Wow! Y’all came through in a big way yesterday. I’m so pleased that I nearly had a heart attack coming in this morning and seeing the response. Woo-hoo!
Before I get into the prompt, I wanted to address a few questions that came up yesterday. First off, yes, you can add your poem after midnight of the day of the prompt. That means you can play “catch up” later in the month if you ever fall behind. Thinking long term, all poems should be in by the first weekend of May at least.
Second, I don’t care if you post previous poems if they align with the challenge, but just remember: That kind of defeats the purpose of this challenge, since we’re concerned with writing new material. As we would say in track practice, “You’ll only be cheating yourself.”
Third, poems should be posted in the Comments here. If you try multiple times and still have problems posting, feel free to email your poem to me (robert.brewer@fwpubs.com) with “Poetry Prompt Response” in the subject line–along with which prompt (by number) it goes with and your name. Then, I’ll paste those into the comments myself.
*****
Okay, then. So here we go with Prompt #2: Put yourself in someone (or something) else’s skin and write a poem about the experience. Who (or what) ever you become, please make that the title of the poem. If you’re Buddy Holly, your poem should be called “Buddy Holly.” If you’re the Bates Motel, your poem should be called “Bates Motel.” And so on.
Think hard on this one. My first attempt did not work out as well as I thought it might (imagining I was Dolly Parton). However, I think I’m good with my second subject, which is…
“Godzilla”
I was raised by whales–
maybe why I hide under water;
that and the fact those people always–
and I mean always–
shoot stuff at me.
Bad enough I’m constantly catching their little buildings–
awkward as they are–
between my toes,
but when I try to speak,
when I try to say,
“I just want to get along,”
all that comes out is my mother tongue,
straight up whale,
which,
contrary to popular belief,
sounds terrifying out of water.
For instance,
I love you becomes,
“Aaaiiiaraiargaiaiarrrrrr…”
*****
For another example and an even better Godzilla poem, check out this one by Aaron Belz. (If I’d known this existed earlier, I would’ve written a King Kong poem.) 
Rhythm
Started out in the soul of a man.
Pumped through his blood, jerking muscles
and a bobbing head heralded my coming.
He slapped his knee in time, and
Out I came!
Slipped past lips that smelled of beer.
He smiles at my sound. Invisible but,
He knows I’m there.
Fell down toward the floor, captured
just in time by some machine.
Editing, copying, wrapped in plastic now.
Popped me into a stereo?
Here I come!
Surge of electricity, swimming through copper
at the speed of light. Are you ready for me?
Shot through your speakers, a little bit louder than
his lips.
Flew over to where you were standing. Sat in your ear.
"How do you like me?"
colour
i am everywhere
your mind will wander
i brighten
and
darken
till you think i’m gone
yet i never disappear
not even when i look clear
even my blackest face
is woven
with blue and mauve
and past the grey i will smatter
you with
silver light
look at me
when i am white
so rich
so cold
so yellow
bolder
than wrinkles
they is no escaping me
i am here when you sleep
in the clouds
or shadows
i am never far
look for me resting in your fingertips
or the sighs of love from your heart
your temperature rises when
i flush
your cheeks
and the scent of sky shining
from your eyes
is all mine
just as the ribbons of wind colour the day
i am living
and in
my breath flows a thousand
rainbows
i am everywhere
your mind will wander
i am so much more than you can see
or name
more than your words
or shades
i am colour
i belong to no-one
IF I WERE IN YOUR SHOES
If I were in the shoes of a stand-up comedian
I’ve often wondered what that might be like
It would depend largely I suppose
On just how good I was, i.e. funny
Or perhaps, how inebriated my audience was, i.e. drunk
Or became, i.e. funny or drunk, as the act wore on
On any given night
Still, I picture myself on Just for Laughs
Waiting in the wings, off stage left
All sweaty-palms and nervous energy
Reviewing material mentally, over and over
It wouldn’t even matter if it was
stuff I’d rehearsed to death
Material I’d written myself
Tried out on friends and family
Who had almost puked, and assured me
They were near-hurling with laughter,
it was that funny
No – there I would be,
raring to go on stage
And then, right then,
everything I was about to say
Would seem inane,
Unfunny, too silly,
not up-to-date enough,
not profane enough
Too profane,
not profound enough,
too intellectual for words
Omigod – what was I thinking
It is a packed house;
they are calling my name?
Please, please –
just don’t let me fall down
Or forget the jokes, or -
What if nobody
Nobody – laughs?
What’s the worst thing
that could happen
I wonder, to a new comic?
To any comedian?
Is it to bomb?
To be heckled unmercifully?
I heard just yesterday that,
a long-time
Well-known, renowned actually,
stand-up guy,
a really hilarious guy
one who had
won awards
and everything,
this guy,
he killed himself last weekend.
What’s with that, I wonder
Didn’t he find himself funny?
Probably not.
I hear comedians use
humour to defuse
their pain or something.
Maybe it’s not all
it’s cracked up to be
What does that mean, anyhow?
All it’s cracked up to be?
Aren’t things that are cracked
on the way to being broken?
Or, conversely,
they could be on the way
to being fixed, I guess
Oh, will you listen to me
If I am going to
approach even clichés
from such a philosophical stance
Wouldn’t that negate
any chance of being
a successful
stand up comedian?
Or is it, comedienne,
given that I’m of the
distaff side?
I guess I could always try
for being one of those
fuzzy, obscure types
like Steven Wright?
Who isn’t funny
unless you wait a beat
and really think about
what he’s saying
Yeah, I guess maybe
I could do that
Or not
I hope old SW doesn’t have
any suicidal tendencies.
Yeah.
S.E.Ingraham
FATHER
Forgiving, ever
Achieving, for
Truth, and
Humility, so
Each incurs
Redemption.
OCEAN
I am the ocean
beating the shores of my prison
foaming at the mouth
throwing salt at the sky
then guided as always by the moon
I recede
calm, demure
bask in the sun
resting myself.
I know I am beautiful
I see myself reflected in the sky
but I am ill
poisoned by the humans
I must prepare
for my revenge!
Maureen Sexton
I’m catching up since I started on Day 12. Hope that’s okay. Thanks.
Pugzilla
Where’s my food dish?
Where’s my leash?
Where’s the person who takes me for a walk?
Who is she anyway?
She says I’ve known her for eight years
But she makes it hard,
She keeps buying new shoes.
Where’s my food dish?
Where’s my toy?
Where’s my chew stick?
Where’s the little girl who always drops her cheerios?
Who is she anyway?
She came from out of nowhere and she keeps getting bigger.
Where’s my food dish?
Where’s the rug I like to curl up on?
Where’s my food dish?
ELSIE
I tried my best to convince
those city slickers
it wasn’t ethical,
more like downright mean,
puttin’ my face and my name
to Madison Ave. hype,
but them city folks big-buck
crazy wouldn’t hear
a mother’s complaint,
hankered on doing what pleased ‘em
and to hell with my pride
and all the young ‘uns watchin’
me dolled up like some floozie cow
with my TV smile, chewin’ my cud,
battin’ my pretty long lashes
as if I was in it for my health,
when all the while they’re pushin’
Borden’s Condensed Milk,
the cameraman callin’ out "Camera
ready" and make-up dustin’ my face.
Me! Elsie, Old Farmer Gray’s own
pride and joy, in a bonnet,
in an apron, in a TV commercial!
If it didn’t give me terrible
belly cramps, if my calves
didn’t go hungry, I’d strike,
say no to morning milkin’,
let them pull to their hearts’
content, curse at the empty bucket,
but farm country ain’t free country.
So I grit my big cow teeth into
one powerfully fake bovine smile
I show to the camera
and remember when a cow’s life
meant somethin’ and there was respect
for life on the farm
and rich pure milk
made America strong.
#
(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci
*****
April 2 Poem a Day Challenge
Cameron
Jumping, twisting, and turning 7
Can’t they see that I am just burning 9
To have fun.
3
Why do adults call me down
I don’t mean to act just like a clown,
That’s just me.
I’m not sure that I can stay
Without diving, and rolling at play
See me be
My joyful face fills the room
Happiness reigns, never the gloom
They all laugh
How can I let you know
That I really do want to show
All my self
Learning, working and the gist
Are not on the top of my “do” list
Settle down
Can’t someone make some fun deeds
So learning the skills for future needs
Isn’t glum
And so my happy playful self
Tries to fit into a prescribed shelf
Woe is me
by Ann Lynn Whiteside
*****
Lone Ranger
I was at the ranch with Tonto today
sitting by the fire it was a bitter day
I heard the shotsnot to far away
I took off on silver as quick as you may
I arrived at the stagecoach in plenty of time
no one was hurt or suffering from crime
The stage hand shared he knew the men
said they were all from the circle K ten
The Lone Ranger knew the circle K well
he rounded up the men and put them all in a cell.
by Louisa Ritchotte
*****
Thomas Clough
"The Sun"
It seems another doleful day,
The universe outside me sways,
Yet in the center I must stay,
around which all revolves.
