not sure how many words

[GuiltyPleasure]

The Moon and The Donkey

The Moon was a legend in logger lore.
Near seven foot and bear-like,
strong as an ox.
We named him The Moon
on account of his luminously
bald ball of a head.

We never knew how
the steam donkey fell
on Moon but as soon as they saw
men came running
from all over camp.

All we could see of Moon
in the muddy rut
was his bald head and it was screaming
“Off me! Off me!”
as the donkey sank down crushing
crushing
crushing the breath out of Moon.

We put our shoulders to the metal
heaving until our heads throbbed,
thirty of us, fallers, swampers and cook
but it budged not an inch
all the while Moon was bawling
“Off me! Off me!”
weakening fast.

I knelt in the muck holding his head
and lying to him as he
whispered his agony
until, in the awful silence
we stood away
impotent
looking down
at the wide unseeing eyes
ad blood filled mouth.

Days later, after help arrived
and the donkey righted,
it dawned on us,
Moon knew he was done for
and “Off me!” was a plea
for a swifter way out.

 

[TheRainMan]

.....

 

[Tzara]

All the questions had been answered and when
..........I heard the truth, I never asked again. Even
......with all the rumors swirling....

Hey, TRM! What's with this odd
..........formatting? Does it mean something
......to how the poem speaks to us, or is it
...just experimentation? If it is the latter,
..............I might suggest you rethink
..it, as it is distracting and it just makes
.....your poem hard to read.

 

[TheRainMan]

Hey, TRM! What's with this odd
..........formatting? Does it mean something
......to how the poem speaks to us, or is it
...just experimentation? If it is the latter,
..............I might suggest you rethink
..it, as it is distracting and it just makes
.....your poem hard to read.

hey. T.

i'm not sure experimentation is quite right . . . could be closer to 'just fuckin' around.'

but yes, due to the subject matter, the idea was to make the reading a little . . . uncomfortable, a bit drunk perhaps, but certainly not distracting or bothersome.

surprisingly, i'm kinda liking it myself.

 

[TheRainMan]

.....

 

[Tzara]

Old Photograph, Found in a Shoebox

While I was away, I thought on
your legs, in that crazy picture
where you are tilted forty-five degrees
and it's shot all below the waist

and I am sorry that what
is all that I remember are your thighs,
your knees, your calves, the
grain of the wood floor

beneath your cork-soled sandals.
You had painted your toenails red, I know.
I cannot, however, remember
the taste of your left foot's arch,

of your slim lips. I cannot even remember
what I had to say when last we kissed.




Thx, Evie! Nice pic--er, pics.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Cob's family

Graceful wings, white parenthesis
he makes the smooth journey
to river's mouth
showing me his new family.

The little ones paddle hard
unused to such long treks
frantic to keep up.

His Penn gently gathers the stragglers
her neck an arch of maternal pride.

The little family gathers close
the promise of easy food bright
in their jewel eyes.

They’re unafraid of this shallow boat
that paddles soundlessly too.

Floating alongside I am their companion,
my paddles resting across my legs
we bob together companionably.

 

[RhymeFairy]

my time here is up, again.
I come on a daily basis
to have my time away.

To spend a bit of time relaxing
and conversing with friends. Hoping
to write something other than
* what used to be *

One day the * used to * will be replayed
one too many ... and gone forever.

Till then I will wait, hoping
that friends and family can withstand
the daily torrent of sighs and unhappiness
that expels from each breath, taken
for only him ...


...

 

[tungtied2u]

I have been there, as you,
string wrapped around your finger
perform magic, shoot stars
from your palms, travel 'round the world
only to return to home, rock the cradle

then walk the dog, with practiced precision
round and round, back and forth
each time letting go a little more, until
the cord frays, snaps, sending the poor yo-yo
crashing into the wall, smashing into pieces

a moment of silence, for one who served so well

the remains are swept, tipped in the bin,
before the quest begins anew, for one as special
that will conform to the contours as you cup
your hand, rise to the rhythm, give you the thrills
like the one that got away

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Molly

In twos and three
of grey and black they hover
faces raw from a brutal wind
that spins the squeaking vane
and scatters last year's leaves
among the graves
She had been their lover
confident and ever present ear
gone before they realised
her true existence and before
they wanted to lose her
wanted the space she left free
except for her lingering perfume
and catch phrases
All too aware of their own
dwindling mortality her departure
up in smoke she’d have said
with a crooked smile
only underlined the inevitable.
Next week or month
it would be one of them
melding with the lowering clouds
blue into grey into the black cloak
but they shake of inescapable fate
and convene in the nearest pub
to raise a glass in her honour
she would expect nothing less.

Inspired by Ian MceWen's novel Amsterdam

 

[eagleyez]

Surrounded

dog eared Henry Miller under
smokestack ashtray
empty manila folders
lean on dusted file cabinets
holding up Phillip Roth,

and fish,
ceramic fish
stenciled fish
puffed up paper fish,
drifters
floaters
bugeaters
bottom scrapers,

tackle boxes
two fishing poles
lean like old shovels
bobbered and hooked,

wireless twinkle box
Dylan leans on a brick house door
Chez's lamp,
Bennies art,
Phonebook shortstack
message machine
blurts calls not answered,

She's in the bedroom,
touching up illustrated poems
looking out west window
deaming the good dream.

its time for some summertime jazz
maybe Shostakovich or sleepy Ravel,
redsox lighter never far
fuel to burn,
outside-roads to drive.

