June Poetry Challenge: Poem-A-Week (your style!)

[29wordsforsnow]

Here in the sun of the early bird
I raise and follow the shadows' walk
once upon time, it was me who heard
the woebegone song of the lonely hawk

through the land and deep valleys
my lil heart shivers in the summer heat
asking who's going to pay all the tallies
of those we lost and will never meet

the rivers run dry upon the evening
it's that lil organ that's about to crack
son, daughter your question's unreasoning
ever you wonder, "When will they come back?"

I drop down beneath the graceful moon
where colorless the corners of my eyes bled
dirt under my knees in the wetness of June
in The Graveyard Of The Outcast Dead

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Don’t work for fat people



Seriously.
Just don’t.
Now, we’re not talking about people who are a tad overweight
Shit, most of America qualifies
as obese in this day and age.
We eat too much,
Wank too much,
Fuck off too much,
Do nothing too much,
And do everything too damned little.


And almost all of us have to work.
Hell, eating is nice.
So is a roof,
A/C when it’s hot out
And heat when it’s not.
And it’s still not legal to go for a stroll
In your Birthday Suit.
There’s a sight
I only want to see
In very select circumstances.
Just don’t waste your money
On so much crap
You don’t fucking need.
If there’s a trendy name for the product,
You can easily live better without it.


Bosses are about getting shit done.
People hire on to companies,
But they quit managers.
You agree to sell your time
For X amount of dollars.
How long did it take you last time
To start to bitch about how they were underpaying you?
First 90 days???
Hey fuckstick!!!
You made the deal.


If you do weird shit
Like show up on time
Ready to work
And work
And learn
And don’t talk back
Or get confused about your job.
They pay us to do,
And not for what we think.
You do these things and are good,
Someone will notice.


Maybe . . . .


But the fat ones
(I call them Jabbas)
are threatened.
I’m not sure why,
But my tubs of lard always were.
So they clamp down on the thumbscrews,
Want more than before,
Bitch and complain
About stuff could be better.
Take credit for what you thought
Or more than likely for what you did.


And you find out.
And get mad.
Hell, this is where
Problem drinking excuses are created.
“If you had my boss,
You’d drink too!”


Fear keeps us tethered to a fucking job we hate.
What will I do if I lose it???
Easy.
You’ll do the very things you should have done when you decided
That you hated the motherfucker.
Knock the dust off you resume,
Get out the turd polish,
Buff that damned thing up,
Put it out there,
And do what you did before you took this situation.
Get hired!!!


Elsewhere . . . .

 

[Tzara]

Delusion in Triple Meter

Her body in moonlight is glowingly lissome.
She moves with an elegant, sexual rhythm
and lies on the bed with her lovely eyes narrowed.
The lust in my bones settles into my marrow.

But is this mere fantasy? How did I get here?
This kind of seduction is hardly in my sphere—
more likely by far it is certain I'm dreaming.
I'll wake in a minute with life intervening

with tax bills and flowerbeds desperate for weeding
and this lovely vision quite quickly receding.
So, frantically clinging to this absurd fancy,
I spin in my sleep in the hope that it's chancy

I'll wake to find out that she's still in my bedroom
and dizzied by daring, décolleté costume
we clutchingly consummate coital rapture.
At least that's the scene that I hope to recapture.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Miller Avenue


Mrs. Elizabeth Mancino lived here.
At least, that’s what this postcard
That I found behind the mantel says.
Sent by a friend visiting New York.
So that’s who’s here,
I knew you were here,
And you’re telling me.
1931.

I have rebuilt many old houses.
Most were dingy and mostly listless.
More like a cave in the side of a hill,
Little more than a hole in the ground.
But this one struck me when I first went inside.
Almost calling out.
The usual odors greeted my nose,
Wet wood from a roof leak, or three
Damned old roofs. Plaster dust, grit,
Wall cavities breathing now
After nearly a century of being closed.
Stale neglect.
The sun shone brightly on the day
We removed plywood from the windows.
The smells went away after a good cleaning
And after letting the outside in.
And fixing the leaky old roof,
Cutting out rot and rebuilding with new.
A couple of upgrades,
A bit of modernization.

