writing live

[Winter_Fare]

Mondrian

Deep paint
On canvas
Ordered
Beyond its parts

Composition No. II

Blows minds
Realigns
Synapses
Breaks boundaries

Without context
It is
Just
Squares

Green was never in the picture

It was under
His skin
It made him
Bleed

Theosophy

There is
No religion
Higher than
Truth

 

[Winter_Fare]

Six alarms at ten minute intervals
Three little arguments about the time
Coffee eggs toothpaste
Little bowls of cheerios
Four packed lunches

Existential crisis from the nine year old

Kit bags
Recorders
Drama costume

Keys
Phone
Purse

School run rush-hour

Three hurried kisses goodbye
Hustle
Fumble bus pass in queue
Headphones immersion in music
Restorative walk through autumn leaves

Made it with at least 45 seconds to spare.
Uniform
ID
Mask
(fucking pen! I knew I'd forgotten something…)

Begin work

 

[Winter_Fare]

When hatred builds a home
It isn't thickened skin
It's little bricks
It's all the words
We choose to cling to

Lime mortar
Hardens year by year

The toxic atmosphere
Of disappointment
Fills the house
Sterilising open wounds
That bleed no more

There's no unsaying what's been said
But all you carry in your head
Can be laid down and put to bed

Outside under the willow trees
Older, softer, harder than me
I lock the door and 'lose' the key

 

[Rockymtnman]

Leaves on fire
golds, browns and reds
rustling and singing
in the trees
as if written just for me

the smell of earth and rot
rises as the sun dips
behind a bright orange mountain
my heart drums
bump-bump bump-bump
as the last ray brightens my face

neither melancholy nor morose
stoic maybe in my thoughts
of the coming dread of winter

 

[Rockymtnman]

Montana

Walking through a tall field of sweet grass
slightly dewy from yesterday’s rain
the gurgle of the bitteroot
like a friend saying, hello
makes me smile
i lay down one last time
to become part of the land
from whence I was sprung

 

[Rockymtnman]

The last ray of sunlight
dance across my fingertips
as if I’ve caught a firefly

as it fades, the cool breeze
gently rustles my hair
it smells of pine now
soft, but there

a new light has shown
softer, less bright
but no less wonderful
ive caught a new firefly
shining it’s light

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Silence is not golden
leaves that fall
brought in oceans
of bursting bubble bath
in the bow wash
of my rubber boots

Silence me not
more than a bed
of snowflakes sick
from all that dancing
through windless nights
but crunch under winter boots

Silence is not
the answer to anything
a word that can't be spoken
a state that must be broken
where people keep on silencing
others with their combat boots

 

[Rockymtnman]

Ode to Poe

a fine evening it was to be
unfortunately, spoiled by thee
when you came rap, tap, tapping
at my chamber door

alas, my neighbor
Don, the bore
i’ve hated no one ever more
hence, my visit to the drawer

a quick thrust here
and quick slash there
quote the raven… “Don‘s no more”


silly, I know but I love me some EAP

 

[Rockymtnman]

Silence is not golden
leaves that fall
brought in oceans
of bursting bubble bath
in the bow wash
of my rubber boots

Silence me not
more than a bed
of snowflakes sick
from all that dancing
through windless nights
but crunch under winter boots

Silence is not
the answer to anything
a word that can't be spoken
a state that must be broken
where people keep on silencing
others with their combat boots

A Rebuttal

silence is golden
when the snow flies
and the pillowy white rain
deadens all sound
but your breathing
and the noisy world
is tamped out
and forgotten

silence is golden
when the door shuts
and solitude
is you reward
leading to a book read
and a scotch drunk

silence is golden
when their all asleep
and the world and road
whizzes by
mile after mile.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

A Rebuttal

silence is golden
when the snow flies
and the pillowy white rain
deadens all sound
but your breathing
and the noisy world
is tamped out
and forgotten

silence is golden
when the door shuts
and solitude
is you reward
leading to a book read
and a scotch drunk

silence is golden
when their all asleep
and the world and road
whizzes by
mile after mile.

A Rerebuttal (so, a Fullfrontal?)

Mile after mile
as the snow flows by
the eve's gold silenced
by black velvet above
I'm a twin star riding
the night

Thought after thought
in the silence
of Radio Nowhere
leaving tracks
in the piling white
far from home

Turn after turn
of cars passing by
there's no one there
to make me stop
for a few simple lines
won't be silenced in the ditch

This was Freedom.

 

[Rockymtnman]

A Rerebuttal (so, a Fullfrontal?)

Mile after mile
as the snow flows by
the eve's gold silenced
by black velvet above
I'm a twin star riding
the night

Thought after thought
in the silence
of Radio Nowhere
leaving tracks
in the piling white
far from home

Turn after turn
of cars passing by
there's no one there
to make me stop
for a few simple lines
won't be silenced in the ditch

This was Freedom.