 

[RhymeFairy]

he knows,


when you call, I would run
away.
into your arms
with no holds bared.
to feel
your fill
of tied emotions.

what to do, what to say.
but, you are

my life. other than,
three blind mice
who scrimp and scarmp
trying to get by, but I want
you

you

you.

know, I would come,
in a heartbeat
the still of the night. I, but await
your arms
holding me tight. kissing me
goodnight. feeling

your body,
your soft hardness,
nestled deep. where dreams
become reality
and life
is but a rhyme, away ...


...

 

[TheRainMan]

ooops ...

 

[tungtied2u]

grandaddy's arrival was better than Good Humor
he was popping false teeth,
hidden quarters in ears
card games, peanuts and baseball

Grace his wife, was anything but
colder than a deep freeze, you waited
for her thin lips to crack as she forced them
into a crocodile smile, and offered a hug

Any wonder I ran, took refuge behind him,
hugged his waist for dear life,
he laughed, asked what was wrong
but did not try to budge me

he'd felt that bite too many times

 

[tungtied2u]

what Congress passed this Law
what body this motion
which states a man (or woman)
must be ruled by their emotions ?

Cast out the ones responsible
the fine print goes to far
sanity replaced with inanity
these souls should be disbarred

 

[sellthecookie]

you wonder why
love should be cautionary
and uninvolved as
much as possible, like
shoes not yet broken in,
each misstep, a headlong
fall into the automatic pit
of your words.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Slipped moorings loosened
ropes slick with weed
leave me adrift
bereft of the comfort
of whispered words
uninspiring birds call
wanting like me
waiting for the weight
the pull of tide
the full moon
to make it all
worthwhile.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

No bee shortage here
in the Snowberry bushes
constant motion busy
the tiny pink flowers
bow with their bee-burden
as if in acknowledgement
anticipating the fat white berries
in the making ready for
finch and robin in leaner months

 

[Tathagata]

.....

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

when you start sifting though your thoughts
looking for something different, something worth writing about
seeing the same dirt fall
refined and broken down
to the smallest detail
no gemstones
no civil war bullets
no pennies you buried as a kid
hoping they'd be worth a fortune when you grew up
it's just ordinary residue
of your ordinary life
tracked in and out
of your waking hours
trying to write
is like beating a rug in the wind
you get covered in the past
and your eyes water

I think
it's the detritus sifted
from everydays
that poets feed on
not earth shattering chatter
or mind warping talk
simple incidents
chewed over like cud
produce memorable lines
small time-lapse happenings
no one else would see
but the poet
tucks it away saying
thank you to the muse.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Too many words
out of context
pictures out of focus
memories just
out of reach

fill in the blanks
they're your past
no one else affected
colour incidents
darken the outline
strengthen the shades

Pan-o-vision
was never clearer
I believe every word

 

[eagleyez]

one more cigaret

green land canals woven by trains
far off far off
across the american morning
2nd story world, steam cup and riverfog.

Panorama a complete set of chords
impossibilites fall from the magnetic robot
one at a tme they freefall and drop
on a desk, then slow sizzle on down tabeltop,
swim in my coffee-
kick heels
kick heels.

the old 9:15 set my watch with it,
its barrelin downriver
coming to batterize me, third rail transfer
ticket to philadelphia, the Azures final stop a
mop shop settle down for the ride.

upright and stretched
clank and kersplat,
vibrato morning a backbeat perfection,
breath easy o ye kings of oxygen
walkers of wood,
today we are riding shotgun
with northwinds and comic co mingling.

one more cigaret
before i hang yesterday,
feed last meal check
benediction check
last words sing
noose time son,
check.

Headed for the atmosphere
upward stroke hands, thumb dropped across
low strings
slide up into hummingbird world
cry cry cry
smile
breath
easy.

 

[Angeline]

Bouncing along with Bud
in a stratus of wheels and smudgy air,
fire from a distant smoke stack.
The last of the Age of Industry
still dying here, the twentieth century
clinging with ragged fingers to the steel
and stone. Foggy glass and really
it stinks, but the jazz is impeccable,
as much in the stride outside as poured
like sunshine and scotch from the radio.

Tomorrow I'll be miles north,
away from the last reach of New York City.
Somewhere past New Haven the sky
widens, there are egrets over the inlet
near the bend to Cape Cod and Providence.
I feel New England embrace me full
of summer joy, wild lupine, masses
of lilac, blue, purple along the road.
In New Hampshire a hawk dives,
the crows are fat and glossy
in the pines. It's a small protest
vivid for so little time I have so little

time to be with you, my angels.
Not even a New England summer's
worth before the trees rattle
their bones and the ice settles in
like the sliver the Snow Queen sank
into the child's heart. My ancestors
still in Exodus, but with me again.
They'll be happier here with me
on the bedroom wall, never again
to face the Christmas tree
across the room. They look relieved.

I have Mama's engagement ring
and the Frosty the Snowman globe
Daddy gave me, a beaded lizard
my boy made, red-eyed, beribboned,
the little china Oliver Twist, hands raised
and pleading for more. I have more
than my lover's arms to keep me
safe from exhile in the coming winter.

 

[Tzara]

Ororo

She leans into me
like a storm into a willow
until I'm toppled,

headlong, into currents
of flesh and sweat
and pulled beneath

their frantic surface.
I thrash and thrash
with my helpless limbs

until I finally can breathe,
for her careful touch
has given me gills.

 

[Angeline]

Painting Night

Eyes closed to see
new memories painted
by moonlight, three-quarters full,
silvery like crescents of fingernails,
silken touch and fine hair massed
to press on cheeks
or falling, falling
brush to shoulders, hips.

This is the way of whispers,
faces laughing looney, the art
of painting night, clouds on sky,
attenuated branches
and fields of late blooms,
waterway, birdcall and song.

This is the fate of breath held long
then breathed, then shared,
the dancing with no net
the tightrope-walking air.