30 Poems in 30 Days

[AChild]

1-10

only depth for drowning,
pledge

Kurt said this is a little buddhist catnap
not for forcing point or
moving mountains

but forcing sleep and keeping eyes
moving in quiet concentration

today I watched the sun rise,
rise and push light across the sky
I miss the dark parts cause they are
part of me, and the rays stole the cool
of night

at the intersection before I turn right,
palm trees silhouette as if some island
paradise paper weight

something I always forget to photograph
but always remark on its beauty

 

[wildsweetone]

2

...on the flight - 2

I saw drawings on the land.
God had reached down and scribbled
with his finger, some ancient rune with depth
and degree, a yellow burning
designed to decorate, to warn
others who tried to seek the heights.
A grace to humble their thoughts
and keep their feet firmly on the ground
lest they try to climb without a firm foothold.

 

[Lady Reiha]

1-3 (Puka)

Puka
My Puka.

Sunlight,Strawberry Milk, Shine.


My Life.


My Puka.


Bean.

 

[4degrees]

10-3

at the laundry
i breathed deep of
the scent of fabric softener
coming from the exhaust, outside
it covered up the smell
of a rainy city
my mind pictures were
of you, again and again
smoking a newport to its filter
flicking it away like
so many men
and watching it smoke
for a second longer, until the
rain extinguished any last hope
for one more drag
it was gone
the dryers still spin, and
i let them hypnotise me
for a few more seconds
but still those thoughts
visions
remain.
i can't quit you baby.
not even if i wanted to.

 

[BluePoet]

1-9

Detective Shadowman

Blood globs stretch
between petals. Beneath,
a fishbone tabby eyes skin
that could be a bit of cheek.

He writes the scene,
titles it Black Betty: He Flew Her
Like Cast Iron Skillet.

His own lawn is a land
of shadow people--black boards,
cut into thin lovers and confidants.

He doesn't trust flesh.
He doesn't trust a husband
who feeds his lilies.

 

[vampiredust]

Detective Shadowman

Blood globs stretch
between petals. Beneath,
a fishbone tabby eyes skin
that could be a bit of cheek.

He writes the scene,
titles it Black Betty: He Flew Her
Like Cast Iron Skillet.

His own lawn is a land
of shadow people--black boards,
cut into thin lovers and confidants.

He doesn't trust flesh.
He doesn't trust a husband
who feeds his lilies.

This is sublime

My advice: print. send. publish.

 

[darkerdreamer]

3-3

Jab, pull, reach, pull,
Next!

Vova was not unhappy with this place
life had led him.
There were worse jobs to have and Vova
had them all.

The slaughterhouse smelled of lemons so strong it could burn your eyes.

Jab, pull, reach, pull,
Next!

Vova had nimble hands perfect for
dissection and quartering.
He had a stomach perfect for
the job as well.

A runny pink swirled towards the center drain set in the tile floor.

Jab, pull, reach, pull,
Next!

Going home to Anya was much like being at work.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-21

.....

 

[BluePoet]

This is sublime

My advice: print. send. publish.

Thank you, but I no longer submit poetry anywhere.

 

[AChild]

1-11

gossamer wing-worm
suck blood from night horse

that shit makes me high.

on the beach for ever,
aint life a little less numb
all the monsters greet me
gauntlet

smash a few faces with the
logic hammer,
journey end in four intersection cave

I meet an older self
who gives me advice that I ignore
it becomes a dreadful-go-round

can't learn

 

[wildsweetone]

3


Writing Live

I often wonder what the phrase
writing live achieves.
I daresay it would have more impact
if there were a liturgy for each rash pen slash,
if each word had the maximum impact
the first time around,
if each line were the frame
for serious debate, absolute description,
and not simply rough-sawn
and tacked together
in the face of impending storms.

 

[4degrees]

10-4

in the south every spring
the past few years
i grew accustomed to
the week long bloom
of bartlett pear trees
for those days, i'd smell
semen in the air, thick as
a real fuck
and then forget
until next spring

the trees bloom here, as well
catching it inside my nose tonight
when i ventured out
filling the city with the
smell of cum, and waking
it up, whether concious or not.

more than the usual, i'm driven to fuck.