I shine my rays with outward force,
Yet at my center, near the source,
Sits the pallor of remorse,
Distinct shades, un-evolved.
Still as the solitude enshrouds,
I trace arias in the clouds,
And my voice grows strong and loud,
To echo on the wind.
On mountaintops, with soft caress,
I travel slowly to their chest,
On ocean breeze and watercress
Is where my day begins.
And though at times, with great lament,
I look upon God’s wonderment,
And question his work’s grand intent,
I’ll never leave my post.
While I’ve heavy work to do,
It’s weight will leave with follow through,
And in the end, I’ll never rue
The universe I host.
*****
MY SPIRIT My silent partner stays with me Until the very end, And with my conscience gives a shove, if I should e’er offend. A maiden fair who walks on air, and fills me with such love’ Though I am mortal, but not thee, When day is done. A maiden fair that walks on air, That fills me with such love. We are one, though I am mortal but not thee
by Sandra Porter
*****
AC Leming
Massage Table
I stand in the same small room all day
as they dance around me. Dressing,
undressing, heaving themselves onto me,
then slipping away an hour later.
Turing on command, they moan and groan,
or lay quiet, self-conscious. Sighing
blissfully or flinching from pain,
they lay on me as my owner rubs creme
into their skins to lubricate hands
which would drag and pinch, otherwise.
Skin and bone, connective tissue, muscle
and blood, all compress me as they, in
turn, are compressed. My owner leans
into them, and me, and I brace myself
against the ground on my four legs.
Again and again, hour after hour, body
after body, heavy and thin, fit and fat,
I see them all, touch them all through
my vinyl skin, hold them up with my
wooden legs, support them with the
cables which brace me enough to
carry their weight, my appendages
cradle their faces, my foam cushions
their stay in this small room of comfort,
of escape, of relaxation, of joy. I
envelope them with heat, with care,
with peace, so they can leave better
than when they first lay down on me.
*****
A Man
Never could I imagine being someone other than who I am
Yet, today rather than to be a woman I choose to be a man
Right away I notice my hands and feet have grown
My once delicate jaw-line is now a strong jawbone
The beauty of my hour-glass shape no longer ceases to be
Replaced with a much broader chest with hair and bulging muscles for all the women to see
My hips no longer sway as I stroll about through town
My thoughts are not of dinner but rather footballs’ greatest touchdown
My gait is quick, my stride is long
I am always right, I’m never wrong
I look for love in all the wrong places
Throw away my kings and hold my aces
I drink a beer with my Vodka shot
Find a pretty girl sitting alone at the bar and quickly cop a squat
Being a man hasn’t been proven to be that rough
Besides either or I’m strong, attractive and tough
by Caryl Randolph
*****
My Mother and I
by Ruthie Shevock
Don’t forget to wash you feet
when you come into the house
Remember when dad is sleeping
be as quiet as a mouse.
Your watching too much television
while playing your video games
You have so many friends calling
I can’t remember half their names
.
Do your homework, wash the dishes
and make sure you feed the dog.
Make your bed and clean your room
Before you go out for your jog.
And certainly clean out yours ears
to wash the dirt away.
For they surely must be blocked
Since you don’t hear a thing I say.
Suddenly I thought to myself
I’ve heard these words before.
Back when I was a teen
living above the carpet store.
I realized these very same words
spoken to me long ago by another.
Though I didn’t appreciate them then
Now I’m glad I turned into my Mother.
*****
Infected by Mankind
By: Amanda L. Selset
April 2, 2008
Born a wolf in Washington
Enjoying the evergreens
Playing in the rain
My brothers and sisters join me too
On this Tuesday I did not hear
The pack calling
Too late ……
I am trapped
Something around my neck
Constricting my breath
It begins to pull me away from my home
Struggling with all my might
It turns and it causes pain
I smell my own blood
Hurt and panicked
I lunged at it griping its front paw
It yells and let’s me go
I can breath
It grabs me again
Its blood dripping into mine
Struggling to get away
Unknowing I was afflicted
I ran far far away
Lost and away from my family
I did what I could to survive
A month goes by before I found out……
I cannot go back now
I am afflicted
I am a thing of nightmares
I am a Werehuman
*****
The Story
I am the story you tell.
I sing through your voice,
I move only through your body.
Your soul and your heart
Are my resting place
Until you give me as a gift:
Other souls, other hearts
Will tell me, will give me,
And I will live forever.
Oh my. I’m on a roll. I wrote two other poems today, before I read the prompt:
yellow daisies like
glowing sunshine in the spring
brightening my days
My favorite (for today, anyway):
I am an old crone,
old as the hills, old as dirt,
joyful in my age.
Thanks for being there
Godfrey Coppinger
storygodfrey.com
*****
PROMPT #2
Amy Duncan positive.minds@hotmail.com
Baby
I lied down to sleep
And when I opened my eyes
To my suprise,
I was less than half my size
I moved my arms
And saw 10 tiny fingers in front of my face
I kicked my legs
Which flew out of control all over the place
I tried to get up
But there was no way
It seemed as though on my back
Is where I would stay
I took a deep breath
And yelled out for help
But even I did not understand
the words that came out of my mouth
It sounded like gibberish
What happend to me
Oh my god I’m a baby
"Waaaah… I want my mommy"
*****
Pretty Dancer
A pretty dancer I am dancing around the floor,
fast and then slow with the partner of my dreams.
We move together to the beat of the songs
waltzing and the jiving as the music changes.
Each dance that there is we move together
he knows just how to make it look good.
I am now the pretty dancer I want to be
with the partner of my dreams
as he leads me around the floor
by Judy Stewart
*****
Buster Bassett
My name is Buster Bassett
and I live at Smooth Sailing Lane.
I was a few weeks old when my mistress
and I met. It was at a local pet shop.
Yes, it was love at first sight.
I could see it in her eyes—and face.
Didn’t Sartre say, “You fall in love with a person
who is what you see in yourself?”
Wuf, WUF. Ohhhh…I knew instantly
she’d be good in bed with me! How I love to kiss!
Big long ones, too. Mostly we enjoy going to bed together.
Boy, did I have her number. She’s never let me down.
I just never knew she’d be that easy.
All I have to do each night is–
get to the side of Our Bed and “pant.”
‘Suppose I’ll pretend I’m crying too. It HAS gotten a bit
harder to leap up at night, like I did when I was a younger stud.
“Buster…time to come up now.”
Hear her? She’ll do that every night.
I guess I’m just irresistible.
And you should hear me howl!
by Barbara Tzetzo Gosch
*****
The River Ganga
The river Ganga I am
Everyone bathes in me and gets purified.
I carry their sins and
And forgive them their trespasses.
In this age of environment consciousness I have heard two women discuss the topic vociferously their offerings for absolution The marigold and sweets Caged in plastic floating.
And little boys defeacate on my banks
Knowing I will wash this away
When I open my arms wide
To embrace all that is organic
But waste.
Yes, I am full of it,
The flowers, the shit
The plastic and the dirt
All mingle in me,
The people are cleansed,
My water still blue
like Shiva’s neck
after he has drunk the poison.
There is a growing price
you have to pay
for veneration.
Carry the largesse of the time.
*
Abha Iyengar, 2nd April, 2008
*****
ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSH
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Click … Buzz
Over white pearlies
What fun!
Buzzzzzzzz, whirrrrl
Get outta the way
You red flapping flag
I’m not brushing you!
Buzz Roll Buzz
I almost sound like a bee
Except my buzz
Sounds more like bizz
B e c a u s e my battery is
Low.
Sally DiUlus sdiulus@cefe.org PAD #2
*****
In Smokey’s Skin
A prompt poem by Charu Colorado
At last
Here we are- in the same place
So how are we going to get out
And in
or in
and out
even
So this is what
you have to put up with
Having to wait for me
All the time
for attention – for food
for me to come home
And
Ohmygod
The fleas!
I don’t even want to get used to them
We will go to be de-fleaed as soon as
I get out
Yes and the claws!
