30 Poems in 30 Days

[loserstyx]

1-6

I do not want
to write a
Poem
right now

 

[Tathagata]

Toad Spit Stout

.....

 

[tungtied2u]

3-8

how much do expectations dictate actions
are future events preordained
contorted by unconscious obsession
what control can we excercise
to exorcise our inner demons
and elevate hopes to happenings
to avoid deepseated dread
through positive reenforcement
what is the formula to transform
the sum of all fears into one
where happiness holds the balance

 

[AChild]

1-4

fight!

the voice that whispers
emptiness comes before death,
passion goes stale,
their won't be ENOUGH
of the secret to keep
heart pumping quality

it withers in a practiced hand
at work stirring strings that
connect it all
each strand wraps
and cocoons the soul from going dry

 

[wildsweetone]

25

scraping the barrel today---too tired to worry


Tim

He carries the pride of lions
in his prowl, the king
of the jungle in his demands,
every stripe on his coat a birthright,
every step an owning
of the land he protects.

He shares his territory with others,
a grudging symbiotic harmony
of play and peace,
of sleep and trust. With us
he shares his spoils.
He is strength
he is vulnerability
he is loved.

 

[vampiredust]

7-26

Sundial

Sunlight fades. Clouds take over.
This is the hour of shadows,
or it would be if you could tell
what time it was. But you can't,
its face is smashed.

There are no clues.
It could have been hoodlums,
foxes, blackbirds, God -
playing pranks with time.
Perhaps he (or dare I say she?)

doesn't want us to know
when our proverbial is up.
The monument lists,
edging ever closer to earth.
Its brass fin remains silent,

listening to hours
beating in the sundial's
other half somewhere
far underground.

It can't be long now.

 

[BluePoet]

1-3

The blues prod me
to plant flowers before Spring,
but I fret over right and wrong,
must do and mustn't. Is it to early for mums?

I buy metal sunflowers at the General Dollar,
and a green frog,
standing like a man.
It's the blues.

 

[loserstyx]

2-1

A Tangled Skein

I feel her pulling me in again
She lives her life by halfs
But I live my life by nothings
Her halfs seem like alls

A life of friendship
Lives like a life of love
My emotions tangle around her beautiful soul
Where half-truths and lies are enough

Wouldn't it be something, now that I've let you go
Wouldn't it be something, now that I've let myself grow
Wouldn't it be something, if we went back to that day
Wouldn't it be something, if you never went away

 

[Tathagata]

2-25

...,.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-15

.....

 

[tungtied2u]

3-9

I tire of trying
to find my voice
in other words, I scream
in silent suffering, I cry
unseen by many, I rejoice
all too infrequently, I dance
but just enough,
to keep me trying

 

[AChild]

1-5

Orange grove drive
the night lights tease my belly
she stops at my request
i lose the alcohol sitting on the top
the fruit juice burns my throat at it comes back
the sign holding me up says
Ritz Mansion

in the car i look back in time to see
the rose bed shiny at the root

 

[wildsweetone]

26

written today on Litland


full skins nokia free

Does this mean I can buy a new skin
wrap it around myself
and hide? Without a cellphone
who would know me was me?

Who would care?

I'd wear my new cloak, walk
among the living, watch
the future dead as they scam
and shuffle the nights
once more before dawn
drags their dreams to the dungeon.

No direct dialing will save their skin.
No last minute chip toss to green
will upgrade their tech-speak.
A dungeon is a dungeon.
And cell phones won't work down there.

 

[vampiredust]

9-27

Father

"They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through."

Plath​

Father, afraid I was a Jew,
hid me in a cavity underneath
the floorboards, piping speeches
made by a man I never knew

into that space were I sat
and flicked through my Torah
of blood and ashes, voices
of forefathers wrapped

around my shoulders. Sometimes
he'd invite local boys to taunt me,
letting them throw eggs whilst
chanting Dirty Jew, Dirty Jew.

He'd rummage through my things,
promising to take me to Auschwitz.
Urinating proved nearly impossible,
Father's eyes constantly checking

to see whether I wore his foreskin.
I ate pea soup for dinner, served
in a bowler hat. Flies droned.
We never spoke, nobody did.

Often, I'd dream of playing chess
by the River Seine with an elderly
Rabbi, resetting the clock until I
had enough time. After we finished,

he'd lift up the skin on his ribs,
letting me crawl into the synagogue
of his chest, feasting on scrolls
that had once been buried in Father's
body.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-16

.....

 

[BluePoet]

1-4

Beneath her sandal
lie the remains of a good ant
by the name of Jonathan Taggard.
He could muscle a bite
of baklava out of the diner and across
the street to a bald, hilly lot.

Jonathan Taggard leaves behind
a colony that will go without
baklava tonight.

 

[Tathagata]

2-26

,,,,,

 

[wildsweetone]

27

The Unsatisfied

I know now, that even when
they spill their ugliness
like the lahar from a volcano
that underneath, and afterwards,
there is beauty to be found.
It might be in the simplicity
of a dandelion seed, white wings
floating on Autumn,
or the delight in a child's smile.
Or, it may even be found
in a glance.

 

[darkerdreamer]

2-1

We are all doing our very best,
some more than others.

 

[loserstyx]

2-2

There is a desert of incomparable beauty
I have lain near it and looked up into the ethereal plane
But my eyes fall from the heavens back upon this desert
So filled with life and joy, it's soft touch holds me bound
As waves of muscle and sinew move beneath
I pray that it will sweep me away

 

[AChild]

1-6

"my father was the greatest samuari in the empire."
- Ninja Assasin

teach your body to obey your mind,
through muscle tearing

teach your mind to obey your will,
through breath control

teach your will to only want good things,
through practice

his always red truck
with two lock boxes for tools
picking me up from school we would practice
those great mantra, unspoken
under houses, on roof tops
in alleys

his money in wires, puting blue bolt veins
in the unmade world

one day in the cab
between my seat and his,
naked women on glossy paper
spread and waiting
for what was growing in my pants

to show me what a man is supposed to like
because whores aren't legal
because his father always made jokes about him being a faggot
because making me a man would make him more of one
he feels he failed my brother, who went the way he most feared

acultured samurai knows no logic only honor.

 

[Tathagata]

2-27

.....

 

[vampiredust]

7-28

Rain

Rain, unlike snow, has no form.
It does not sit on roofs, cars,
trees, giving us pictures to try
and remember. Its shapeless
body never quite vanishing

once it has occupied a place,
each leftover particle sending
out signals to a mother cloud
hovering high above. You cannot
listen out for whispers or voices,

they are carefully concealed
in its translucent shell. Dissection
is only possible by lightning,
its million volt knife cutting
through, revealing an empty box.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-17

.....

 

[BluePoet]

1-5

He's a porcelain doll
with spilt milk eyes.

Patricia, Patricia,
how she feigns interest
in a fine, wholesome boy,
when she should have an ugly man,

wear his sweat as she cools
on some midnight silk, mussed
to the point of no fussing over it.

He'd be beautiful, breathless
against her thigh, and never a worry
over breaking him.