writing live

[cascadiabound]

25. 1/13/22

Dull sky, smudged and stained
Matches my mood
Darkened further by visions of
patients waiting
In Fords, subarus and mazdas
Bucket toting nurses
skuttle back and forth
Shrouded in gowns and shields
Beat down by repetition
Rude self righteousness demanding
Ivermictin, dry mist, god knows what next

Blackened monitors
My face mirrored double
Spinning think-delay
Patient demands numerous
As those Flickering pixels
Calls unceasing
recode, decode, record
N95 filters every breath
A staccato of innunciation
Obscuring compassion
Under dozens of demands
Referral, refill, refuse, refute
Shifting protocols, hypervigilance
Risk assessment variables
Unsteady as a tilt a wheel
Disorienting in this not so fun house

We bleed dismay and morale
Leaching that call to serve
Until it's a mere shadow
Resiliance broken by whiplash
One grateful for small favors
Next angry and recalcitrant
Denying science and expertise
Feels like a debilitating strobe light
Peircing my muddled mind
Depleted, demoralized, devoid
That once bright spark
Reduced to a smudge

 

[Piscator]

sans nombre 4

a falling star
flashes across the night sky
darkness revealed​

 

[Winter_Fare]

#15
Slave to the Villanelle...

It begins with a kiss
And controlling her mind
And it ends with a fist

You're the one that she missed
Because her love is blind
It begins with a kiss

Love is nothing like this
This is false and unkind
And it ends with a fist

But reality twists
Like a snake you unwind
It begins with a kiss

That she cannot resist
Burn the dream that you signed
And it ends with a fist

But you're still on my list
And I think that you'll find
It begins with a kiss
And it ends with a fist

 

[Winter_Fare]

#16

Constrained

Why am I drawn to the fit and the form
How does it know how to find me
Safely lashed down in the eye of the storm
Forms irresistibly bind me
I could write anything wholesome and free
Something inside must confine me
Bury my offerings in wank fantasy
Here on this thread they define me
Maybe I'm ignorant, maybe the norm
Is to crack off a blast and unwind
Daily I find myself fucking the form
And I'm happy to be so confined

 

[Piscator]

sans nombre 5

Walking the Dog on a January Morning

Blue sky and bright sun
belie the piercing cold
the snow just short of
squeaking, but frost’s
bite is possible when I
turn to face the wind.

Remember not what was
rather recall what might
have been.

 

[Winter_Fare]

Dog wood throws up
A dozen shoots
For every one it loses
So slender greenwood
Even then
As tough as briar roses
And in the January light
I love how red it glows
I'll keep it, I suppose

 

[butters]

#12

when size matters... a tale of two men


here's one man
faced with hostages
grimy with fear
pinched by poverty
drenched in sickness
in need

and as they kneel
supplicants of his aid
he feels his stature grow
his chest expand
a pride that bloats all decency
even as the white gloves
on his hands
remain pristine

then there's the man
when faced by these same sorrows
is forced to his own knees
heavy hand of shame upon his shoulder
stature diminished
eyes wet with acrid tears

his heart burns–determination
to lift up them all
from society's soils
to a sturdy, level standing
with kind hands
strong hands
sure hands thick with muck

*

as for those men in the middle
they get to choose
whether to reach on up
grab a coat-tail
or reach on down
and lend a helping hand

 

[HarryHill]

..
Content Partially Visible

She strode out the front door,
past scurrying shoppers bundled against cold weather,
ground length fur edged coat open,
a dark picture frame for the tall lean girl,
low cut white blouse under pink flesh,
a distant gaze, cheeky satisfied smile,
no hurry, enjoying the dim day and her garb.

She must have seen me,
heater on high, staring through the wind shield,
changed her destination for one just past the car,
but the gaze and smile never changed,
even when I powered the window down, commented,
'nice coat' as she passed,
gone with her thank you.
...

 

[Piscator]

sans nombre 6

Unanswered Questions

Why does a google of immobile
yield the name of an Italian soccer player
and only when I ask for meaning does
“not capable of movement or of being moved”
show up and not "incapable"
and why doesn’t this move me?

And if immortal gods mate
Incestuously as seems their
wont, are their offspring
imimmortal or just mortal
and can two negatives
ever make a positive?

 

[butters]

#13

smudge-footed day retreats
trailing in its wake
long streamers of lace
stained in shades of ash, of mud

bare limbs
gilt-edged with sodium lights
reach up, intent to dip their twigs
in night's descending ink
commit wordless stories
upon the scattered pages
faces of unflinching stars

moonlight's kiss excites the grass
its frosty breath enhances each sharp blade
with promise never to be kept
as, yet, sweet Mother Moon
swims high, aloof
in some distant, gold-ringed pool

 

[Winter_Fare]

#18

I woke up today
More sad than angry
For a change
The wings of my emotions
Clipped
I think of Vaselisa
Mountains of jagged glass
Growing higher
And there's no way back
And there's no way on
But to fake determination
So I do
And here on the other side
My feet are bloody
But I climb the mountain
Every day
For you

 

[Winter_Fare]

#19

Isolation with your family
Is an absurd contradiction
That is all

 

[Winter_Fare]

Drive
It might save you
From saying too much too soon
To her tell it out the window instead
And the moon has your back
For when you drive
Back

 

[Winter_Fare]

#21

Half open eyes
Lamp light
Soft edged tears
Spent
Where did the years go
What we meant
When we said forever
Blurs
Between the thumb and paper
Charcoal
Cut and blended
In our time

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#7 1/21/22

One Night Stand

A weather-diverted plane
to a snow-bound city,
night bright with reflections
yet I couldn’t see your face
next to me on the crowded
city bound shuttle,
Our conversation small talk,
mundane, but your deep voice
intrigued me.

