30 Poems in 30 Days

[4degrees]

Of Poems and Thieves

Kill those babies.
Use the bluntest of knives,
drag it slow across skin.
Tease them bad, like sin
strips layers from their bones.
They won't forget
what a bitch the blade can be.

oh, damn.
niiice.

 

[AChild]

2-11

fail to flame
this is not falling
just a bow

*chinchk*
getting up
things the same
waltz
the position is flipped but
the need still leads
*chinchk*

dark, not just inside the moment
jump
to that unavoidable cliche
twitch the expression
pay in smiles

 

[Guest]

07 2:5 Three Month Hardon

You glance at snippets in art magazines.
You tell me the heading and bylines,
tell me about other people's creativity;
all short work and museless.

The children are tucked between us,
snoring, dreaming two year-old
and three month old dreams, whatever they be.

On my side, turning pages, reading
Obstfeld's "Crafting Scenes".

It's a long way from where I'd rather be,
not doing what I want to be doing.
Though I do have enough imagination for
the both of us.

Each vignette is written much like
this one, but different.

Different, in that the books are closed,
the babes are sleeping elsewhere
and we are not. Ho, no we're not!

That's all right, lover.
I'm a patient man. I can wait forever
if need be, writing that endless
sex scene right here in this bed.

 

[champagne1982]

2007-2-23

Telemarketers

Here we go again. The phone
shouts for attention, it won't
stop. Stop, stop the chant
of my name. Talk to me
and do not say that you
are calling to offer me more
debt than I can hope to repay
or a vacation I can't afford.

 

[darkerdreamer]

4-12

woke from a dream of you
and couldn't shake it
so i drank it.

i let the cavalry die down
from their flaring bandstand
salute to our demise,
drum and trumpet soundtrack.

i watch with cornered eyes,
they hand you a folded flag
all in red and a dried reddish-brown--
and i know;
soon that flag will have new streaks of black,
your mascara added to the pattern.

there should be a bagpipe here,
or at least a thirteen gun salute.
but there is only you,
a drunk, tired, and faithless minister
and a flag that hangs
like a dead totem or
an unlucky rabbit's foot.

 

[4degrees]

11-4

on the tip of a tongue
staying put, immovable
to be cut around by
shark tooth serrated edge
on the edge, unabridged
speak it, shout it into
every unwilling ear
better yet just fuck it
let the expression be expressed
out from the proper orifice.

 

[wildsweetone]

72


Grandfather

There was knowledge in his eyes
and he imparted it one thread
at a time through the roll
of his tongue,

told me about grape vines
and used tea leaves,
and how pouring them on the roots
would make the grapes big
and fat,

made me wonder if I stood
in wet tea leaves
would I add an inch to my height,
or my girth.

I inherited that tongue roll,
see the same wonder
in my daughter's eyes.

She drinks tea
with her pinky now firm
around the cup handle.

(needs work and may have time after work to edit)

 

[AChild]

2-12

blown away
grey
mountain shine
the streets stink wet
bums freshly washed
stray cat loose some of
that matted finish
business folk carefully
fold away water wings

the bench polka dotted
everything is out of place
ice cream clouds in L.A.

 

[4degrees]

11-5

take myself away
for a moment long enough
to reconstruct a mental
monster. larger than life
and living in one small head
reach way back and stretch
fingers long enough
to tickle a chronic open sore
soothe myself past the
burn, again and then
forget it, forget it
i can't quit it
or just not long enough
to walk away
not strong enough
my own devices leave me
sadly unsuited for
any attempt
in any event, i'll
cry about it all
like i do, like i say i
never do
and hold tightly
to impossiblity
choking it to death.

 

[loserstyx]

6-5

What if it was to happen.
In one simple night like any other.
Where biology changes, and chemicals
derive a new visage.
From cold lines to soft curves
the structure of myself will transmute.

When I stand before the mirror
a woman may look back at me,
but I am still myself.
Distortion of body
could never modify my soul.