I can see they
bother you as much as me
WHEN I GET OUTA HERE
We will get them clipped
Not removed
No not ever that – just clipped
Oh Smokey
I’m so sorry I have complained about
Your impatience
Your scratches
Your fights with
The blue jays
You are an angel
I love you
I’moutahere
Now
Charu Colorado
*****
I Am This Broken Toy
How many days must I wait
For you to notice me again
I wish you hadn’t lied
And said I was your friend
You play with all the other toys
You always look the other way
Are you afraid to look at me
Afraid what I might say
I’m in the best shape of my life
There’s really nothing wrong with me
So pick me up again today
And play with me and you will see
My arms and legs are all intact
The only thing that’s really broke
My heart is all in pieces now
Discarding me – there went all hope
By Don Ford
*****
Sudden Death – April 2 – Wednesday
Sudden death
Or heart transplant
I am dying
Losing everything
Overwhelmed
I want to live
I can still walk a little
But that will deteriorate
Will I breath through the night
by Toni Engstrom
*****
The News Commentator Speaks
by Paula Fairbrother 4/2/08
I speak therefore I am
I know as you do not
Believe for I say it
Read not yourself
Think not yourself
Speak not yourself
Just let me talk
The truth as I know it
The facts as I interpret
I speak for you
I interrupt others
I state whatever
Doubt me not
Question me not
I am on a TV show
And you, are not
*****
Backyard Swing
Caress of breeze
A life of ease
They think I’ll last forever
Don’t they see
The cracks in me
Or hear me
When I groan?
As weight is flung
Upon my wide planks
To and fro
They go
Yet now I’m weak
I creak
As unsteadily
I hold the thoughts
The conversations
The tears shed upon me
Rust spots, green streaks
Attest to the weathering
Lizards, spiders, ants
All cling to me
I stand tall yet
With no regret
But how much longer
Can I go on?
How much more
Must I bear
Before my frame collapses?
I fear
They’ll find me useless
And tear me down for firewood
Or a space
On the curb
Where I’ll be taken away
To be, I say
Thus, nevermore
by Angie Bell
*****
Here are a lot of poems that have been sent to my email inbox for Day 2. I’ve been so busy between my book and this blog that I’m just now carving out time to get these in here. Sorry to all the poets for the long wait.
Best,
Robert
James
I told you I wanted to marry you,
I told you I would love you always,
I told you that I wanted you as my wife,
I told you the truth,
I did want to marry you,
I did love you always,
I did want you as my wife,
But something happened,
Happened to me,
And than I couldn’t find you,
Couldn’t find where you were,
I thought about you,
I think about you now,
I miss you,
I still wish you were here,
I still wish to be with you,
You have searched for me,
This I know I sense it all the time,
I know times have been tough,
Times have been rough,
But know this darling,
I will always love you,
You brought back love,
When it seemed long forgotten,
I knew from the first moment,
The first moment we talked,
We were meant to be,
I just want you to know I do love you,
That I do still love you,
That I do want you as mine,
And I always will,
Throughout all time,
So let that be in your mind baby,
Let that hold you to your heart,
That you are indeed lovely,
Are indeed beautiful,
And deserve to be loved,
Loved forever,
Until the end of time.
I submitted for this day (April 2) before this, but will give it another go…(April 23)…
Joseph
My world has gone dark
I can’t find my water
I can’t find my food
I can’t find my litter box
I can’t find my favorite place to nap
I can’t talk to you to tell you
Where are you
Find me
Notice me
Know my fear
Hold me tight
Here’s my submittal for Day 2 again; the first submittal never got received for whatever reason, so I’ve resent it. This is about the infamous Lady in Red that helped take down John Dellinger, Public Enemy #1. A little side fact: she actually was wearing an orange dress; it looked red under the movie lights.
The Lady in Red
I feel so pretty tonight.
The heat of the night matches
the fire within me.
Even my orange dress
seems almost red
under the movie marquee
as I walk next to John,
a dead man walking;
only he doesn’t know it yet.
My freedom
at the price of betrayal.
So be it!
The film “Manhattan Melodrama”
pales in comparison to the personal drama unfolding here.
My acting will take down Public Enemy #1.
Glory for me
after the final gory scene.
Death in the streets;
John Dillinger is going to his grave,
and lasting shame
shall be my fame.
I feel so hot tonight;
my rushing blood tints my dress red.
As red as the blood
flowing from a dying man.
-Gene McParland-
North Babylon, NY
MP3 Player
I hold all oeuvres.
Twitch your thumb–Enlightenment!
Or, rock on, Meatloaf.
The Ghost
Wish she could see me through the flood of tears she’s crying
Didn’t mean to crash and burn
Didn’t want to make everybody so sad
Can’t I move a table? Break a glass? Write a note?
Though I try and try, that’s all she wrote
Guess I’ll stick to dreams until she can’t feel me anymore…
Home After the Flood
———————-
Full of terror
and water.
Frightened that I’ll float away,
disappear,
but the water recedes.
I am a mess.
Waves of destruction
have crashed through me,
disturbing anything
and everything
in their path.
My people return,
but do not stay.
They rip out my walls
and leave again
to return,
as it seems,
ages later.
I am lonley.
Slowly they restore me,
until I’m better than my former self,
until I feel warm
and safe again.
My people return
to live out their lives
within me,
and I feel loved.
(For the record, I like your Godzilla poem better)
Tea Mug
I came from Germany
As a gift for my owner.
I’m covered in pictures
And words in German
Describing how "Everything
Is dumb without you".
I’m always filled with tea
Never cocoa or joe.
Something about the taste
Puts a smile on her face
And she holds me in both hands
With love.
My moody pre-teen was on my mind this evening, and I wrote this. (One minute she’s a pain; the other she’s a pure joy.)
"Almost 12"
i’ll say "yes, maam" but it will be like pulling teeth.
you can’t make me get along with my sister.
and don’t even think about criticizing me,
or looking at me funny,
because i’ll roll my eyes
(or burst into tears, one of the two).
and, oh yeah,
did you know that you’re the worst parents ever?
everyone has a cell phone but me.
everyone else’s myspace is public.
everyone else can watch mtv.
i’m almost 12,
and there’s nothing you can do about it.
but wait…
one more thing.
i still want you to tell me what i should do.
i really do like all of your stories.
and can you please tuck me in?
because, after all, i’m only almost 12.
Hannah Montana. . .
If I was a rock star
I’d be in a car (limo)
Thanks to my grandma, mom, and dad
I’d be very glad
I love their support
although I have never been to an airport
©Mari Beth Walmer 4/08/08 #prompt #2
day 1
First
The first time I saw your face
Ordinary I thought
The next time I saw your face
Was the first time
You were with your friend
My friend sweet I thought
The first time I saw your face next
You were on your motor bike
In love I saw you for the first time
Free I thought
Yesterday I saw you for the first time
So like my father
At seventy I thought
we are old
For the first time
Mom
I tried to love you, but it was hard. By
the time you came along, I had been a
mother five times over, too many years
spent taking care of others. When would
there be time for me? When could I
be happy, solitary, just plain alone? If
I had told you how I felt, would you
have understood? Even as you got
older, wiser? I wanted to tell you I
loved you, but just didn’t know how.
By the time you came along, I was so
tired.
Puddle
I once was not so whole;
for I was droplets of water
cascading down the atmosphere.
Fellow drops made me more tangible.
A collection of me.
Yet now I am stagnant.
No longer of any use.
I long for human feet to
jump, touch, tread upon me.
To move me.
I stare up at trees,
hoping that a leaf falls,
to float among me. Or
a flower’s soft petals
enveloping me in fragrance.
I want to be of use again,
yet I know my time is drawing to a close.
The sun will dry me out.
I will evaporate,
never to take on the same form again.
Cookie Monster
Cookie, me like cookie
Is my most famous line
I am blue and furry
And for sweets I always pine
Me like cookie, cookie
Is most of my vocabulary
Yet the adults and kids alike
All prefer me to my friend Harry
So turn on Sesame Street
And watch it with a child
If Big Bird steals my cookie
We can really turn wild
cat
yawn
purr
meow
it’s not that i can’t think
it’s that i don’t have to
i think you call this enlightenment
i was very good in a past life
Catalog Pages
She covets me, I can tell
The way she gently flips across my surfaces
Unfolds my crevices,
tickles my spine
She wants me, I can tell
The way she "Oohs" at a Sapphire shade of blue
"Ahhs" at gold
Murmurs at silk
She loves me, I can tell
The way she continues to race her fingers back
Breathes me in
And with the final words "I want this"
I’m ripped out and kept close by
I’ve won…
Until she finds something better
and I find myself in pieces
Prompt #2 The Daffodil Shoot
I wake up slowly. it’s time.
I have to get up. I must push up and out.
My brown blanket is thick, and dark, and damp.
Where’s the way out of this dense darkness?