Allow me to retort

the flashing lights
are a disco in my mind
a distant wail
the sirens call of fate

shook
but not broken
nary a word is spoken

until, fuck you ditch
tumbles from my lips

 

[29wordsforsnow]

On yet another twenty-five hour late autumn day
summer is stuck in the ever-changing future way
who said you should stop to be clad
in shorts at the end of October: mad!
Writing twenty-five might end one late in the day

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Allow me to retort

the flashing lights
are a disco in my mind
a distant wail
the sirens call of fate

shook
but not broken
nary a word is spoken

until, fuck you ditch
tumbles from my lips

Let me dare to insist

Here from the roadside -
some might already call a night -
the fireflies' glitter - seen from the gutter -
seems like a perfect punktuation - the ones in blues -
no one said you need a point - watching from the curb - the click of the shutter -
unheard - mouthing American Sentences from the sideline - I can feel the fireflies' tune in my muddy shoes.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Once upon a time
a Scot
got quite so high
on bottles of Scotch
they eventually called it a mountain
for a moment
before he came down
"Oh, tweedle-dae-dum,
I dinnae want this
but my fav'rite Jamaican rum."​

 

[29wordsforsnow]

In the light of the morning's eighth hour
the dreams and unspoken nightmares drown
in a cup of hopeful dark power
'awake' is far from being a noun
more and more of the bitter-sour
and we're talking, no more the clown
going from zero to the night's hero.
Reality strikes, a quarter past.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Before the window and two meters down
in the lovely decay of yellow and brown
lurks the heart of evil, so vicious and mean
pushing its fingers, glittering grassy green
you blossoming monsters know it's true
my winter has been stolen
achoo
by your pollen

 

[29wordsforsnow]

We've been warned
dangling our lazy legs
in the river of love
might lead to turbulences
and rather cold feet

But, with our backs
in between what's later hay
daisies and maybes
growing up to certainties
while our lips meet

 

[butters]

old ghosts

when our ghosts first find us
haunt us
they're restless
hungry things
greedy to feed
off our fear, our distress

time and familiarity
wears them down
till they're no more than echoes
like cool air across a tooth's empty socket
an almost-shadow
the memory of an ache
once bone-deep but now
a dull creak
just a copy
of a copy
of a copy
faded scraps of a lost dog poster


------------------------------------



this version accepted for publication on the Open Arts Forum Front Page in August '23
https://openartsforum.com/

 

[EllenMore]

Weekend

Passion can make you dumb,
but does so much to keep you going.
—Carly Simon

I never want to be shallow,
but sometimes sex
leaves me with the emotional depth
of an oil slick on a hot driveway,
slipping me onto my back, legs askew,
hoping nothing other than my ego
gets broken in our mutual frenzy.
This isn't love, not even hardly,
it's more Darwinian than that—
wanting your cock inside me
because, well, the line of your jaw
or the slimness of your hips
or because I noticed the swell
in your jeans when you spied
how well my hips fit my leggings
or even just because it'd been too long
for either of us and no one else
we liked was anywhere near.
Don't read too much into this:
while I loved having you lift my legs
onto your shoulders, if I never
see you again, I'll live through it,
happily prowling at times
for some other guy who wants
the same thing I want, sometime
late at night on a weekend
when I can sleep in late
for two, or even three, days.

 

[Rockymtnman]

to LD


It’s just a hint
but it’s there
like a whiff of smoke
from a fire miles away

light, ethereal
gone swiftly
oh, but it’s there

eyes don’t lie
you like what you see
the little too long stare
the slight flush
of the neck
a nervous fiddle with your hair

seen it too many times
to miss it anymore
shall it be a chase
a wait and see
maybe, never
i don’t know

but you gave me your number
and where there’s smoke
there fire

 

[Rockymtnman]

Purpose

what purpose do you serve?
she asked

to fill your life with love

i have many for that
she replied

then to fill your life with dread

i have many for that as well
she said

 

[butters]

the psychology of fallen leaves

deep drifts
move
wave-form
before the yard broom
their dryness transmuted
to ochre liquidity
mimicking the voices
of bluer cousins wetting a beach

and i got to thinking
about leaves—
moments in our lives that fall from time's tree
to litter the lawns and driveways of our days
how they pile up
deep and deeper
against fences of our own erecting
blow aimlessly
before cold winds of chance
or plaster, wet and clammy
slick hazard on the tarmac

is it better to pull down those fences
allow our sere foliage
in all its hues
find their own place
their compounded weight scattered
to replace lost soil
via humble worm and microbe?
or pour gasoline
all over
thumb-flick the lighter
divine immolation
last blaze of glory
burn it all down
even the fence?

for now i choose a middle path
hoard them deep
against the old prone log
cover them with mesh
know snakes and bugs will over-winter there
amidst the shades of laughter and regrets

 

[butters]

with pockets full of eggs
i hear the news
of 5 years' drought
and the impact of a war
thousands of miles away
mothers having to choose
which child gets food today
as babies die
for want of milk
and eggs

 

[Rockymtnman]

It flutters and floats
as if pulled on a string
by someone yet unseen

to and fro and fro and to
unique, light, cold
soft as a dandelion
before it explodes on a windy day

it covers all
in a blanket
shining like crystals
in the soft winter sun

 

[Winter_Fare]

A.I.

A lace maker's hands
Soft and nimble
Plied art unsurpassed
By machines

But
Good enough

And
Cheap enough

Have long ago stolen
The lace makers means

An artist expounds on
The shape of reality
Filters and processes
Tweaks and resizes

Hubris personified
Data anonymised

Crafting commodities
Curious oddities

Packaged and sold
And re rendered in bold

For the sake of commission
And popular vision

And greed

Pieces of artists
Become
Art Indeed