all of a sudden passion suddenly

[Angeline]

Three of my very very best
have flown the nest. I kept
them pressed like dried rose
petels between the pages
of a prayer

but my old jazz boys
don't want to languish
like sleeping ghosts,
folded pale, worn gloves
in a silk box

They want to strut
the snap of their
living years, shake
their words , jump
their readers' imagination
back to then.

 

[Randi Grail]

laughter like dry cider
fridge chilled, extra ice
in september dust and scarred earth
beaten senseless by the life giver from above

and little feet flutter
not patter
skim the surface on a mirage
in new white shoes, red laces
two strawberry mints dancing

such a blessing to watch
to listen, indulge in that melody
from a gap of phases

those small faces
that doesn't care
their transmission is full power
all frequncies channeling soul

a microwave beacon
warming sligtly
all things alive
nearby

 

[Randi Grail]

play the bagpipes
grow a beard
skydive naked
sleep with errol flynn
and other things I'll never do

all collected in a book
written in my head
but not unread
where now I turn a page
to scribble "you"

tasty temptation swaggering by
but too fast
for either my weakness
or even my strength
to respond

thruth is
I wish to stay here
but had you slowed down
for a beat, who knows
where I'd been an hour ago
and beyond

 

[Guest]

An hour's worth of free flow
words tumbling
lining up like dominos
come out fast

One after the other
thoughts caught
on blank pages
ten, eleven, twelve
every one, stellar

Time out —
do a copy?

Without thinking
no
no
fuck no

Hindsight records
what should've been:

Brilliance requires a back-up
and always done hard


* edited to say I am sittin' in the corner, poutin'.

 

[Angeline]

old souls know eyes
they recognize a walk
the sad acknowledgement
of was and the bright
expectation of will

they find each other
recognize the lock of karma
that spins them over
and over like a shirt
that isn't dry yet

and they understand
that preordination
and free will are oil
and water and sometimes
peas and carrots
and gargantuan
and meaningless

and mostly
the anthropomorphic
universe
is laughing

 

[annaswirls]

jam the needle
plunge the syringe
suck out the essense of my sexuality

dip fingers deep in the reserves
squeeze every nipple that walks by
they will not be able to resist
the fragrance

resigned iwatch
flicking wrists
pulling rubber
reaching for blinds

 

[annaswirls]

contrary to the prescription of the X shaved artist
I do not eat poetry
Rimbaud has got nothing on you
or me
well

see through skin
and flesh
corroded I see right through

fight me off
deny your own ctraving for the petals
of the flower
of evil

rose hips snapdragon lips
chromoplasts ground down
bleeding anthocyanin,
carotenenes, flavones

thumb painted cheek
yellows soak in the bruise
acid fingers red the blue

kick out the legs bent arrowback
legs from under
I remain
at your feet
until you say
dont make me into something
like us

shrink down between floorboards
when you remember
you left something on the stove

I hide
wait for the steam to condense on the glass jars of
cardomon and lemon pepper

until you rof
forget this image
of me eating my poems
spiceless and raw

until you forget
how weak you are
under my fingers

 

[Guest]

Lying here on our backs,
the night looks so clear.

We sidestep without cost
while Venus
loves her moon.

Napalm blasts a brand new sky,
fire torches, cool attitudes
eats the planet
with you and I in it.

And baby, we lie still,
let it all burn in an instant.

Make wishes,
blow out the world
because we regret nothing.

 

[Angeline]

There was a box of photos,
Grandpa at his work desk,
white shirt sleeves rolled up,
wearing a vest, a wide striped tie,
another of Nana, a flapper,
scandalous in rouge and red lipstick,
and my great uncle with his hair
pommaded and a carnation
in his lapel.

There were Mother and uncles,
now gone or frail as sticks,
but here tanned teenagers
at Jones Beach or standing
on a brownstone stoop
somewhere in Brooklyn
smiling with unidentifable
young friends.

Some faces I'd never seen
before, must be distant
relatives or friends,
dancing at weddings
or toasting the camera,
posing in front of a cabin
in the woods,

and some faces
were from the old country,
faded and solemn-eyed
for the photographer,
and I don't know what
happened to them,
and I do.

