30 Poems in 30 Days

[4degrees]

8-3

you,
my dream within a dream,
a paper cup of rainbow confetti
a prisim laying illusive spectrums
of passion that paint me
like a chewing gum zebra
you
color my world
when my gray glasses
seem glued to my face
the idea of positive tension
one part placebo and two
parts juxtaposed mind motion
recreate my dream
and make it real

 

[ShyErraticTable]

26

On Philosophy and Science and Biology

The world is not a simple place to know.
Experiments can tell us things, but must
be carefully designed if they're to show
us unequivocal results. I trust
that's obvious to all. It is our lust
for knowledge, hunger, drives us on to dream
a structure for our world, one not just thrust
on consciousness akimbo, with a lean
to right or left. Though science reigns supreme
epistemology, its logical
foundation of inductive reasoning
is suspect, Dr. Hempel's ravens show.
My love's synthetic a priori, Kant
would say. I would only say I want.

 

[Sara Crewe]

5-26

.......

 

[champagne1982]

2007-1-26

Cooper

Coiled up in a circle of blacker than dark,
the stalker lies until you move, to slip
in a sinuous glide past your heels and nip
at your feet. He claims victory in a single bark
and wonders why we growl down at floppy
ears twisted around as he grows into teeth,
that replace those needlelike fangs he'd sheath
into your wrists, then soothe them with a sloppy
kiss. He yips in glee as his nibbles glean a shriek
of agony, then quick as lightning he darts away
out of sight. Beneath the chair the stalker lays
in wait, watching his prey and then he sweeps
out to grab the tempting toes of unwary passersby,
until sleep grabs his tail and he settles with a sigh.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

1:24

The sky doesn't exist.
Merely a naked distance
where the rumour of earth reflects
like the echo of your voice,
you should name the moon love
and each star a sigh.

If by chance the tail
of some comet lost
in the splendour of such solitude
happens to be me,
remember what I want the most
and don't say it's just a heavenly body.

 

[vampiredust]

1-9

Firework

Cordite burns,
unfolding a pair of hands
trapped inside
a cardboard womb

about to be lifted
heavenwards
and unstitched
by a couple of surgeons

intent on releasing
its cargo of speckled
stardust. This is not fun,
remember,

just another way
of looking at death
from innocent
eyes

 

[champagne1982]

2007-1-27

Misplaced Malevolence

It's an appalling circumstance
I fear when something so mundane
can bring such wretched twists
of jealous pinches to my heart.

How I envy that intimate caress
and the liberties the touch takes
when dewy droplets land and roll
along your skin. It must be wrong

to burn in sullen misery at thoughts
of your body accepting heated
embraces as you're enfolded, held
by steamy touches. Grant me

your permission to want to turn
off that sultry seduction and pull
you, vigorous and damply curled
out of the tub and into a towel.

 

[Sara Crewe]

5-27

.................

 

[4degrees]

8-3

the first moment
that we breathed the same smokey air
and shared toxins in this most
casual manner, i knew
that all he said was true
i'd never find my savior
or keep my fist squeezed
round a dollar
til my surrender
was final
through and through.

 

[ShyErraticTable]

27

Unscheduled Fireworks Over Lake Union,
the Evening of January 27, 2007

This night was not an unelectric night.
The fireworks over the lake were real—
an unexpected, oddly thrilling sight.
This night was not an unelectric night,
because we talked and touched, formed our own light
our human pyrotechnics, fired with zeal.
The fireworks across the lake were real
and right was our not unelectric night.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

1:25

In our heartbeats
the rumour of that first
moan found an echo;
everything pulses,
sweats; breath
concedes to night's rhythm;
slower each turn, air
envelops us; this
suffocated poem
breathes only syllables
precise; across the sky,
the moon rises
echoing our silences.

 

[vampiredust]

1-10

Funeral Speech

Trim the nouns
and bubble-wrap the remainder.
Cut out verbs, he was not
that sort of man. Hone
every adjective and leave
the subject alone -

a solitary I calling out
in the white of the page.