Hotel rooms scarce, you offer
to share and I hesitated
having tried in vain
to find my own, but
oh, the implications in
that honeyed voice.

In the anonymous atmosphere
of international travel I
took a breath.

We had scant minutes
while the bus paused and
in the street light I saw your face.
In that instant I decided, took
your proffered hand
and let you be my guide,
off the bus and through the night.

 

[ChromeCollar]

Aching for you
In the marrow of my bones
Yearning for your voice
Lost in the unknowns

Left in this shadowed
Memory laden hell
Despite the duplicity
Still under your spell

Telling myself lies
The truth hurts too deep
Try to summon a smile
But all I can do is weep

Why did you put us to sleep?
I'm crumpled in a heap
Tears that endlessly seep
My heart you continue to reap

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 8 1/22/22

Hallucinations?

Be grateful for dry places
on this wintry night,
the young man tells himself out loud
and holds his thin coat tight.
Draws deeper into shadows
to find a dryer spot,
he aches with pangs of hunger
for food he has not got.

The door gives way with pressure
and opens just a crack,
he’s in a great proscenium
standing at the back.
Looks up to see the open sky
through charred and broken beams
then rows and rows of empty seats
with torn and splitting seams,

Imagining the way it was
before the fire hit,
with velvet seats and polished floor
and chandeliers lit.
He sits on one abandoned step
and gazes at the stage
where vaudeville and comedy
once were all the rage.

The boy, made weak with hunger
and weary to his core
sees shadowy men and women
on the stage once more.
All night long he laughs and smiles,
appreciates the fun.
The ghosts perform for him alone
an audience of one.

The men and women smile and bow
then seem to fade away.
He shuts his eyes to save the sight
for yet another day.
The roosting starlings in the roof
begin their morning trill.
He rises, stretching painfully
and goes out in the chill.

 

[Winter_Fare]

#22

Crusader
Riffing on Hitler
Wanking over Franco
Flexing army style
Take care of the children
Read them the good book
Smile
Don't look
Till the sea comes in
Mother just wait
Til the sea comes in
If wishes were horses
Then Lennon would ride
But he died
There are no good guys

 

[Winter_Fare]

#23

I fuck myself
To feel good
And so does
The man
With the big long gun

 

[oneblueye]

hey...

dragons, dragons--!!
one after another and another.
chasing across the sky
skimming cross-wise winds--,
of discontent and discord.
Flying transparent bags of bones.
memories awakening the nightmares we used,
to exist on--, to feed on--, to perpetuate.
there is no mystery here, I know who you are.
I fear no dragons I know,
I fear no winds that blow.

 

[HarryHill]

I lost control somewhere and it came out disjointed I’m trying to hash them together seamlessly but it may just end up another random thought that got semi written. It may end up in my trash bin in the poetry hangout if I can make it work the way I want it too

..
Losing control is sometimes the best answer to poetic questions.
...

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 9 1/24/22

Uncles and Aunts

We had uncles and aunts a-plenty.
Generous and loving, they indulged us
gleefully. Couples, often with no children
of their own or spinster aunts all doting on
this surrogate family.


School holidays meant a stay
with one or other of our countless,
uncomplaining relatives. The lucky
went to Cornwall or London, others
up the road for more of the same.

Eccentricity was the norm.
Spindly, brittle Aunt Barbara,
a librarian who collected Grimm’s
storybooks and cats both of which
frightened us. Uncle John made
string puppets and told us vivid stories
regurgitated in our dreams.
Uncle Charles lived in Wales,
quoted Dylan at the table instead
of grace and cheated at Scrabble.
We loved them all unconditionally.
as templates, guides or
as a warning of hyper-benevolence.

We children absorbed the love
and gifts like greedy little sponges.
Christmas and birthdays were
shameless indulgences with
thoughtful gestures from uncles
and aunts, often broken
and forlorn before bedtime.



​

 

[butters]

#14

eyes closed
shoulder snug beneath duvet
lips curled, content
your departing kiss

not quite ready to do day
thoughts drifted from dreams
of goats and steep stairs
to painting and how
i'd make good use of the light
(no need to cut wood
no imperative chores)
cat-pawing at notions
of a red-shingled roof
on a pale-yellow house
shaping windows and door frames
log planters filled full of roses in bloom
a sloping green yard

time wasting away

so up and pee
check the fire, pour coffee
outside in sunshine
sort animal feeds
and breakfast for for ma'am
(oatmeal, don't forget the knob of butter
and get out her honey)
and then–oh, the error

of pushing a button
to turn on the computer
reading news bites and emails
like a paperless broadsheet
and a need to reply
to my s-in-law's mail
(her cancer's progressing
how she's now torn her knee)
so a long response sent
and a check-in at Lit

more than half the day spent
not a paintbrush is wet

 

[Winter_Fare]

#24

Petrichor

Cinnamon smells like Christmas
Fairy liquid my grandmother's house
Orange juice was my first flat
Febreeze is postnatal depression
Vanilla candle is an old flame
But the city after rain
Smells like home

 

[cascadiabound]

26 1/24/22

Magenta and orange streaked sky
Stunning colors steal my breath
En-bayed water liquid gold
Silhouetted ferry traverses
Swirling silver grey currents
Falling temperature forms fog
Spilling from cedar tops
Blanketing the waters
Pink tinged sky smudges grey
Little lights dot the shore
Salish sea nightfall