 

[flyguy69]

Thumbsucker

Palms press flat,
trapped
on streaming marble.
Cheek leans into flow
of mascara and moans
on soap-slick wall.

   Don’t move

Feet kicked wide
lickety splits her ass
in spattering crystal
steam. Thumb pad
press on up-button
elevator lifts her
higher, tighter
than the squeal trapped
in her teeth. Plunge

to the hilt,
knuckle fuck
that plucks a string
from her clit to
the back of her brain.
Quavering note

quivers in her throat,
trembles through her belly
and pushes down
to her worshipful knees.

   Now she’s where I want her.

 

[Merrymaker]

Shadow spirits
lounge in corners
vicarious feeders
on passion's performance

Fires stoked
yet vanity hungers
wisps of tattered frenzy
and plundered sustenance

 

[annaswirls]

virgin lost
twice over
welcome force my body
topple soft my mind
recovering still this plunder

think you can find
new holes for the exploration?

hard enough to drill your own?

 

[annaswirls]

they never tell you
in those smokey guru huts
that understanding
is loneliness

go next door two huts down
they tell you anything you wanna hear

half way hidden
pass you the brush
archeoligical sieve and
a hat

polish for your toes
podwer for your nose dont sneeze
you might blow away all understanding
and remember you did not go in alone this time

 

[Angeline]

A bandboxful of corsage girls
primp polish, sparkle paint
before stagelit mirrors.

They sweep shadows of jade
on lids accentuated in Nile lines,
and purse their lips for gold
swival tubes of shiny red wax.

Their bare shoulders gleam
and they dip their necks
like stems, patting scent
on the petals of their cheeks.

Their red nails tip tap
on the counter or clutch
glittering bags like tiny dogs
before they glide out, flowers
that attach themselves
to a young man's lapel.

 

[Man Ray]

open your heart to the dawn glow of my love
escape the night and throw your arms open
embrace the dream of past present future love

girl, throw away all of lifes cares and burdens
and we two will sail through the bright stars
to a destination that only true lovers know...

For you, with all my love...

 

[SeattleRain]

fourteen hours passed since the cock crowed its greeting
we squint and wonder what happened to the night
so slowly sudden that attached to the
crysler headed north to find oh! the great
loafers of existance


Ricola! Ricola!

she cries
thoat getting hoarser more hoarse
by the minute

someone get the girl a glass of fresh spring water
or some crushed mountain herbs

"yellow head!"

we come to greet you
sun of the mountain
tell us why you left her

she who styles herself in your image
beauty
sex

and still the cock waits to crow
and when he does damn sounds like a motherfucker

I prepare vegatables for stew
darling, the chopping block and candle
catch that bitch we shall sleep again
while tough muscles simmer in the pot
kick off those shoes
the sleep of the just
too damn lazybegins

 

[Remec]

<g>

Poet's Corner

Bound
and determined
to get it right
I work
and I slave
throughout the night

breathe relax breathe listen

Kicking
and screaming
I came into this place
Sitting
and squealing
they come at their own pace

shudder sigh shudder pant

Curiosity
has killed,
what got out of the bag;
Vicariousness
has thrilled,
lying on purple shag

 

[annaswirls]

fourteen hours passed since the cock crowed its greeting
we squint and wonder what happened to the night
so slowly sudden that attached to the
crysler headed north to find oh! the great
loafers of existance


"Ricola! Ricola!"

she cries
thoat getting hoarser more hoarse
by the minute

someone get the girl a glass of fresh spring water
or some crushed mountain herbs

"yellow head!"

we come to greet you
sun of the mountain
tell us why you left her

she who styles herself in your image
beauty
sex

and still the cock waits to crow
and when he does damn sounds like a motherfucker

I prepare vegatables for stew
darling, the chopping block and candle
catch that bitch we shall sleep again
while tough muscles simmer in the pot
kick off those shoes
the sleep of the just
too damn lazybegins

get thee to a padded room!
with your Anniston haircut and brad
is ruler of no mountain
but I would love to watch him
try

with a twisted neck pluck and steam
pick some plantains fire up the stove


co qui co quii!
catch that little frog
paper skin
paint his image on an ashtray
the roommates will love it for roach and ash

co qui!

you are safe little frog, the cock is cooked
and you are too damn hard to catch

 

[Angeline]

40 degrees
feels like springtime
when sun is out
and the harbor remembers
how to sparkle
though the sloughs
are still covered with ice.