Wiggle. Wriggle. Slide up through the blanket.
Thickness is getting thinner, I feel "a give".
Push again. Ah! I’m out.
Sunshine and light.
My green body soaks in the warmth and expands.
Prompt #1, Beginnings
A soggy sodden start.
Wind howls, leaves swirl on grey bare earth,
Skeletal branches dip and sway.
Lightning, thunder, too close
And again the rain.
More puddles, deeper mud.
Almost despair. Where is spring?
But, next day, a silver shimmer on a small bush
Reveals a row of tiny buds.
Tips of green shoots push up in spite of the mud.
On a raised step, a clump of perfect white snowdrops.
More to come, I believe.
Dyslexic Child
Its so hrad to
Get poepel to
Undrestadn me
I haet skool
I haet teh kids
Thay maek fun
Of me
When I stumbel
Over my wrods
Taecha justs shaeks
Her haed.
Why cnat I
Get my thorts in
Oder?
I Udnerstadn me.
The Wind
I smile as I see him,
Leaning against the tree
With his eyes closed.
Though he can’t see me,
I gently touch his face
And give him peace,
Whispering of how
Soon he too will be free.
Mizuno Right Running Shoe
Whatcha lookin’ at, Bub?
Don’t stare at me.
I may be run down.
Ya get whatcha see.
So my heel is well-worn
And my sole has no traction.
My laces are frayed–
I should be out of action!
My longed-for retirement
Is still over the hill.
I’m weary and neurotic–
Please give me a pill.
"I don’t think I can do it!"
I am ready to shout.
If I’m run any farther
My tread will blow out!
My lining’s threadbare.
There’s a hole in my toe.
I beg, "Stop this insanity
And end all my woe!"
This weekend, please do it,
Just drive to the store.
Buy some new running shoes
So I can rest forever more!
Lucky
Captive indoors
I recline on the couch
Rolling on my back
Scratching an occasional flea
The door opens
I charge for freedom
Escape successful
I smell the green grass
Mark a tree
Chase trespassing rabbits
Captured, returned inside
Position resumed on couch
Bruce the Goose
Sitting in my dirt-grit pen
Dreading the next trip
When the squealing hands
Come for me
Life of a petting zoo goose
And here the keeper comes
Lifting me up and carrying
Me to the carrier
Up I go into the loud moving thing
And rattle away
Wonder which munchkin madhouse
We’re going to
We stop and I hear voices
But no screaming no yelling
The carrier door opens
I step out, soft grass
Under my feet, Sweet!
A sexy female goose
Waits at the edge of
A huge pond
All is calm
A breeze blows through
Ruffling my feathers
I’m a mess!
Grit caked to my legs
Dirt stains on my down
The girl goose honks
Then sashays into the pool
What’s a goose to do?
I waddle over and plunk in too.
The Man under the Bridge I Encountered on a Walk
Gotta keep moving
Before someone chases me away
I’m a problem to society; people turn away from me
Because I carry everything I own in to black plastic sacs
No privacy, I pee behind a metal utility box
And scrounge for food in bins behind fancy restaurants
My recliner is a rock wall
From there, I watch the people in my part of the world pass by
Gotta keep moving
Sometimes I imagine I have someone to talk to
Someone to laugh with, someone to love
At odd times, I see my mystery companion just beyond my reach
I call out to her, across the road, other the other side of the river
Just before she vanishes
People around me stare at me, laugh and shake their heads
Gotta keep moving
A woman alone approaches me
Flashing a tentative smile and says, “Hello”
She’s not the woman I’ve been looking for
And I trust her less than the small bit she trusted me
I have nothing to give her, though perhaps something she’d steal
I look away, just the way suited business men snub
And hurry in the opposite direction with my bags and my pride
Gotta keep moving
‘Cause there’s nowhere to hide.
Ooops! Found 2 typos. One in my comments and one in the poem. In "K100RS" the first line should say:
I watch him leave
and wish it were me
(not as wish it were me)
Tried to correct it but have not figured out how!
Ooops! Found 2 typos. One in my comments and one in the poem. In "K100RS" the first line should say:
I watch him leave
and wish it were me
(not as wish it were me)
Tried to correct it but have figured out how!
Christopher Reeve
My steed stumbled,
and in a singular moment,
I owned flight’s freedom.
One with Kal-el,
hurtling through space,
insuperable.
Kryptonite, green gravity,
overcame our omnipotence,
slamming us to Earth.
I awoke a bodiless horseman,
a head on a pillow,
powerless.
Joan Huffman
4/02/2008
Avocado
My bumpy smooth skin
Defines the paradox.
Dark blackbrown outside
Slips off to reveal
The delightful greenyellow,
soft flesh surrounding the
rock hard pit.
Treat me gently until I am
ready to be devoured with a
flurry of mashing and spicing
to highlight my creaminess.
Wire Between Two Towers
I am a balance beam
for squirrels, a perch
for birds, their taloned grip
indenting my rubber surface, their
small feathered bodies separating me
from the sky. On gusty days, the wind
rocks me like a mother methodically
swaying her infant to sleep in its cradle.
Sometimes, in storms, a dying tree
strikes against me, its last respite
before hitting the ground, and I
tumble with it, severing
the electronic impulses
of the humans who, too, have
their uses for me, though they
do not touch me.
As soon as I saw the prompt for this day, I knew what I wanted to be–my husband’s other love. I put off posting it 1) because I really have a hard time posting first drafts. To me it is like a cook serving a meal before he cooks it! and 2) because I wasn’t sure the innuendo make it inappropriate here. But I figure, the worst that can happen is that Robert deletes it. And life goes on.
K100RS
I watch him leave
as wish it were me,
not just because his legs
would be straddled round me,
cozy and tight,
as the flick of his wrist
makes us soar ahead,
full throttle,
on a wild ride
with quick curves
down long roads.
No. It goes deeper.
For I know that at this moment
he is more free than ever,
just him,
in his own world,
spirits flying high,
with no worries,
no fears.
Simple solitude
on two wheels.
Oh, I wish I could be
his motorcycle
on a lazy Sunday afternoon
and feel his happy soul
sink into me.
Gravity
I heard some "scientist" runnin’ his mouth off about me the other day–
Called me weak–
Said magnetism was a lot stronger–
Yeah?!
Well I don’t see "magnetism"
Keeping his dumb ass on the ground.
I mean, it takes these "geniuses" for freekin’ ever
Just to figure out I even exist,
And the next thing I know
They’re puttin’ me down in front of everyone.
All I can say is, they better think again,
Cuz I will mess their world up!
Nina 9 Millimeter
He hold me like he love me
I sleep under his pillow
where he go I go
we tight ya know
late night I ride light
in his pocket like a rocket
we creep while others sleep
to the occasion I rise
I’m hot to death
set to open ya chest
if he ask me
I’m his promise keeper
his equalizer
I’m true
rest you in peace if he
decide to
when we walk by
change sides
if he let you
Lil’ Bear by Gail Sandonato
The tree is broken,
Tied to life by twisted strands,
Frustrated, I pull
then push, then pull again.
Push and pull,
push and pull,
Easing my angry heart,
Feelings scattering,
Like dead leaves on a
dying tree, they fall
on my head, my back,
no honey here.
Hagar
At first
I thought Abraham
loved me.
He took me as wife.
I bore him a son,
which Sarah could not do.
But then
he turned his back
on me,
Letting Sarah
deal harshly with me.
Of course I ran away.
But you,
oh LORD,
have found me.
You called me by name.
You watch over me.
Who needs Abraham?
"T-Rex"
I am the hunter
I’ve been given teeth
to shred without leaving a trace.
My prey know this.
I am in charge.
My strong legs
and thunderous feet
have proven many a point.
Don’t cross me.
I am on top.
My strident roar
can settle any argument
and my claws will hold a captivated audience….
that is if I can reach you.
Dog
I am your best friend
but I don’t think I am yours.
Sometimes you forget to feed me
and take me for my walk.
I try to fend for myself
to help you out but you get
mad with the mess on the floor.
I try to feed myself, getting
the food from the cabinet and
I want you to know it is not
easy opening all that stuff.
I do the best I can but that
seems to make you mad to.
This is very confusing for me.
Friends are suppose to take
care of each other and
help them out. I must tell
you I am doing my part
and I am wondering when
you will start.
Susan Reichert
April 2
# 2.
S. K.
If I don’t get this shit
out of my head
it’s going to suffocate me.
God damn.
I’m plugged in.
I’ve allowed myself
to become more than
a man with a typewriter,
I’ve become a conduit
to another plane,
a prophet of Ka,
a gunslinger of words,
a resurrected messiah
of the turtle.