 

[champagne1982]

2007-1-28

An Apology For My Crankiness (Sort Of)

I didn't mean to sound so terribly distressed
it's just that I'm stuck alone in bed and yes
I'm bored and tired of being in pain and restless
with my hair, no matter how I much I comb it, messed.
The only time I see another breathing, living thing
is when you all stop by my bed and quickly go again,
I know my sickroom isn't where you'd choose to remain
but I'm not sick you realize, I've simply got a broken wing.
It's not easy visiting me every day I know
I appreciate the thought behind you're coming by.
It must be disheartening to hear me moan and sigh.
I'm sorry. There's so much to whine about before you go
that my words spill out before I can stopper up the drain
and now you can spread the tale that indeed, I am insane.

 

[Sara Crewe]

5-28

............

 

[ShyErraticTable]

28

Spoor

Your love
bends grass, a trail
I follow through life's field.
It's very hard to follow—here
and there, too faint to track. So I must guess
my path.

 

[4degrees]

8-4

the golden stains
between the first and index
still smelling of the last
hundred cigarettes
reminds me of an irridescent
metallic paint
that was used to wash over
a dull picture i had of life
making it shimmer with
illusions.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

1:26

Over the paints of Florence, the canvasses, panes, sails,
Kerouac's roads of dust,
there are the dim colours of a glass cemetery
the glass from where souls wave before escaping.

The shine.

Or that mixture of lights so high
that hurts the stones of the nave
and leaves all invocations in tatters.

It burns into afflicted hearts.

Praying on their knees,
with a rosary and a kaleidoscope.
In ritual time leaves existence
and turns space into a text
(oc)cult
in the taciturn path of the sun from west to east.

 

[vampiredust]

3-11

Mushrooms

After you left,
mushrooms started
growing in damp
patches around
the house:

under the sink,
in the airing cupboard,
between floorboards
and copper pipes,

each little sinew
holding its weight
as it was chained
to gravity, anchored

to the center
of the earth,
until someone pulled
them from the roots

and made them
weightless.

 

[4degrees]

8-5

a black halo
and blue jeans,
the facsimile, an expose'
of the alpha fuck deity
composed and crammed
with all those
you-didn't-want-to-knows,
it was the pefect thesis
before it burned.

 

[champagne1982]

2007-1-29

Nectar Of The Gods

yesterday we spoke of a fantastical
vision where hashish smoke curled
from mullah's hookahs and silk skirts
part with each step my dance spins
round the flow of hips and jewels
sparking off the torchlight gleam
to finger-cymbal clash and drum
slaps chase the bangles up my arms
while they pretend to be serpents
winding you in an embrace so wicked
your breath stops and I watch
sweet passion drip from your lips
as you bite exotic figs and taste
honeyed milk from a silk swathed
chalice few have sipped this ambrosia

 

[Sara Crewe]

5-29

.............

 

[ShyErraticTable]

29

Doggerel, Because I'm Tired

It's when I touch you. I touch glass
and splay my fingers over words.
I'd so much rather touch your ass—
more satisfying to my urge.

Control my urges, though, I must.
I would not seem unseemly rude.
Your words (and ass) inflame my lust,
they're why I'm always being crude.

You write too well to make me think,
you write so well you make me drool.
Your swervy figure makes me blink,
your writing, though, tells me you rule.

This 30/30 thing is done
or nearly so, I hope to say,
but, oh, my darling precious one,
your words comport déshabillé.

 

[vampiredust]

1-12

Prop

I was not
meant to be his medicine
for laughter. I fell into his
routine when I cracked
a joke about something

(I can't remember what)
and he opened his chest
and pulled me inside,
taking me out every time

he needed a prop
to entertain a group
of girls or impress people
who would never see him

again later. I preferred
the sweaty atmosphere
of his insides than the cold
I had to perform in,

using his lungs as a blanket,
pecking away at his heart,
feeling its drumbeat dipping
until his day of judgment.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

1:27

strings fell
over the stones
florescences
on the wings of black butterflies
an unknown silence

 

[champagne1982]

2007-1-30

Carried Away

Today I sing ecstatic notes above
the frozen swamp, frigid in the wind
they're carried on a swift Alberta
clipper away. Away to eastern
grassland bluffs above the oxbow
lakes that spread away. Away
with the sweeping jet stream
high above the sleeping meander
as it saunters into the sternly
granite face of sheild forests
bent with the wind away. Away
my voice shall carry into the austere
winter and wait for warmer winds
and sweeter rains to fall on cities
of the east and wash away. Away
in floods out to the sea and no ears
to hear that song I sing above it all.