me
and not the other way around from the road.
If I am lucky, the princess pays
me with purrs and lap warm-ups.
I'm happy being her pet, at least I better be
or furballs in my shoes for a reward!

 

[champagne1982]

13 Aug Day 5

today is the moment
content to leave before
where it is stand now
and be as happy with who
what and why of this thirty
seconds of immediacy
since an instant is all
that's important in the future
don't worry, don't reget
make right now the best
you can make it.

 

[Neonurotic]

5 : Dark Water, Weeds and Who the Hell Knows What Else

The lake is still cool this time of year,
though the path to the water
is baked, brown and thirsty.

We still go swimming, slathered
with the smell of sunblock, bug repellant.
We wear black inner tubes
around our middles and carry the six packs
(instead of wearing them like we once did).

At the dock, I jump in feet first,
the shock of cold ends a "Whoop!"
and gradual pleasure. The other two,
Tony and Harle are not as brave
(or stupid as they say), inch into a green lake,
stirring mud, with muck clouds following.

I'm already floating with ass in the middle
of the tube (and frosty can cracked open);
laughing. Their "whoops!" are followed by "Jeezus"
though they finally make it out to me.

Time turns back and we are nine,
dog paddling to the drop off,
where we could never find the bottom
(Harle's always been a little afraid
but we pretend it's just dark water and weeds)

Tony's lost his beer, so I share mine
and we each earn a pleasant buzz
with fish, splashing, drunk on Tony's beer.
(Or so we think, we don't really know)
alcohol on sun on top of bullshit intensifies
the stupid talk, jesting insults fly.

Hours later, we wake, freezing, sunburned
and pruned with hangovers and
mosquito bites giving us hell.
We return, nine times three years (give or take),
to our jobs, wives and bills. The past lies
waiting in the depths of a lake and three little boy's
imagination of who the hell knows what else.

.

 

[Neonurotic]

6 : Love Sick

Droplets in aerosols of couple speak,
public display of our affection
injects a virus of adore. I sweat
the fever while my immunity
surrenders, easily, most willingly.

Better than something common
one night or a seasonal fling,
simply avoided with missed calls
and voice mail. It is a commitment,
a mutant really, there is no real protection.

She is the pathogen that sickens
me with her kiss and touch
she overwhelms me, binding so intimately.
The diagnosis last longer than lust,
it's love and time makes it stronger.

.

 

[champagne1982]

<Sigh> Aug 15 Poem 1

On Waiting Outside The Piano Examination Room

The shivered thrill
felt as a chromatic rill runs
down the dampened scale
insistent drumming on the strings
resonates strongly
on the pale bones of inner ear
concert tuned to hear
each stumble but yet glory
at the song struck sweetly
with the loving touch
of talent's finger dance.

 

[Neonurotic]

7: Humidity

The air is so thick, I taste it with every breath.
Mom said when she was girl,
it was hot and dry, never all this humidity.
It's all because of the farmer's "blasted"
sprinklers and constant irrigation.

I tend to disagree since I spent sweaty
nights lying in bed without a breeze.
It's so vivid, since I was grounded every
summer five years running.

But, I'd sneak out through the window
to the night world. As a boy, to hop across
the wet grass, playing with cicadas, fire bugs.
Then as a "man", chasing a fantasy girl
named Kate. She really raised my heat
got me going, hot for her sticky candy kisses.

Mom never found out, of course as I said,
I was sneaky back then as she was remiss.
Now as a man, we sip ice tea on the front porch,
complaining of the heat, each in a silent reverie
from the same time, but remembered differently.

.

 

[Neonurotic]

8 : OIC so Delusional - A Fibonacci Poem

One
thing
led to
one thing led
to another and it was
a holy fUcking mess. The clean-up took forever
but I managed to hide what happend. A good scour, scald and scale,
had white walls, floor to ceiling, white on white so bright. Still, I see it here, in this plush pillowed room.

.