Listen up.
There are other worlds
than these,
and I have seen them
through the centers
of blooming roses,
seen the places where
things get thin
and time moves on,
had light pour into my mind
like the epicenter
of an oceanic quake,
splintering reality
like shards of a mirror
punched in a drunken rage,
opening up the veins
and spilling the life blood
of existence
onto my open palms,
staining my fingers red.
I’ve stared at the ceiling
from a hospital bed
wishing I was dead
but unable to stop the dreams
building inside my head
like layers of fossilized rock
forming continents and oceans,
planets and moons,
galaxies and dimensions
of whispers and clicks,
where things feast on daylight
and inhale the dark,
slithering in the sweat
and the fog
of unknown fears.
Fuck you if you think
I do this for the money.
Old Pickup
There’s nuthin’ sadder than an old pickup
To my way of thinkin’.
Course I remember gleaming steel,
Showroom gloss,a wide chrome smile out front;
Waitin’ for work or 4-wheelin’ ready.
Those old boys
Crustin’ up in some cow-pocked field
Or half masked in moldering hay
In a leaky barn out nowhere,
Fuel pumps fouled, pistons paralyzed,
Rife with oxidation leprosy,
Befriended only by the nestin’ critters,
Near break my heart.
Lucky, though, there’s some who know
A pickup sticks with ya.
Lucky,too, when old Merle ambled in,
Ahummin’, tossing back the tarp,
Let me see again
Straight into that young fella’s eyes.
Awestruck, he was. In love.
I knew we’d be together awhile yet.
His strong fresh hands were kind
To these old parts. Then, that
Sweet smell of gasoline
Most made me dizzy; oil swimmin’,
Smooth and soothin’ in the old joints,
And coolant clearin’ out them burrs and bugs.
Bondo, primer, paint and wax,
And ain’t these "Hot Rig" mudflaps
Just the damnedest!
Ignition! Revvin’, the rumblin’ and
Bam! On the road again.
Yeah, son, a pickup sticks
When you get to the heart of it.
###
Black Fedora
Go ahead, put me on,
I can make you her,
the mysterious woman
sitting at the corner table of the jazz club.
I’ll keep your deep eyes to myself
but reveal your maraschino cherry lips,
murderous curves in a plunging red dress,
your long fingers wrapped around a martini glass
containing a surrendered olive
pining for your lips.
As the long slow notes move through the smoke like honey
pick up your cigarrette and take a drag,
blow smoke rings at the men who wonder at you,
fatal woman, malicious goddess,
cloaked in jazz and smoke.
BUSHKA THE CAT
Two bells on my collar
like rocks in a sack;
why not make it five
and toss me in the Harbour?
All I hear is bells.
Stupid little bells.
Bells, bells, bells.
When I scratch
I sound like Christmas.
Jingling Bells.
I crouch in the shadows
creep forward
ready to pounce.
Bells, bells, bells.
Stupid bells.
The garden empties
with frantic flapping of wings.
Disgusted, I retreat to the laundry
and face the wall.
Damn bells!
Maureen Sexton
Anne Frank
Like teenage girls are apt to do
We crushed on boys
And scribbled sacrosanct emotions,
Preserving angst everlastingly.
My star of gilt branded my guilt
While your tassel of gold
Paved your golden road.
One leading to bondage; the other liberty.
Me silenced by a Nazi regime;
You hushed by traumatic circumstance.
In the end, they couldn’t keep
Our candid-prone voices oppressed.
Four decades and a religious denomination
Dividing us,
So parallel—yet worlds apart—
The lives we led.
Sierra
I see people from the belt down if I do not look up. I can run over toes if I choose (or choose not) to make sure I am HEARD and LISTENED to.
I run my walker everywhere, but not the house (‘cuz not "nuf room) but Who Cares, I AM ME!!!
Sea Anemone- Tide Pool Diva
I
am a sea anemone.
I
am called the flower of the sea.
Ahhh, the beautiful sun brings the humans to view me in my pacific coast tide pools.
Come here, come here little one.
Reach down here and touch me.
“Hey, this one kissed my finger.”
Yes, the kiss of the flower of the sea. Come get another!
I
am a sea anemone
I
am called the flower of the sea
But- don’t share my secret- I am a carnivorous animal.
pebble
The river flows right by me,
never a sideways glance,
does not remember when
I lay within its cool embrace
the sun cast its glow
to warm my brow
the wind its gentle kiss
to ripple across my face
How I sparkled!
Now just a solitary pebble on the beach.
Carol A. Stephen
Ottawa, April 2008
Little Bit
My name is Little Bit of Luck,
with soft coat of black and white.
Everything towers above me,
and I watch tall legs pass by.
My mistress I love best of all
and I know she loves me too.
Day 2
I Am This Broken Toy
How many days must I wait
For you to notice me again
I wish you hadn’t lied
And said I was your friend
You play with all the other toys
You always look the other way
Are you afraid to look at me
Afraid what I might say
I’m in the best shape of my life
There’s really nothing wrong with me
So pick me up again today
And play with me and you will see
My arms and legs are all intact
The only thing that’s really broke
My heart is all in pieces now
Discarding me – there went all hope
By Don Ford
Day 1
My First Date
Never in my wildest dreams
I never would have thought this true
To fall for her on our first date
I hear dad’s words – “Just think it through.”
But what is there to think about
I know she is the one for me
Her red hair wasn’t my first choice
Her smile was all that I could see
And now I know that ‘love is blind’
That what I’m really after here
A beauty that goes deeper
And one that holds me prisoner
We sealed the deal – tied the knot
We’ve had two children since
I wouldn’t trade this girl I’m with
One date, one smile, I was convinced
By Don Ford
My Unborn Baby
Created
Growing
Nurtured
Giving me life.
I am an unborn baby
Growing inside my momma’s womb
Safe from the evils of the world.
Unconditional love
Encompassing me in a warm embrace
Protecting me from life’s impurities.
Secure in my warm cocoon
Untouched by circumstance
Keeping my heart pure.
I am an unborn baby
Created, growing, nurtured
Ready to begin my life.
Charlie Brown the Chocolate Lab
I do not understand what makes me do it.
There, is a comfortable couch,
completely unoccupied.
It’s late at night- nobody needs it now,
and I could get some good, solid, uninterrupted sleep,
were I to haul my elderly bones up onto it.
I know it’s out of bounds,
but master’s abed;
besides, a scolding’s a minor price to pay
for one night’s sublime comfort.
This couch is all I need to make this moment
perfect.
BEOWULF
Sing me. I am only alive when you have sung of me.
I am as shapeless and formless as the evil I struggle with
Lest you sing of me and remember me.
Breathe me alive and will show you my tired body, my wounds.
My shoulders which have borne the centuries weight,
A reluctant legend bearing a tenacious load.
Sing me. It is the least you can do with your expectations.
I cannot refuse and I will not give up the ghost,
But wait for the sustaining voice and I move again.
I have mastered
the seventh grade strut,
one ear phone,
iPod swinging in time.
Pant sag just enough
to prevent adult
re-adjustment.
I play with independence,
I play with sarcasm,
I play with image
and I am still
not unopposed
to playing in the sand box.
I woo and
am wooed,
holding hands in the hallway,
sneaking a kiss on the couch.
I am smitten,
head over heels
as much in love
with love
as anything
else.
But when the day
is done,
I put away my swing,
and independence.
I put away my sarcasm
and my image, and
table my romance
to crawl into my
mother’s arms
for
one
last
unwitnessed
cuddle
HORSE
Hooves beat a tempo
Upon the turf
with ground covering strides
the earth flies out from
beneith me
my excitement grows
Wind caresses my mane
I increase my speed
the wind tugs harder
my mane is whipped into a whirlwind
the scent of spring
assults my nostrils
my heart pounds
to the rythem of my run
a whistle splits the air
sharp clear and familar
without a falt I stop
suspending my forward motion
in seconds I’m running
back to where I’d come
toward the barn I gaze
and there she stands
the breeze pulling at hazel strands
I near nostrils dialated
nickering in welcome I toss my mane
In reckless abandon
I tuck my knees up a bit high
strutting forward
she puts her walking stick aside
and leans into the fence for support
Hand out streched
stopping my antics I freeze
inches from the fence
her hand strokes my neck
fingers weave through my silken main
Easing closer I rest my head on the fence
Huffing softly in to her hair
she rests her forehead against my cheek
and beings to murmur softly
my ears prick up at the low tones
The stablehand will come soon
lead me to the areana
and there she isn’t bound by her walking stick
or her leg that inhibits her
there I get to lend her my legs
and my freedom
for I am horse
wild and free
River Born
Once I was bound in a huge lake
Covering vast areas of land.