 

[annaswirls]

2-love-1

She tells me my people are not well then she
tells me I cannot buy her healing powers, that they
must be given. She tells me I am cursed. That we
are all murderers. That we do not understand how
to live from the land and assumes we never have but
she is wrong. She does not know me. She does not know
how we to were pulled away too quickly and with a violent hand
that shook the soil of native land from our roots
leaving us starved for the nutrients of the earth of our
forefathers. I want to tell her, woman, you are not so different.
My grandmothers too knew which plants would
heal, which would feed, my grandfather's too prayed over
their kill with soft blessings and used every ounce
of their hunt and harvest. They too gathered with music
of their hands and voices with ancient chanting I hear
but cannot recreate. Yes, we too have lost our way.

Woman, I know how to teach my son to be kind and generous. I know
how to help him see the beauty and importance in the differences
within humankind. I know how to teach him to listen to the still small voice.
I know how to teach him a gentle touch. But I do not know
how to teach him how to be a white man. How to understand
why people will always see him as a master of slaves,
killer of native peoples, repressor of women. I do not know how
to teach him to love himself in spite but not because of his skin,
his gender. How to help him understand why we still wear the sins
of the past and never allow them to be made again. Tell me,
wise woman, tell me how to walk in these shoes because I see,
I see you are wearing them too.

 

[danith]

In a day

At night, you slip into my bedroom
And tell me you want to cuddle.
Cuddle my ass, cuddle my breasts,
And cuddle my lips with your lips.

In the morning, you slip into my kitchen
And tell you that you’re hungry.
Hungry for my cream, hungry for my skin,
And hungry for my mouth to latch onto yours.

By noon, you slip into the chair next to mine
And tell me that you love me.
Love my eyes, love my hands,
And love that I’m your little sister.

 

[darkerdreamer]

4-13

Sapped of words that
inspire. Left instead with
worthless syllables.

 

[champagne1982]

2007-2-24

This is a short, short fiction piece that I wrote in response to a challenge in another place today. I think there are poetic enough moments in it that I can fit it in here.

The requirements of the story: title; First Kiss, length; 462 - 503 words, keywords; blue, metallic, frond, and to be written in the present tense.

First Kiss

Here we are, in the misty rain. I'm following the track your zipper takes with my eyes, looking upward and finally, focusing on that nearly invisible shiver as your carotid pulse confirms that you are alive. You - my dream made flesh. I think I've read that before and the words fall tumbling from my lips.

You're telling me to hush and I can't seem to stop the nonsense that is stammering through my lips: my tongue keeps churning out the words and my vocal chords are true anarchists; disobeying my rules; letting noise escape the prison of my thoughts.

I'm watching your words form inside your mind. They flicker behind your blue eyes. Do you know that? Do you understand that I can see what you are deciding? I can barely breathe for what I think I know. You have no secrets from me; we've been friends as long as we've existed. Is that from before we were born? I don't know, but I feel that I have loved you forever.

My toes ache. Don't keep me poised on this threshold any longer. Now, is the moment for you to bend your head to me. Fold me in these arms that I can feel trembling beneath my fingertips. Give me your lips before I am forced to take them. Kiss me.

Metallic taste is flooding my mouth. My God! I’ve been biting my lip in anxious worry and now I’m bleeding. Don’t kiss me, now. Wait, oh please, wait. I don’t want you to go. My fingers explore my lip and a glance at them confirms that yes, I, too, am alive. I won’t be if you walk away. I’m going to die.

Stop looking at me with that teasing grin. I know I’m an idiot. You’re pulling me close to your chest. You’ve placed your hand beneath my chin. Is this the point of no return? Please, let it happen, now. I don’t care if my lip bleeds all over your shirt.

What are you doing? Oh, it’s your tongue flicking across my mouth. You taste me, my blood. Does this mean you’ll belong to me forever? Oh. Your lips are so soft. Oh. I hope my breath isn’t horrid.

I’m being swept away by your kiss, a frond of seaweed swept along by the current of the tides. Carry me. I feel your jaw tensing as you press your mouth to mine. Your teeth are hard and I feel them hurting my tender lip. No, my gasp doesn’t mean I want you to stop.

Don’t stop. I’m sure this is what we’re meant to do, you and I. Do you know this? Open your eyes. Look at me and mine will tell you what I’m thinking. I have nothing to hide. You and I will always be us.

(471 present tense, first person-limited words in MSWord)

 

[Guest]

07 2:6 Loose

Left riders and right wings, she used
the wrong metaphor explaining
to me. I don't think of Presidential
candidates. I think of twisted leads,

malfunctioning EKGs, or hope
for them. The electrodes don't stick
on sweat and nerves put eels in my belly.

