30 Poems in 30 Days

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10-6

half-caste hawker
sells sucks for
several dollars
multiplies by
moonlight
he leaves naked
strays to wake
in strange places,
in the city
sun arise and smoking
one or two more
before beditime
the copper tang
still fresh on lips
triggers one more
howl
 
7-3

Madame Brecht

The room inside of me
is sparsely furnished.
A coil of rope sits atop
an antique pine dresser,

watching my rocking
chair rock to and fro.
Plucked daisies sit
in a windowsill vase

overlooking an empty
lake. Whenever you
are nearby, I feel
my breath untying

a row boat moored
outside. I see its rope
letting go, its sound
echoing in the real world.
 
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1-12

Shopping for a Live Weasel Thong


90% long-tailed winter white
9% spandex for Snap!

And 1%?
Never mind. I was hoping
for a pure undergarment,
even recycled mustelidae.

And, yes,
my underwear drawer has lock
and many airy holes.
 
BluePoet said:
Shopping for a Live Weasel Thong


90% long-tailed winter white
9% spandex for Snap!

And 1%?
Never mind. I was hoping
for a pure undergarment,
even recycled mustelidae.

And, yes,
my underwear drawer has lock
and many airy holes.

LOL

very funny
 
3-6

Algebra

a^2+b^2=c^2,
or so they said.
turns out they were wrong.
by that logic,
a^3+b^3
(a cubed version of us)
should equal c^3
(a cubed version of lust)
but the end result
was c^3/2

(sorry... could have made the equations a lot prettier with some vB codes I really didn't want to do.)
 
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6

Wind Farm (in Palmerston North)

I wonder if those arms know
the disheveled way they leave the wind,
if they realise their certain strokes
cut the breeze that has travelled
from the lowland,
taking sounds of the city
and scattering them across the hills.
I wonder if they know
they separate thoughts,
slice through air-kisses
and laughter equally,
if they realise that once cut,
those joys will simply multiply
and travel further.
 
7-4

Surreal

Men in gorilla suits
pluck bananas
from invisible trees.
Children walking

with parents point,
stopping to scrape
off shards from a
broken glass star

thrown by an Alsatian
imitating John Wayne.
Astronauts deliver
mail, policemen juggle

guns. My poem is here,
diving as they drop,
hoping to catch
its bang, not the flash.
 
1-13

Kiddo spikes her bubble hair,
calls it American Chicken.
Sissy eats the white rabbit
and forgets to carry the one.

I barely recall single evenings.
Motes and morsles
cling to a hemisphere--cruising,
bite of lips, just pieces
of flesh and vodka.
 
7


...on the road (2)
Taking in Tokoroa


The women here look like men.
Unshaped, unsmiling oblongs
riding the footpaths
that take them from one dreary moment
to another, eyes straight ahead

never peeling the mannequins
draped in designer gear,
never glancing in my direction
where I sit, quietly, sipping Earl Grey
and nibbling my jam scone.

There is more bounce
in cars crossing the judder bars
than in the way their breasts jiggle
with each stride,
more life in the dogs that recline
against the corner lamppost,

but I bite my tongue, delicately,
and keep watch for the next wave
of manipulated suffering.
 
10-7

charming the sun out
from behind a wall of
gray and dazzling it
beyond any typical
blinding radiation glow
your smooth brilliance
stuns all to utter silence
for a moment, before
they all say
'ooooh'
 
3-7

Of all things given to me in my youth,
I hold this dearest:
never sit with your back to an entrance.
 
10-8

a reckless babydoll
bleached beyond recall
her heroin eyes flutter
like spiders for mascara
the shame, the same way
day after day
i forget you for a time
then something will remind
me of that junkie love
and like a past bad habit
i obsess over a fix
and maybe, even
dream in
blackend bleach
for a night.
and its alright.
 
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1-15

liquid in the lime
interest hop
that cold hard cash shrivels
shrimp in dem' acid waters
as I nurse feed my debit
blood and sweat
with hopes I could get loaned more
:D
 
9-5

Light

Light bends over pan-pipe
roofs, dough rising in kitchen
shelves to catch its touch.
Cats flirt when it runs
through an open window,

chasing a dust love letter
it blows on an unseen palm.
Dogs cock a half open eye,
rolling silently as they are stroked,
the occupiers of the bed

loosening their bones, skin
shifting upwards to glimpse
the visitor. Downstairs,
a ripped photograph behind
the sofa cowers,

light loading its pistol
behind the gaps of the door.
 
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1-14

Freshly baked
dark pumpernickel
deserves parsley tarragon mustard
and a good gouda,
not the american slice.

Cellophane crinkle
cheapens my evening munch,
much like white socks
paired with leather sandals--

not that I'd ever wear
leather sandals.
 
3-8

He holds his hands up to me
as if in surrender.
I see his stigmata,
but his wounds don't weep.
They have become

clotted

over time,
things are easier to ignore
when they don't make a mess.
This is what "me-not-caring"
looks like.
Recognize the face?
 
8

...

I'd fill in your blanks
but I like them empty,
hollow spaces
nature doesn't abhor
and distrust,
unlike the black corners
of the shed where you hide
those thoughts you want to forget,
those actions you've come to regret
those diminished deeds
that meant something, once,
a long time ago
and that belonged
to a neurotic wood nymph
who never really existed.



(thanks neon for the idea behind this poem, from a post you made on the blurt thread containing the words '...fill in my blanks')
 
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10-9

constant excess
bleeds me to believe
every letter spoken
a small success
inching closer until
you're tangled again
in my sheets, flesh
heated by fuck
the myth is lust
i can't repress
the truth of you.
 
1-16

the machine's off
the program still runs
thats the dream
life's the same

it never rains

always surging
water spirit with
icicle fangs
hot springs tail

bitten and comforted
rolling in the rip curl
 
1-15

Writing this poem
is the same as kissing
lips I'm not inspired by,

but she was wearing peppermint
lip gloss that would've tasted mintier
if I had really wanted her.
 
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