30 Poems in 30 Days

[darkerdreamer]

1-10

Where Sputnik incited fear,
Spud Nick inspired giggles--
Not to his face
But behind his back.
They called him Nicholas when they knew he was near,

When he was away,

"Look at those eyes."
Bright red, a million in a row.

 

[AChild]

1-1

mourning in the moon song
can't be sleeping, the redrum
#'s haven't screamed their
backward bloody name

playing second hand
the bandage man
unravels bits of brain like pork guts
my subterranean editor
splices strips
pain goals, fear victories

reeling in a wonderland of hot topic
buttons, he leaves white rabbit food
no wonder I feel tired when waken

he says, "you can ease this onslaught,
if you slip a little pen blood"

 

[loserstyx]

1-5

The Espresso Machine
Twist, drop, push
*click*
*click*
Press, slide, lift, twist
*push*
Move, open, grab, lift, place, lift, open, fill
Slide, place, push, wait...

Pull, drop, move, slide
Pour, lift, pour, stir

And serve...

 

[vampiredust]

7-23

Dreaming of Lorca

Last night, I dreamt
I had waltzed with Lorca.
A man in a gorilla suit
played the fiddle,
fish on the moon swam

to our movements,
causing the tides
to sway like a hammock
caught in wind,
boats weeping and throwing

oil roses at our every step.
On the final dance, he let me
rip off his face, and a horde
of locusts fell out.

I have seen this a million times.
Nobody seems keen to explain
what it means.

 

[Lady Reiha]

1-1 Roots and Wings

Men with both roots and wings
they tie us down and ask us to leave
they are teachings unheard, they are bodies on smoke

Men with both roots and wings
at a singular voice we moan
our teachings mislead, our teachings like smoke

we sleep between the storm that was
and the storm which has to come

We've learnt to learn everywhere
and the very own nature has taught us to wait
difference does sound like sin ,equality reliefs
and that fame ryhmes with hate yet everything is fair
on the intervals of your death

misguided demons or forthcoming heroes
each one with an important name
nothing else than an important name.

Men with both roots and wings
at a certain time we are one
our litlle tricks, our innocence stubborn

Men with just little wings, men with just little minds
Men with just little eyes, men with just little deeds

You can never trust the closest of friends. In the end you are always alone.

 

[Tathagata]

2-22

,,,,,

 

[TheRainMan]

8-12

.....

 

[darkerdreamer]

1-11

To My Daughter, Should We Never Meet Again...

Believe nothing that city tells you, Child:
grow up strong in spite of their efforts.
Get out, as quick as you can-
it will leave you hollow and wanting if you stay.

Respect your mother, Child:
just don't always follow her example.
She is a good woman with a bad habit-
but that doesn't change the blood you share.

Believe nothing that city tells you, Child:
your daddy wasn't a good man, but not as bad as they'd have you think.
Reserve your judgments-
at least until you can decide for yourself.

Never forget how it felt, Baby Girl:
to grow up without him there, just a bad taste in your mouth.
When you have yourself a child-
don't pass on that pain to the next generation.

Just always remember, Sweet Maria Annabeth:
you've got more guardian angels than you'll ever meet.

 

[wildsweetone]

23

untitled

I always wondered what would happen
when the far side of the page was reached
if the words would continue to write themselves,
if they would fall off the edge to land on the table
and continue on their journey, determined
to spread their message to all corners
where even the dark reigns deep.

I just discovered the page has a boundary
as high as the wooden fence out the back,
and that if I wanted to write beyond it
I would have to learn the art of climbing
sheer walls, without the ability for hand or foot holds.

If I turned the page over, I would be faced with more blank white
that would be a challenge I could not refuse. There would be no margin
to guide the words and I wonder if giving them free reign
like this would be acceptable. And then I think damnation
might follow and to hell with it, I'll write about that too.

 

[tungtied2u]

3-6

It takes more than open sesame
to gain entry. This fairy tale
does not tell all about charming
the sentry stone to open wide,
allow one inside. I have chanted
the words like a necromancer,
cooed them softly as a romancer.

I have tried other means, caressed
the seams for what seems 1001 nights,
dextrous digits awaiting response,
sensitive to the slightest tremor.
Pressed my ear at the entrance
hoping for a sound signaling compliance
as the warmth within escaped

through the not quite tight slit,
carrying an enticing aroma,
exciting urgency in my every fiber
to be surrounded by the moist
tight walls of this sanctuary.
I may have to wait, and slip in
after Ali Baba has done the hard part.