The roads yawn
with potholes, tired
of this endless winter
which has come to drift
gray along street gutters
as if trying to sweep
itself into memory

I told you
that in my next life
I will be one of those pines
that curls around the inlet
with its back to the sway
of dried catkins and its face
lifted to bay breezes

moving with the wind
but never leaving
the dank comfort
of its roots

and this is a weighty
metaphor on the side
of tuna salad and a beer
but you touched
my cool brow
with your fingertips
and I know
you understand

 

[Liar]

So brother,
what do you kneel to?
Who do you worship,
what brings you down
to mere bones
disassembled?

How do you distinghush
dreams from delusion,
conflict from confusion
and all things abstruse
in between?

Brother, give me the clues
and the hidden gene
unlocking the dormant,
uncharted, unused
majority of this sapient skull.

So that insight
or hindsight
whichever, oh brother,
makes you kneel,
can be mine,
make me feel.

 

[Maria2394]

maybe...

maybe I am tired
of being good, maybe my house
is too clean, dust free, pets fed
maybe I am tired of me
no, not me, maybe it's him

maybe dinner will be late
some day soon, maybe
he will throw me down and
fuck me

maybe someone new
woudl understand, maybe
me and her, or her and
him, or me and him
and him

maybe he should wake me
from the stupor of chlorine
take me by the arm and throw
me down, face to carpet
cheeks to egde
of sofa, edge of climax
edge of sanity

maybe I'm tired of fucking
back flat to sheet staring
at a broken ceiling fan
<i> please just do it</i>
get it over with, Mr Vanilla
never a cherry on top

maybe tomorrow
your dishes will sink sit and rot
dinner wont be hot
maybe I'll be gone-
but not before I clean
that dirty fucking ceiling fan

 

[Guest]

Hey, shit stirrer
quit fucking with the soup!
Too many cooks spoils it,
don't you know.

No freebies on fridays
or any other day for that matter.
Just take your spoon
and move along, move along.

Get your cheese whiz on ritz,
weenies on toothpicks elsewhere
because hello,
we don't serve that here.

If you don't care for
the special of the day,
get your ass out of the kitchen
and quit your bitching.

 

[DeepAsleep]

cigarettes I haven't lit and
empty ashtrays, all around me.
Bottle of juice that is from concentrate,
the sugary shit that people pretend is good for them.
You know what I mean.

Empty ashtrays and cigarettes I haven't lit,
the phone I could use to call you,
and the heart you broke before the snow started falling.
Deodorant and a hat,
too many clear plastic lighters,
a computer, a keyboard,
hell, even a mouse.

Two cats that make me think of you,
a can of Zippo fluid
(Oh, that diesel smell)
a rickety desk, a dusty TV.

A neat green area rug,
scattered movies I don't want to watch,
without you to shush me when I talk too much.

I memorized Titus Andronicus, this week,
because I knew what he meant when he asked,
"Will it consume me?"
I've felt that, "Bring it on" sort of emotion,
...all this waiting for the last straw
to break this asshole's back,
Man, all this waiting in little rooms,
pacing and smoking and drinking shitty juice;
man, all this is killing me.

Oh, well, I say. Oh, well.
Back to bed, nurse the cold,
avoid the cigarettes,
drink the juice.
miss you, honey.

~D.A.
How come you're not there, in the morning?

 

[annaswirls]

dances with words
as if they were life long partners
anticipating moves with a quick surprise mostly of himself

how long did I know this?
writing as a mutual movement between words and writer

he writes them they write him

pulling out the subconscious like day old cud
chew it out this brain spit dissolved
broken down
mind saliva crackin down those enzymes
until fingers spin the words
and finally
we understa



if I could cut you a straw it would be one with a perfectly hollow stem without crack
monocot dried and perfect
for the suck and blow of crushed rasberries
that spray out your name

for the writing
is the knowing
is the writing
and I wanted to say hello

 

[DeepAsleep]

Coffee and love

It's always too hot, at first,
it burns, but I sort of like it.
So it's good until it's cold
and even then, you take it in, anyway,
because it's there,
but when you really need it,
your cup's always empty
and the pot's gone dry.