And then the postcard arrived
Lurking behind a piece of trim molding
Near the stairs in that large foyer
High ceilings, open rails, winding.
You told me who you are. Were. Are.
This was your house,
But more than that, you took this thing
This pile of lumber with 20-some windows
And four fireplaces with marble hearths,
And you made this house into what
Those other houses had not been.
You made a home.
Most likely, you had children you raised there,
And a husband.
You had at least one friend
Dear enough to write you in the middle of her journey.

You kept me company through the whole
Renovation.
Rejuvenation.
Resurrection.
You lived there, and loved there,
The family, the house.
It was in the air.
You let me know that you
Appreciated my efforts
To fix a thing you cared about.

I took that postcard home.
I saved it, put it away safely.
It disappeared,
And you remain . . . .


e/t/a: suggestions from a friend

 

[Ambient4190]

romanced by
cicadas song
night after night
web weavers spin

slathered to avoid
bloodsuckers bite
hummingbirds curious
my red hat alight

listen as
unseen hands
lift canopies
stir branches

alas heat
runs me in
to cool cold air

moments outside
limited this time
of year

 

[29wordsforsnow]

A girl from southern Brazil
more often known as Juan
wore a wig so green like grass
the body stayed, the name is gone
in wintertime time she calls herself June
meets strangers under the disco light

*

with red hot lips on the longest night
finally free from the tight cocoon
this girl put in diamonds' stead
someone else's colorful strass
proudly worn on top of her head
in her dreams, this feels so real

*Empanadas eyes, Salsa lips, Salad head, Worcestershire lashes

 

[OttawaGuy50s]

Strange New World​

What a strange new world I have landed in.
Grass made of gold and trees made of tin.

Children are working while adults, they play.
And this is at night - they sleep during the day.

I wandered one evening, to make sense of the day.
I stopped for a bite at the Moonlight Cafe

“A salad,” I said, and as if reading my mind,
the four-year-old server said: “There's only one kind”

I agreed to the salad, “Surprise me,” I thought.
Surprise me they did, as here’s what he brought.

The ends of the carrots - just the tips, not the greens.
It was strange to be sure, like nothing I’ve seen.

Fish tails and seeds. Potato peels too.
The things you’d throw out, if making a stew.

An sprinkled on top, were the petals of a daisy.
I’m not making that up. Rest assured, I’m not crazy.

The soft, oval petals, as while as the snow.
In contrast to the ‘trash’, they put on quite a show.

“Who eats a flower?” I thought, half out loud.
But the patrons around me, were doing it, proud.

“Well, when in Rome”, I thought once again.
I picked up a fork and began to dig in.

I scooped a large forkful, (and I did check for mould)
but it tasted like the sunshine, from my world of old!

I could see the broad meadow, where the daisies once grew.
Glowing in sunrise, and the early morn’s dew.

From there, they landed here, on my plate.
If they end up on yours, don't worry - they're GREAT!

 

[Angeline]

Family Matters

I was listening to a woman sing
to her ancestors, asking for advice,
how to live in these troubled times

and I thought of how I don't need
to sing to ancestors, though I imagine
them, of someone's blessed memory,

existing in a Heaven, a Shtetl Heaven
idealized like a Chagall painting,
farming or praying in vivid colors

with features properly smudged,
making a way through eternity
without fear of pogroms or destruction.

I cannot picture their faces,
even their names are lost to me
and besides I have plenty of ghosts

already, my immediate family,
loved ones beyond the veil and yet
so near I can hear them, almost

and they have little advice
for tricking adversity beyond
wake up and keep breathing.

 

[Lazaran]

You WILL die

You WILL resist and deny

but

You WILL die.

 

[Lazaran]

The Explorer 2. 0


I live to explore

to find what is hidden

behind the ranges

of each passing sunrise and sunset

it is enough

 

[Remec]

Bathroom Mirror

I saw him again today,
beard was more white than grey
and even his eyebrows were starting
to blanch away,
paler and paler;

His eyes met mine, like always,
bagged and sort of glazed
like sinuses were troublin him
or he was simply on the edge of
being overwhelmed by the emotions
of being himself;

I wanted to ask why he kept
showing up like he did, no warning,
nothing common courtesy would require
but he never said anything, just moved his
lips and mocked my speakin to him;

Which was a pity, since I couldn't very well
not take the risk of seein him,
not if I wanted a decent shave
or to make sure I'd parted my hair properly;

If only I knew where he'd come from,
and how much longer he was planning on
appearing to me.