 

[Lady Reiha]

1-2 Cheesenip

I feel lost, uncertain.
My feelings numb, dissapearing into an empty void
I am alone.
Alone to wander the world, find it's purpose
A purpose not to feel it's wonders.
I cry.
Undisclosed comforts. I am a shadow puppet.
No feelings, just numbness.
I cry to the angels of demons.
Alone,
Just...alone.
With my cheesenips, crunch, crunch.
I find relief, comfort from a little square of happiness.
Prehaps this life does own one's meaning.
To live, to die
From the hands that held
This one..tiny...cheesenip
of gold.

 

[AChild]

1-2

tide flow
recycled water,
take the sand
leave polished stones
played like keys among the porcelain beam
stars laugh at the happy fool,
this altar

 

[vampiredust]

10-24

The Hour

For Stef

Night wakes you
with its cat calls of sirens
and neon rain dripping
through a corner
of curtain fabric unzipping
itself, the fridge
stopping its conversation
with the dripping tap
as you reach inside for milk.
A train screams
somewhere in the distance,
trash cans are raided
by pairs of street lit eyes.
This is the hour of the ordinary,
of the beautiful.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-13

.....

 

[Tathagata]

2-23

,,,,,

 

[BluePoet]

1-1

I should watch her more often. I nearly missed
her placing a green, paper hat on bunny.
She colored and glued it in class,
and I noticed her art when she stepped off the bus,
only when she stepped off the bus. I'm busy
this evening, but I did catch a glimpse
that ached my heart. Soon, she'll no longer
be doing childish things.

 

[vampiredust]

I should watch her more often. I nearly missed
her placing a green, paper hat on bunny.
She colored and glued it in class,
and I noticed her art when she stepped off the bus,
only when she stepped off the bus. I'm busy
this evening, but I did catch a glimpse
that ached my heart. Soon, she'll no longer
be doing childish things.

this is great

and welcome

 

[wildsweetone]

24

...

There is a selective silence
I hear when the sun burns
my face. I lay back on the blanket
watch white sharks and ships
cross the sky and when I close my eyes
I hear the hum of wasps, the sighs of grass
and I feel the whisper of Your Word in my ear.
I listen, adding your name to my prayer,
adding a verse to the song in my soul
and weep for the music I'll never hear -
the music of silence.

 

[tungtied2u]

3-7

bedridden being
body to body
bouncing off
each others energy
sparks surge coursing
thru closed circuit
climaxing in meltdown
and blown fuse

 

[AChild]

1-3

if the student is humble

mumble grace and stalk masters.
prostate at the door step
some don't know i take note
when they repeat their mantras
others have disciples down the block and
charge fees

in anger we're all sages
i breath and try to yin your mood
touch your feet with my face and
curl you toward the light

even, pay tribute to minor masters
watch the janitors,
know that sweep, swirl of mop
tai chi opens trash bags

sun sets on lessons and i am more
the truly great teachers
close their school
to be humble to what they still don't know

 

[AChild]

1-3a

smoke
smoking
smo king
smoke king
thought as smoke
this form steals
water's cool
fire's death kiss
earth's density
wind's beauty

thought a crown of billowy curls
complicates with inversion
beautifies just add light

 

[darkerdreamer]

1-11

Uninspired at best
and waiting for that certain motivation.
Somehow I doubt
green beer will do the trick.

If my blood was more pure
I could rant about the English.
If my blood was less pure,
I could probably not give a shit.

If my hands had turned more dirt
I might have found an answer buried.
If my hands turned no soil at all,
there would have been no questions to begin with.

So here I stand, third generation mutt,
grandfather's flag hanging on my ceiling.
We have been reduced to leprechauns and green,
and I can't muster up the history to care anymore.

 

[BluePoet]

1-2

Soaps from Paris,
ripe fig
sweet-scented,
I believe he lifted them from the Inn.
He wouldn't spend euros on a whore--

just wants her ripe-scented,
sweet-mouthed
when she kisses him for the gift.

"You'll smell good enough to fuck."
He knows this. His wife is already
ripe for the plucking.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-14

.....

 

[vampiredust]

6-25

Widow

He is visible on certain evenings,
lighting up his pipe in the front room
of his tiny house on the horizon.
Rolling back his turtleneck sleeves
he leans back and thinks

of the times he used to dance
with the sky. Mercury was his favourite
dancer and he'd hold her iron waist
close as they waltzed across the black
board night. Venus was passionate

and they enjoyed flamenco, Andromeda
strumming the guitar as they danced
on the surface of the moon.
Here on Earth, his wife was in the garden,
tending to the new harvest.

When she left, he buried her in the old
plot, amongst marrow and pumpkins.
She watches him from high above,
in between dances with his former lovers,
her breath rustling his chest as he sleeps.