 

[vampiredust]

8-1

Symbols

Cars parked
alongside the pavement,
organised like a message
in morse code.
Women form arrows
outside a youth centre,
markers to somewhere
I can't make out. Walking
to the tube station,
a helicopter whirrs overhead.
Armed policemen guard
a solitary red light outside
New Scotland Yard; yesterday's
rain coming to offer respect,
as if it was the only light
in the northern hemisphere.
I make a sign of the cross
and carry on with my journey.
I am not sure what to give.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-22

.....

 

[darkerdreamer]

i made a tradition on the
pacific coast
of flipping the smooth flat
rocks in the wet sand with my toe.

something satisifying in the
way the sand sucks the stone
not wanting
to let it escape.

on those rare occassions
when the stone will not flip,
i have to wonder if the stone is too big,
or if the beach refuses to let it go,

a jealous lover.

 

[BluePoet]

1-10

another march 25th

happy birthday
read a banner beneath
split, coffin wood.

they crawled his body
deep into the soil, where worms
twisted and partied.

miss mole
found him dead, dank,
and appealing--a body
of minimal conversation.

she burrowed him away from festivities,
far from my living, grassy steps.
no matter.

he never would have heard
me whisper,
happy birthday, bob bob.

 

[AChild]

1-12

man a flame
my heart taken
confused
a weak moment when
breath was borrowed

now I want it all back
with interest

she won't tell me where she
keeps the key,
until then I'm a slave of tears

 

[wildsweetone]

4

Not In My Heaven

There are no cell phones in heaven.
Not in my heaven anyway.
No teens using text-speak -
that stilted alpha-numeric lingo
designed especially
to draw the receiver in,
to pressure them into distorted expression
where only a smilie gives relief. And,
they've forgotten how to smile,
those teens with trousers low
around their hips,
how to stretch their facial muscles,
to greet eyes and to grin. Instead
their fingerprints stretch,
flatten,
callous,
into signs that will never be spoken.

 

[4degrees]

10-5

sleep comes easy
tonight, after weeks
all along the black road
the up and down jerks of
a ribbon of paved soul
that is impossible to drive
each callous on every last toe
went numb long ago, along
with the border of bones
they make a gray divide
and i could follow them with
my fingertips, when eyes
were too shrunken to see
anymore.

 

[BluePoet]

1-11

a woman with tattoo
her guy sucked onto her neck,
and there are sex-o-landers
and ped-o-fires,
and kids drowning their bathtubs.

we don't know just how fucked up
our world is, until
a child describes it.

 

[TheRainMan]

8-23

.....

 

[vampiredust]

6-2

Smoke and Silence

Sláinte. The clink of glasses,
another round of the fiddle
and wheezing accordion.
Padraig tells us his stories

in cigarette smoke, pausing
only for another sip of brogue
black Guinness, the memory
of three generations of farmers

and immigrants soaking
into the peat of lung flesh.
A claddagh of cloud hangs
outside the bar. It never rains,

it has never done in his eyes,
there has always just been smoke
and silence. They are his bones
and flesh. We are his clothes.

 

[darkerdreamer]

3-5

"$3.65"
I allow change to cascade
from pockets,
twin copper waterfalls.
Kalpesh looks onward,
he keeps blood from rushing
to cheeks.
He wants paper,
I just want cancer.

 

[wildsweetone]

5

Mt Egmont - look it up

I can't reach it
but Mt Egmont stands
just outside my window.
Quiet, waiting
it seems, for another blessing
as if the first did not quite reach its summit.
It is dressed in white
and from above,
baptised in clouds
of lifted water from the Tasman.
Doused in droplets,
remaining silent.

 

[AChild]

1-13

Allow me to switch the thinking rhyme
we are all confused,
all duped by the pastel crayon box
and saturday morning cartoons

Depression is a food of life.
DEPRESSION IS A FOOD OF LIFE!

It's on the pyramid of supposed to's
to help ensure an ideal state.

No drug can make it disappear.
No drug can make it disappear.
No happiness can replace its function.

Indulgences make it easy to avoid
they dull or blur or distance the disaster
While your attention is fixed on clouds,
depression grows like rancid bread dough
bubbling and farting

infecting other foods tainting joy
making troubles harder to metabolize

Prescribed doses aren't meant to kill
only diminish length and intensity
you still have to deal with sorrow

Damn it!
While I'm human let me feel pain so
I wont regret anything in death
Chew your depression savor parade rain
remorse, reflect
gag to tears but don't spit

depression in your diet
helps keep you shit together