They squirm; shock loose the insides.
I think of no returned calls
and wonder why. Why?

Still I ask, as there is never
a reason for unnecessary worry.
It's just common courtesy
to not let a grown man shit his pants.

 

[loserstyx]

6-6

These words fall through my fingertips
they are unable to tell the stories I require
One word two words three words four
they cannot coalesce into a coherent sentence
and scatter on the floor

 

[wildsweetone]

73

Children's Steps

They avoid walking
down the centre of the road.
Instead wandering slightly
to the left,
as if some unconscious thought
drives them close to the edge
of the path where the metal
is loose. Their stumble
is unsurprising, as expected
as the rain that soaks their skin,
fills pot holes, leveling the land
so they walk on water.

 

[4degrees]

11-5

break me into
microscopic particals
that spell out our fuck
when viewed through
a 1000x lens
something that the
naked eye would only
make out as
imagination run amok
but its more
in my eye, it is the all.

 

[AChild]

2-13

drink full of
vicious phrase

praise with a string
sharp to clip tongue

teeth can't damn the blood
and damn the blood

make up a horrible clown

chase the laughter
find the source of woe

 

[darkerdreamer]

4-14

Shellfish on Hobo Beach

I first ate clams on the damp shores,
the tide lapping lazily at my shoes.

Years later, the next time I had shellfish,
I was left disappointed.
They lacked a certain musky pungency
that could have only been
the flavor of being baked over a
garbage can fire.

A forgotten sand palace,
the downtrodden have moved in
and eat like royalty, every meal.

 

[Guest]

07 2:7 Le Boss à La Carte

The fatback is where all the flavors at,
she cuts out the oysters, disregarding
them like so much cartilage.

That is only tasty if you are serving
ham hocks and lima beans;
though we are not.

The pig on the table just writes,
or rather, better said, he steals paychecks,
frauds little old ladies out of their pensions.

Fascinating, fascinating.
I agree, while having cheeks
without the jowls; sautéed in butter
served with portabellos and asparagus.

Obviously, she does not know
her cuts and certainly has no taste.
However, she is my dessert,
crème brûlée and sucks good cock.

 

[BluePoet]

2.1

Hanna no longer wants to be an opera singer.
Gone are thoughts
of tending to spring lambs
and ruddy maned spirits
down in the barn.
She wants to be a famous poetry writer,

like her mom.
Kudzu valley,
folks deep in the earth,
even Hanna,
are lively on paper, in books,
in the mind
of her idol poet.

 

[champagne1982]

2007-2-25

Ouch

Today was a day, unlike any other.
How cliche, by all standards, you say,
but let me explain and you'll see.

My morning was spent at coffee
and poems, a delightful pastime, it's true,
then the outside world put in a call

I answered the invitation to lunch
and had a lovely chat over a fat BLT
it was after I paid and went out

to my car. There it was, tucked in close
to the curb, secure and demure as only
a Mini can be. It begs to be driven

except

my poor Mini'd been violated and marred
a vandal had struck where it hurts, my car
and my pocket book both lost a chunk.

My wallet lost cash, my Mini lost glass...

Stoopid prick jealous asshole creeps with nothing better to do but smash and wreck a really cool car. <sigh>

 

[wildsweetone]

74


Storm

Temper flew from his chest,
from his eyes,
from the tips of his fingers
that gripped the leather belt,
swung it through the air
until the crack of lightening
lit her bare legs.
His anger rumbled on,
another strike welted skin.
And then it was over.
Cloud cleared from his mind
and he moved beyond her blue eyes.

 

[annaswirls]

2-love-2 at the opening

it is amazing how many people
volunteer to pose for my brush
but why bother
when my own body is right here
always with me
moves the way I want it to move
holds it's hand up so like this
and we tire together, my hand and my body
and we understand this beauty
alone ours digging to the light
with brush strokes

bees buzz around her head
she pinches a single honey maker between her fingers
and tells me
it is a political statement
and of course!
it must be

maps and compass points retrace her path
and cover her breasts
heiress of the islands
feet bare to the wind
legs bare to the wind
the sign around her neck says
out will return
portrait of self