Then rains came and swelled my size.
I strained, bulging over the soft young embankments.
Some of my water broke through and trickled on in little rivulets,
Then I receded with the dry season.
It looked like I would remain forever bound.
Seasons came and went and the rains returned.
The rivulets of previous years had made cuts in my prison walls.
Finally, the cuts were deep enough and my swelling great enough
That I burst forth free.
I had unbelievable power!
And in a day I cut a wide deep swath in the flood born layers.
The deep crevasses I carved in the land made layered pillars.
I left behind ravines, ridges and cliffs of every form,
Cut through many shades of black, red, purple and brown.
All too soon my power was spent.
My remaining channels seem so small compared to the deluge I was when I broke loose.
But I am free.
And I wander through the vast canyons I have cut,
and marvel that I once had such great power.
(I’ve entered this several times before but it doesn’t ever shoe up.)
The New York Times
I’ll come to your house
every day if you pay me enough
or parts of me will come to you
on the internet for nothing
and you can be sure I’ll always
be consistent about two things:
I’ll know that if a Republican
does something, it is wrong, and
I’ll never know what the Republican
should have done.
Massage Table
I stand in the same small room all day
as they dance around me. Dressing,
undressing, heaving themselves onto me,
then slipping away an hour later.
Turing on command, they moan and groan,
or lay quiet, self-conscious. Sighing
blissfully or flinching from pain,
they lay on me as my owner rubs creme
into their skins to lubricate hands
which would drag and pinch, otherwise.
Skin and bone, connective tissue, muscle
and blood, all compress me as they, in
turn, are compressed. My owner leans
into them, and me, and I brace myself
against the ground on my four legs.
Again and again, hour after hour, body
after body, heavy and thin, fit and fat,
I see them all, touch them all through
my vinyl skin, hold them up with my
wooden legs, support them with the
cables which brace me enough to
carry their weight, my appendages
cradle their faces, my foam cushions
their stay in this small room of comfort,
of escape, of relaxation, of joy. I
envelope them with heat, with care,
with peace, so they can leave better
than when they first lay down on me.
“Tom Hanks”
Where are you Nora?
Where are you Rob?
Where are all
my movie people?
See, I’m an actor
and a pretty good one at that
but these are dry times
and nothing’s come my way
I need a role.
I’ve been in airports
I’ve been on islands
and I’m willing to go
to other places too -
Change is good.
But I miss you, Meg
and our love affairs,
I even miss
the insomnia
in Seattle.
I miss walking the streets
of New York
the bookshops versus the book chains
the sending of e-mails
the falling in love
It’s all lost on me now.
They were feel-good movies
and they made me feel great,
I think others agreed;
Someone cast me a line
Someone cast me a role
And I’ll do my Tom-best.
I lied down to sleep
And when I opened my eyes
To my suprise,
I was less than half my size
I moved my arms
And saw 10 tiny fingers in front of my face
I kicked my legs
Which flew out of control all over the place
I tried to get up
But there was no way
It seemed as though on my back
Is where I would stay
I took a deep breath
And yelled out for help
But even I did not understand
the words that came out of my mouth
It sounded like gibberish
What happend to me
Oh my god I’m a baby
"Waaaah… I want my mommy"
The Dolphin
Bunching muscles for one moment of flight,
I blast water’s surface to shimmer in light.
Arching on air, so graceful, I seem.
Nose pointing down, I take time to dream
Of saving a man. A hero, I’d be.
Reentering the waves, Bubbles tickling me
Going deeper and deeper thoughts flow ’round
Using my strength to push man aground.
ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSH
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Click … buzz
Over white pearlies
What fun!
Buzzzzzzzz, whirrrrl
Get outta the way
You red flapping flag
I’m not brushing you!
Buzz Roll Buzz
I almost sound like a bee
Except my buzz
Sounds more like bizz
B e c a u s e my battery is
low.
The Bible
They really don’t understand
Just how important I am.
Me, the best selling book in the world,
Is treated with such little care.
Joyful chants and giggle ring loud and clear,
While sticky little fingers shred me to disrepair.
I am kicked, slammed, slapped and tossed about
As though for them, I carry no value.
I am IT!
The keeper of all truths.
Illumination that penetrates yawning gloominess
And relives lives crippled in guilt and pain.
But yet I am casually tossed aside.
Doomed to be stricken from their thoughts;
To be torn, sat on or gather dust.
I am abandoned and unable to help anyone.
Actually, I liked your Godzilla poem. "Straight up whale" made me laugh.
I’m playing catch up tonight between college and housesitting a pair of huskies for my neighbor. I’ll post them tomorrow. These prompts are fun!
I tried to post on the 2nd but it wasn’t there this morning. Let me try again:
Alex Trebek
I’ve stayed up hours
practicing to perfect
this condescending
French Canadian accent–
served up with a double
portion of attitude.
What a burden.
I’m really from a small
town near Omaha. I was
fifteen before I knew to
say COMParable, not
ComPARable, but now they
love to hate the way I smirk
at the geek from Peoria
who says adds an unneccesary -s
or the college freshman
who knows no history
before the Ford Administration.
I should have told them
the truth from the start.
I had to have a heart
attack to prove I had a heart.
Paul Charlton
if i walked in his shoes now
i’d be dancing with the stars
one with space
PEQUOD
Ahab, Ahab- around the world we have sailed,
From ocean to ocean, driven by your quest
As much as by the wind in my sails
Seeking the one that maimed you
Leaving you with half of a leg
And even less of a soul
We were once happy, ship and crew together
But your hatred has warped us all
Little you care now for casks of oil
Filling up my hold, worth a fortune at home
You chart not catches but sightings
Are you sure you know where you are heading
Starbuck, Starbuck- my love, my mate. No mere title that.
Wed together have we become, you know me best of all
Noble Starbuck, you know for where your captain sails
You feel his hatred through every one of my planks and lines
You tried to sway him, to save us all
Let’s just take the oil, and head back to Nantucket.
Ahab, Ahab- you’ve pressed on, and now here we are
Returned to the waters off Japan, where it all began
Your hatred, your need for revenge, must come to an end
The price must be paid for the sin you’ve wrapped us in
So as my planks creak and groan, with each swells rise and fall
They sound through the deep "Come, Moby Dick, here we are."
And now here he comes, the white giant of the seas
Noble beast, despite the forest of iron in his sides
He quests not for vengeance, he won’t yet grant my plea
I will show him mercy, he moans back to me
Three chances will Ahab have, to turn from his wrath
Only after the third, will he feel my full wrath.
Ahab has seen him, he claims his own gold
My children are lowered, the chase is away
The beast dives deep, then shoots up from below
He bites Ahab’s boat in two, then circles the wreck
The other boats are helpless, I sail into the fray
All hand are recovered, one boat is all we pay.
The next day he is still there, once more the boats leave
Ahab throws his iron, the price will be higher today
Moby Dick smashes his boat into the air
More lances fly, more boats are wrecked
Again I sail in, separating the foes
The Parsee is gone- and Ahab’s leg once more
Twice is enough, pleads Starbuck, don’t doom us all
But Ahab is beyond hope, he will see this to the end
Ahab will not be swayed, I lament to the whale
New iron is in him, his mercy is gone
If Ahab won’t turn aside, if he seeks me again
Only one will pay today, all but one will pay next time
The third day dawns, the whale surfaces alongside
Ahab takes the last boat out, our fate is sealed
Starbuck, Stubb, Queequeg, Tashtego, even Pip
All are with me at the end, we will go together
You will go first, says the whale, its part of the toll
Ahab must pay, I will make him watch your end.
The great head turns around, it plows up the sea
My side is crushed in, the water rushes in
I swirl into the dark depths, taking all with me
The whale dives down besides me, Ahab in tow
Yes, ship, crew and captain must go down together
Save for one lone figure I see left at the surface
Fair Ishmael, you’re new to us, your sins a few
Here’s Queequeg’s coffin to keep you afloat
You are alone are left, to tell all the tale
Of the folly of man, and the fury of whale.
I just realized the folly of rethinking your lines while typing… The final stanza of The Cop read…
Hey, Speedy Gonzales watch out!
And California Rolling Stop.
When you get your ticket, don’t pout…
You just flew by me, I’m a COP!
Revising as I typed and without thinking threw the whole rhyming pattern off!
Too bad we can’t revise comments…
The Cop (an elegiac quatrain)
On the force thirty-odd years,
I’ve seen my share of people’s strife.
Child abuse brings me to tears,
as does the loss of human life.
I don’t believe in black and white.