Belated wk 4

 

[Lazaran]

ROI

We invested so much

in us

so much emotional capital

in us

so much time equity

in us

so much personal identity

in us

each new day of love and companionship we share

a return on investment

in us

 

[Tzara]

Explanation

My hands are become wings
though they do not help me fly.
They wave, stiff and flat,

and can only gather objects
when pressed firmly together,
as if I were given to praying.

 

[Lyricalli]

Seven years is how long it takes
for all of our cells to renew themselves

I'm not who I was when we met
the texture of my face has changed
and my skin drapes differently on my bones
some scars are lighter, others deeper
more have been added, still bold and new

This body isn't the one discovered
by first touches
or revealed to eyes you once had
nor, in time, will it be the one held now
in arms you'll no longer have
both aged and refreshed
through these septets of time

My feelings mixed
in some ways soothed
that I've shed the surface
of unwanted transgressions
yet saddened
because the only trace left
from old loves, of many kinds
exists exclusively in the mind

A complicated sort of comfort
that makes holding your hand now
as significant as the moment
our palms first connected

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Dark Spot


Night Time.
Hot, thick and clinging,
A pea soup swim
Inside.
Confused clarity
Self annoyance.
A snarl, and then
Realization.
Rosy-fingered Dawn is coming.
She always does.

 

[Angeline]

Note to a Friend

Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
~ Sailing to Byzantium, WB Yeats

Dear friend I understand more
than I would say. It's unnecessary
anyway, familiarity born in years
of words, of kindness laced
with love, tempered by my own

breath labored betimes, my body
tethered to machines. I do wonder
whose purpose would be served
were I forever leaping forward,
painted on stone, no more
than a suggestion of life?

 

[Tzara]

Poem After a Line by John Updike

A small fire, the size of a cat, purred in the fireplace.

Curled into the grate, flecked
with yellow and red
like a tiger, sleepy
after feeding,

I fed myself off its warm breath,
its bare shimmer of lethargy
laced with tryptophan

and drifted leisurely away myself,
forgotten book splayed

open in my unconscious lap.

 

[Ambient4190]

pull back politics
peel away religion
woman on deck
harsh make-up and
garish clothing and
lavish hair
not required
peace
simply
be

 

[Wat_Tyler]

“I’ve been on a voyage, old sport, a kind of quest, I’ve seen fire and pestilence, symptoms of a great disease,”

~ Richard Fariña


I’ve seen fire, and rain,
Cold, snow, deluges, draughts.
No quest, just breathing,
Walking, perhaps trudging.
Days arrive sometimes,
Nights lasting forever.
Raked soul,
Clawed for meaning,
Examined in sunbeams
When they present.
None found, more scratching,
More pulling to pieces.
Eureka!!! Oh shit!!!
Hope hisses like fire
Extinguished.
Still, I lace my boots
To go out . . . there.

 

[Lazaran]

Pulse

pulse
pounding
anticipation
a secret kiss
a special touch

pulse
pounding
trepidation
a severed artery
a severe migraine

 

[twohadows]

Bad Wiring

When I can really listen to you
As you tell me your tale of woe,
You share with me what scares you
What makes you feel bad
What keeps you awake when
You desperately need sleep.
Oh, I know,
How well indeed I know.
The funny bit is,
it’s always seems to boil down to
Not getting what we want.
Living it is how I know.
We get pieces of us broken
When we’re too young to know
And we carry that shit with us
As long as we’re unaware.
Oftentimes, we’re scared to look
To pull back the veil,perhaps
To reveal the cause of pain,
Or worse still, to see The Truth.
I looked at mine
and I got better,
To see my Broken in my thinking,
My bad wiring, dented metal,
My pet resentments and fears,
Terrified of unknown tomorrow
And hating pieces of my past.
To see these for what they really are.
So when I hear you in your discomfort
Your hopelessness and confusion,
I first want muchly to assure you,
Been there, done that, ain’t goin’ back.
Not if I can help it.
But part of my new way of thinking
To keep my head out of my ass,
I have to listen to you to hear you,
To let you know that I have felt
The things that rob your sanity,
That delicate and precious thing
Which when lacked steals our peace,
That peace I find when you tell me
About your tribulations,
and I let you in on mine.
Come, with me. Let’s walk.
Let’s do something different,
Holding our faces to the light,
Even if for this moment
We are not capable to see.

I LOVE this!

 

[Wat_Tyler]

I LOVE this!

Thank you!!!