 

[Neonurotic]

9 : A Moon Low - A Fibonacci Poem

Black
clouds
glide across
a full moon.
These wispy veils leave trailing
messages. Lovers see vast, dazzling shine on romance
while loners see phantoms passing. They tell everyone they are better this way,
but at night it is all a lie. It's a cold comfort they suffer, as they too long for the moon.

.

 

[Neonurotic]

10 : Poem Brain Fart - A Cinquain

Auto-pilot
absent-minded, maladaptive
frustrating, nauseating, attention-failing
get your head out of your ass
brain fart


.

 

[Neonurotic]

11 : Cane Sugar Burn

We'd move in a fluid motion
wrapping around each other
eyes slit, mouths wide open
speaking in the language of lovers
with passion burnt lips

.

 

[Neonurotic]

12 : Red

It is the plump plum tomatoes
heavy on the vine
finally ripe for the picking
that had whet her appetite.
I dream of brushetta,
Simi Valley wine and her red lips,
aged years, turned bitter, like us.

 

[Neonurotic]

13 : Every Day, Fine and Clear

Waiting for daylight, here in this hotel
I'm sure isn't far from where you live.
Sometimes, I still think of you and mourn
the first months of friendship, telling
you everything and nothing at all.

It seemed the fog was necessary as
a reach out and fingers slice, grabbed
the mist. Though still there, you felt it,
the essence, it clung; that was me.

The sun rises and there is no
longer a mirage. I am who I am
and nearer than you think, in red earth,
mountains; your world.

It's hot here, the haze always burns
and we find that every day is fine and clear.

.

 

[Neonurotic]

14 : Shitty No-Poem

I have NO poem today,
then again, there are 13 other no-poems
here... inspiration is lacking
like the rain. When they say
it's an oven out there, they mean here.

The hot days drain me like a good hard fuck
but not like a good hard fuck,
cuz' there is no pleasure in the end.
There is just blah feeling and a pool of sweat.

But I WILL write to write even though
it's complete and utter shit. Keep
going, going on, 17 more, eventually it will be
fall, the monsoons will come and there
will be a cool off, a deluge, of poetry
I hope and not this shit.

 

[4degrees]

1

I held a firecracker too tightly
And too long, today I write with
The wounded-my metal digits click
Like fingernails that never need a trim
Freddy Krueger, you're my penfriend
The horror! The horror!
The total absence of sensation
Forces me to seek the unspeakable
I can't feel you when you
Touch me that way, your words
Are so faint, I strain to hear
But fear it's only the revolving headache
It as well is dull and can't make
A wave or a shudder in my lifeline
It seems barely a blip
So choking myself on disgust
Of someone else's twisted boredom,
Someone's blood red cell is what
Brings me to the surface
Just enough to gasp a breath
To hold until I feel alive again.

 

[Neonurotic]

15 : Sweat

That one drop of lust could feed a famine
and I watch it, eyes slit, open-mouthed,
anticipating. The bead rolls down a
hard chest, a harder nipple where it's poised,
perpetually or so it seems.
The hang time is too tedious, starving
while waiting. I'm impatient.
One lick and it's a salty plenitude, albeit short-lived.

This dry spell really did last forever
and it's hot, I'll make him sweat a lot longer.

.

 

[4degrees]

2

Flat words come alive when
You turned my poem to a song
Meaning was transferred and no longer
Was it mine-everything changed with
The music and your voice
It was never a very good poem, but
Your song did make it better in spite
Of the cryptic message I'd intended
To mean something only
To one, and now
It's something completely different
For another that I
Don't even know.

 

[Neonurotic]

16 : The Genuine Haiku Generator

magnificent head
bragging razors emerge
deceptions braying




Yes, I am counting this as a poem. :c I gots nuffin. Besides, it's funny.


.

 

[4degrees]

3

Not enough space exists
For the effect of your bad choice
To not be felt
He is the earthquake that
Spreads for hundreds of miles
Tremors, aftershocks felt
For days and weeks-months even
Six years of detachment and still,
You've survived to hurt again.

The basement
The stale smoke, the hammer-
Regretting at times, so deeply
That I walked away and
Let you live.