There are so many shades of grey.
Who can say what’s wrong and what’s right?
Maybe, there is a better way.
Having sworn to PROTECT and SERVE,
I take my oath seriously.
Some days it takes all of my nerve,
yet there are those who would judge me.
Drug dealers, street gangs, all you thugs
best stay away from my small town!
Should you decide to push your luck,
I will be there to take you down!
The drunk who gets behind the wheel;
He will get no pity from me!
When choosing someone’s life to steal,
you will not see me set him free!
Hey, Speedy Gonzales watch out!
California Rolling Stop too!
When you get your ticket, don’t pout…
You just flew by me, I’m a COP!
MOZART
When I was a lad of nearly three years
They discovered my gift
Music to the ears
I wrote a little ditty
Then another, then three
They used the word genius
when referring to me.
I cranked out those tunes;
became the hit of the day.
Travelling the world with no time to play,
except on a keyboard in vast concert halls;
the applause was thunderous -
it bounced off the walls.
Then I died and was buried -
with the old RIP
The music is all that is left of "Motzee"
Day 2
I am Cotton
I start off as a white little ball on a stem.
If the wind blows I usually will follow.
Then I get picked and brought to a factory.
How things work among the machines I don’t know.
I do know I soon become strands of thread.
From those strands I form into a long piece of fabric.
Then I get wet and become a pretty pink.
Then sewn into a dress.
Now I am back outside in the sun,
a beautiful little girl is playing with me on.
Your Wildflower Training Shoes
I sat in your car trunk for three weeks before you
opened my box and
even then you just looked.
At me feeling regret, and closed to
the promise I offered you.
I weighed heavily on you. You felt unworthy of me,
your
flabby thighs and arthritic knees shaking so.
Much that I worried about you and pondered
why exactly you signed up for a triathlon.
You’ve barely smudged my tread which should be
filthy by now. My laces are still white.
On May the fourth I have to get you through six point
two miles
but I have limits. You’ve gotta do some of the work.
I wonder how many laps the bike has taken.
And how, by the way, is the swimming coming?
And will you notice the poppies along the race course
because they are so beautiful
or because you are so unprepared and slow?
Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault.
I’m tired of this scratching
I came into this world nice and clean
blank, with no preconcieved notion
of what i could be
And now this wordly being
feels compelled
To take tool in hand
And make markings
from it’s mind
marking up my space
with it’s mindless dribble
evocked by self made importance
leaving me with no say
In what I am to become
Treasured in some book
Or crumpled and thrown in some waste basket
when your done.
Soda bubble
Clinging to a glass
Like a snail in a fish tank
Ice cubes crowding me in
Music in the background
Two lips coming toward me
My pals disappear
As the glass hangs off those lips
Only a few of us left
Bouncy bloopidy bloop
The brown liquid invades my space
I burst and become one
With the ocean of cola
Lips coming at me again
It’s warm in here
Hey there are my buddies again.
Burp. Out I go
The Politician Speaks
Blah blah
Blah blah
Blah blah blah blah, dee dah.
Blah blah
Blah blah
Blah dah dee dah, blah blah.
Rain
As I fall I meet
clouds,
birds,
buildings,
flags,
lights,
cars,
umbrellas,
jackets,
boots,
cement,
flowers,
dirt.
I feel the sun.
I rise up.
I fall again.
What an adventure!
Mother Therese
I felt the need to
Serve
To do for others
As I wanted
Them to do
Unto me
If I were in
In their particular
Situation
In life
So
I went to India
In order to
Serve
The powers
Were angry
When teaching
Didn’t fulfill
My need to
Serve
I wanted to walk out
Into this city
And pick up
Those who were
Dying
Alone
In the
Street
One day I just
Did
First one
And then another
Caring for them
Making certain
That they never
Felt alone
In their
Pain
Hoping to be rewarded
Someday
Finally it was
My time
I learned then
What I should have
Guessed all along
We all
Die alone
Yet remain
United
In the One
4/2/8
JULIA
ever hopeful
smiling at his singing
doesn’t know
that he is bringing
heartbreak with each strum
with each strum of his guitar
Cell Phone
(tanka poem)
Tired today from calls:
Incoming, outgoing, shouts,
Txts. Comma again?
Give my buttons a break! I’m
Calling, calling, calling! Sigh.
(I thought I had posted this yesterday, 4/2/08. I certainly meant to. Looks like a few of us thought of our cell phones.)
WINNING LOTTO TICKET
I could have swore I woke up this morning
To the sound of someone screaming my name
“8-10-18-24-28-29!!!”
Why is everything just a game?
Jumping up and down
You look like a clown
Who cares?
You get the last laugh.
Me?
I get to survive
It’s great to be alive!
Most of my friends get torn in half.
© Joe MacKinnon 4/3/08
Mechanical Pencil
Resplendent in lime green and black
a tiny cap covering
stark white eraser
Generous green barrel
fit into yielding
black rubber grip
Silver bottom tapering
to the point where
graphite peeks out
One end, the pointy end,
gives life to words
The other end, under the
cap, rubs them out
Utilitarian side clip clasps
pocket or page to keep
Foray on the jobsite
The pudgy pink of my
fingers interrupts
sleek design, but
constitutes the engine
pushing out the product
needle
plastic crinkles
my home, unsealed
a gasped inrush of air
I am ready
gloved fingers grasp me
pull me from my wrapper
sharp
taut
steely
pointed
hungry
I am ready
reassuring words are murmured
they don’t touch me
the lucidity of alcohol wafts
the pulsing vein is bared
I am ready
finally
fingers grasp me firmly
I am steely
I am hungry
I want
need
the gush
of lifeforce
so much
I can hardly stand it
I am ready
then
oh
the softest satin of skin
under my steel
at last
my point punctures
glides into
the pumping, pulsating
gush
of lifeforce
beautiful red blood
waiting for me
I am ready
Pine
Someday I will provide a twisted, pitch-covered ladder to the sky
And cozy nooks for nesting.
Someday I will tower over the squirrels who scramble endlessly,
Gathering, storing, and chasing
While performing amazing feats of daring acrobatics.
Someday my roots will burrow deep, looking for moisture and nutrients
And occasionally jut upward to remind hikers of their place.
Yes, all of this awaits once this cone concealing my potential
Sheds its disguise and drops the seeds of my future.
My molester
I loved her dearly.
She was small.
She was bright.
I don’t why I did it.
There is no excuse.
She called me a pedophile
One day on the phone
I got so mad
I thought I hit her
But was glad when I realized
I had just hit the phone
She was small.
She was bright.
She was trusting.
I was wrong.
I tried to trick her today.
Make her believe that I was her friend.
She’s a teenager now.
She wants to be cool.
I am as cool as cool gets.
I speak 20 languages.
I travel a lot.
Deep in her heart she wish she were me.
Deep in her heart she wish she had never met me.
THE MOUNTAIN
I am the mountain,
waiting for the sunrise,
its warm kiss
on my snow.
A.P. Stylebook
I’m afraid I’ve been affected. What a horrible effect. I think I am infected – with words!
Peddle harder. Pedal faster.
Begin your reign by reining them in.
Enjoy a cupful or even a few cupfuls, but never ever enjoy cupsful.
Am I anybody or any body? I am nobody. I am a body – of text.
Would a book by any other name be as fully revised and updated?
From a to ZIP code I have your words, my words.
Boss
That’s not defeat
That’s management
I sign those puny orders
When I want
It’s my money
I built this company
Metaphorically, after the building
Had been erected
And the 401K established
And I finished my sensitivity training
Made a resume on teamwork
And TEAMWORK g’darn it
That’s what we need.
george bush
I am not stupid
I am just beyond comprehension
My level escapes the status quo
I could never be stupid
I declare wars for dramatic effect
I play with the idea of recession for diversion
Stupid is not in my vocabulary
Grammatical errors are just mere defense mechanisms
Intentional masks hide my true intelligence
I am not stupid
I am slightly above ignorant
An inch beyond I raq (I mean a rock)
Lois Lane
Both have good points,
my two boyfriends – as I call them,
to myself, though neither’s really that.
One who wants me, one
I want. A new slant on the eternal
triangle … as I go round and round in circles.
The ‘mild-mannered reporter’
he calls himself. There’s a by-line!
For most it would be contradiction-in-terms.
A sweet fellow, and no mistake.
At least he’d always understand my job,
being in the same line of work – my own calling.
As for the other one, he has
his own life of excitement. It leaves
too little room for me. Hell, he’d never be home.
I don’t want a man who needs
me to be his mother, one who clings
so tightly that he bruises and breaks my wings.
