The Gymnasium

[Victoria_Lucas]

Hips

These hips are my hips, wide and far.
They ask no questions, make no excuses.

They are the landing
to the stairs of my legs, the atrium
of my shoulders. Pause here to catch
your breath. Each bone

mirrored to each. The ladles
to the shell of production cup
my belly in affection, as do

your hands dipping in my lake flesh,
to urge me close, then
closer so our hips may kiss

in an easy rhythm, soulful,
mobile. Yours echo hollow words
to mine: I will carry you.

 

[vampiredust]

These hips are my hips, wide and far.
They ask no questions, make no excuses.

They are the landing
to the stairs of my legs, the atrium
of my shoulders. Pause here to catch
your breath. Each bone

mirrored to each. The ladles
to the shell of production cup
my belly in affection, as do

your hands dipping in my lake flesh,
to urge me close, then
closer so our hips may kiss

in an easy rhythm, soulful,
mobile. Yours echo hollow words
to mine: I will carry you.

Excellent stuff

 

[Tzara]

Stardust

It's an old tune, but a good one.
Every time I hear it, I think of Hoagy,

garters on striped sleeves,
matchstick spiked in mouth,

hunched and smiling at the beauty
of the young Bacall, her thin hips

so stiffly fetching as they shift
in that old movie, even though

she never sings that song.
And then I always think of you.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Lullaby for Winter

.....

 

[vampiredust]

To a tailor I once knew

You are a linesman
marking out territory on pieces
of cloth, before feeding

it through a harpoon tooth,
rattling like a train. Nobody can
see your motif.

Hold yourself up to the light
and look underneath your left rib -
It's there.

 

[bogusbrig]

Last night, you entered my head
In the middle of a nightmare

Just when things can't get worse
They invariably do

 

[Tzara]

Last night, you entered my head
In the middle of a nightmare

Just when things can't get worse
They invariably do

Dreaming of the ex again, Mr. B?

 

[bogusbrig]

Dreaming of the ex again, Mr. B?

Does it show?

 

[WickedEve]

Bruise Theory

My dentist, Milford Lynch,
(Dr. Zomb
when he's out of the room)
laments
how regretful it is
to have me in his chair.

"So young,
though not.
Wisdom's gone from your mouth."

His chair...
oh, lay me back
on that marble slab. How disturbing.
I am his patient,

patient as a corpse.
Gums course with balsams,
hollows packed with salt—

I die a little.

Then she enters,
looking like Boris' Natasha—
Zomb's Horror,

Nurse Rocky.
Her eyes are six feet deep,
earth-brown, and sad.
She cranks down lake loon
on Zomb's Victrola.

"Let the loon lull you.
Good doctor will return.
He always returns."
(It is inevitable.)

She exudes lethargy.
The Horror and loon
lull me...

for awhile.
I am tender
and blue.

It was inevitable.

 

[Tzara]

Bruise Theory

My dentist, Milford Lynch,
(Dr. Zomb
when he's out of the room). . .

Now that is so effing good that I don't even want to write poetry anymore. What's the point?

Serve as Evie's lackey? Her lickspittle?

She may like that.

Hell. I may like that.

Really good poem, missy.

 

[WickedEve]

Now that is so effing good that I don't even want to write poetry anymore. What's the point?

Serve as Evie's lackey? Her lickspittle?

She may like that.

Hell. I may like that.

Really good poem, missy.

I must use lackey and lickspittle in a poem.

 

[Tzara]

I must use lackey and lickspittle in a poem.

For proper attribution, you should footnote me if you do.

No jokes, now, about footnotes. You may use the word "footnotes" in a poem, however.

 

[Tzara]

Naiad

I know that you have water there,
and that with you I want to swim.

 

[Sara Crewe]

Fill the Frame

We don’t drink from the river
or grind flour for bread. Water flows
from plastic taps and loaves are sealed
in labeled bags. There are no baskets
or buckets of necessity balanced
on our heads but we still carry

an intangible clock that changes
faces and counts both up and down.
When the numbers fade we think
history will pat our self-proclaimed
sophisticated backs but hindsight
will slap our faces for crossing
cookie-cutter days off electronic calendars
like kids waiting for Christmas
in a January storm. A barefoot walk

to the wheat fields or a subway ride
to work take you to the same place.
Speed is not a measure of success
unless you live on a track. It’s who stops
you along the way that writes the story
each day and makes you believe
you mattered in the end. If you never go
further than corner store before you rush
back to your car remember to say hello
to Joe and always smile for the camera.

 

[Sara Crewe]

I have never liked being human
in the night. When I was young
the evening let evil loose to play
in the trees at my window and the shadows
bled from my walls. They dripped
down under the bed and waited
for me or maybe all they wanted
was my fear and that’s why
I never saw a face. Now the darkness
hides nothing. I am stripped
of the ornament of day and all that’s left
in this jewelry box is a broken ballerina
who clicks when she tries to turn
to the empty hum of a florescent light.
Now my fears are brazen and face me
in the mirror. I stare at them staring
at me and all I want is someone to close
my eyes, pull me under the covers
and promise it will be okay.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Ohm's Law

.....

 

[clutching_calliope]

ZZ Top Songs

.....

 

[Tzara]

Conducting ourselves
in a civil manner
doesn’t gain us the same output

as when your resistance is low
and the electricity
between us

high.

Static Electricity

Rubbing fur
with glass rod
builds
one huge potential.

Such high voltage
can be fun. I know my skin
tingles and, gosh,
the hair on my arm rises.

But please remember,
it's not the voltage.

It's the current
that is deadly.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Deadly

.....

 

[clutching_calliope]

Crop Circles

The wheat plains were waving again, calling
me back to the place of the Great Sky
or signaling their goodbyes. I never can tell

which it is; whether I feel welcome
or abandoned. The wind’s doughy arms

constantly push me away from her bosom
and into the cities of strangers. Frantic,
I look for her in the crowd
but her brown, sensible heels

are known to me only by the ploughed furrow
in your brow, the lines dug for sage at
the corners of your eyes.

I’d like to call you home but
when I feel you breathing I’m scared
you might be signaling your goodbye.

 

[Tzara]

Philosophical

Love skips life sometimes,
as how frozen rope
shatters on spiked grass.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Sword Swallower

In my dream,
I looked for statue stones,
markers to guide the way
to the next danger waiting with a knife.

They say I’m frightened of penises,
of the man, the man, the men. They

don’t know I spent twenty years
in the circus
and all the knives I’ve ever known

were set on fire and swallowed.

 

[clutching_calliope]

Tropic of Aquarius

Days
I want to spend swimming
in the curiosity of your tidal pool
and languid lagoon, floating
alongside lotus flowers. Nights
trickle with the seeping
of your love
to fill up this vacant ocean
when you’re gone.

 

[Tzara]

Jennifer Lopez at Graumann's Chinese

OK, so she isn't all that great, but
what the hell are they thinking of?

I don't want an imprint of her
footprints. I want one of that butt.




OK, so work is slow this afternoon. Whatzyer problem?

 

[bogusbrig]

Jennifer Lopez at Graumann's Chinese

OK, so she isn't all that great, but
what the hell are they thinking of?

I don't want an imprint of her
footprints. I want one of that butt.




OK, so work is slow this afternoon. Whatzyer problem?

Jennifer lopez's butt is elevated
without the help of superstructure
which fascinated the mind
of the intellectual Mr Tzara
who spent the afternoon on computer analysis
calibrating the curve
and evaluating her suspension
while the bottom fell out
of the New York stock market.