I don’t want a man whom I need
more than I want to; one who keeps me
in my place, applauding from the edge of his life.
They are like two halves of one whole –
shadow-twins. If only I could put them together,
combine their opposite extremes into my perfect man!
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
Captain Hook
No ship, no crew,
no escape from that
relentless tick-tocking.
Misdirecting stars peer down
on me: The Villain.
And Pan flies on,
blissfully ignorant,
undeserving
While I,
real-world bound and
fleeing,
just ahead of danger
but never close to hope.
I’m very young you take me home,
I have to get to know this place.
Strange in a way I feel alone,
You gave me my own little space.
It’s soft and comfy as can be,
One way you show me love.
The shade is nice out under the tree,
Full of leaves high above.
I like it here it’s really nice,
You feed and play with me each day.
A great big bone with me you entice,
I think here I’d like to stay.
Wall Talk
If I were a wall I could tell stories
about secerts
about love affairs
about crimes.
If I were a wall I could reveal funny stories
about broken dishes
about dissapearing chacolate chips
about happy family times.
If I were a wall.
DOG
Here she is at the door!
She comes in – silent –
flips on the TV –
grabs a loaf of bread –
bends down to scratch my ears –
checks her phone messages –
I wait –
I have waited all day –
I lick her ankles –
She scratches my ears again –
“Ralphie,” she says, tenderly –
“Wuff,” I say in reply –
“I missed you” –
“Wuff” (I missed you too) –
She bends down to get a can of Alpo
from the bottom cabinet
Chicken and rice
smells good
As she wields the can opener
“Wuff”
“It’s good to be home, again, Ralphie.”
“Wuff, wuff, wuff!” (Good to have you home!)
Ruth Campbell
"A Bird Flying High"
I am soring upon the wind, above the clouds, beyond the rain.
I have been here before, but now I am returning here, again.
The winter was coming, where I previously was, before now, today.
I am smart enough to know, when it’s time to go, and get away.
I will stay in my old home, my old nest, with a new family, soon.
I will rise very early in the morning, and return, before noon.
My family will be waiting, eagerly, hungry, and all alone.
They will depend on me, need me, so I can’t stay gone.
My family will survive, only if I return, to feed them, my find.
For I am the bird, soring high, so won’t you please, be kind?
Can you throw me some seed, some bread, anything at all?
For I have a lot to do here, before it too, turns to fall.
I will repay you, for your kindness, with my song.
For I am the bird, flying high, who just wants to belong.
Crow On A Cold, Tin Roof
Cold
So hungry
What’s that is it edible, it’s mine! It’s mine-
No
Just paper
Tick tap, tick tap
Mmm, nice sound
Tick tap, tick tap
Cold
So hungry
Tick tap, tick tap
A Butterfly
Breaking free from the cocoon
Beneath the full moon
Feeling the strength I possess
Emerging from my chrysalis
How wonderful to spread my wings
Yet to this silky envelope I cling
Waiting for my wings to dry
Before taking to the sky
Finally it’s time to go
I start to flutter to and fro
Then I’m lifted by gentle breeze
And begin to fly with great ease
No creature is more divine
None have wings as beautiful as mine
I land upon a flower head
And rejoice at how I’m fed
Sweet nector flows from it’s stem
I notice there are more of them
And on I go from flower to flower
Busying myself for hour upon hour
Unaware of all who gaze at my beautiful design
With wings folded I think they cannot find
My lovely painted wings of blue
Not realizing beneath my wings there’s beauty too
I represent the resurrection
A marvelous reflection
Of miraculous beginnings
From what seemed to be the ending
Yet, perhaps we are more than just butterflies
Maybe we are angels in disguise
I’m 102 today
This skin I’m in, so thin, so pale. Like waves upon the shore, my skin’s been washed away by years of erosion, little pieces of sand and sea….smoothe down the many years of my life. This skin is transparent, almost see-thru, opulescent. My body breaks much more easily, without hardly any effort at all. This fragile old woman walks more carefully yet speaks more freely than ever before. My tongue is crafted to speak radiantly, as the magnificent and rare diamond it is. These tired old eyes see only shadows, outlines of things yet I see directly to the core, the heart, the soul…..what’s all this fuss about the outside anyway? Youth, beauty, glamour. A hard protective shell. I am no longer locked away inside, like a mollusk. I am soft and sensual and contain so many hidden treasures. Pearls of wisdom. You can lay the riches of the world at my feet and I will walk around them. I won’t be taken in by the glitter and glitz. The prism shows all and shows all as an illusion. I catch my reflection in the mirror, on a window, unlike Narcisisus, I fail to fall in and move on.
Happy Birthday to me.
(a woman at 102)
Sam
The shelter place was no fun at all
so many dogs, and all barking.
A man and lady came to look
and I hoped it would be me they might see.
I watched as they opened the kennel
just across from mine.
A cry welled up within me
and out came a woeful moan.
The lady stopped, then turned back
and told the man she wanted to see me.
They call me Sam
and I love and adore them.
Boathouse
The boathouse at Lake Eden
smells like dank earth and lake water,
rusty nails and rotting wood,
paint thinner and kerosene,
bat dung and spiderwebs.
Tadpoles and turtles creep up under the doors,
chipmonks and mice nest in the corners,
the green canoe slung from the ceiling,
oars and paddles decorate the walls,
the old rowboat hunches on the floor,
ready to come out from its winter hibernation.
Honda Civic Hybrid
I’m Hybrid sort of but not really
Not a genetic hybrid at all
Straight car, never mated with
Trucks, tractors, gorillas, jello.
All car without a doubt,
Not a chimera or halfwit.
In fact I’m probably smarter than you.
Just try to use the accelerator yourself
Instead of letting the cruise control
Program it all and you’ll see. Too bad
Your onboard computer is no match
For mine. I’m SMART.
I have fun making my displays
On your dashboard flash and change.
Woo woo, 200 miles per gallon,
Oops 2 miles per gallon,
Well okay, settle down at 45.
Hey, don’t get behind that truck
He’s only going 50 and I love
To go fast, 80 or so, so what if
The mileage going down to 34.
Faster is more fun, isn’t it?
The air whooshes by on both sides
Smoothing along my curves
Swiping the dead bugs from the
Radiator grill and bumper
Whistling pollen off the trunk.
I wish you’d use the horn more.
I fancy myself somewhat of a musician.
Beep meepity be-beep bop would be nice.
Or even just beep beep.
You probably haven’t
Touched the horn for
Six months now.
Just when that cat
Tried to cross the road
In front of me. Dumb cat.
No way did it have
Bumpers on its butt.
A Drop of Water
I fall from the sky
with my cousins
to land
on a branch of a tree
joining with others
creating a river clinging to
the crevasses of its bark
to find myself sinking in the ground.
I cling to a speck of dirt
as it takes me in
and feeds me.
A tentacle pierces me
drawing me in,
traveling up,
way up,
uncoiling in the new leaf
of spring.
I feed that leaf
the food given me
as I clung to that speck
of dirt
to ride the winds of summer
as a leaf.
I have served my purpose
as fall draws near.
The tree sleeps
and the leaf falls,
releasing me
to rejoin my cousins
in the sky.
Rain Catchers
The sexy rain calls us back from sleep,
as if we have been away too long,
as if what we carry in these bodies
will spill out of this world and into the next.
Nights like this we awaken
to the first small stirring,
a spasm so slight it couldn’t be
anything but breathing.
We are animal in the dark coming
toward each other. There is no name
for us. Nights like this are about survival:
we use ourselves as shelter,
break our soft bones to build a fire,
turn our lips into rain catchers
and wait for the storm to pass.
The Contract
The pen has never been
as mighty as in me.
I command armies of lawful men,
confound otherwise clever sages,
and grant the right to steal-
-or kill
I make fortunes, and ruin lives,
and seal deals with devils.
I am a god on Earth,
all powerful, but insubstantial.
Vietnam Memorial
Here I have over fifty thousand names.
Heroes from a war that was a big maze
in the far away jungles of Vietnam,
they were everywhere in that unknown land
though I only have from them a wee haze.
They are representing all fifty states
plus from Puerto Rico a nice number,
many of them didn’t know why they went over
but they fought like many others, the same.
I have little decor, just plain dark walls
where every one of then is standing tall.
While in Washington, please visit my place
it’s the saddest of all monuments here,
from your soul I may need some peaceful cheers
anything in memeory of their fate.
I want to ask, in honor of these braves,
to keep your head open to the sun light,
to see all these walls with the naked eye
so I can see some tears wetting your face.
Come in silently, with a careful gaze.
Yellow Daffodil (Haiku)
Yellow Daffodil
Loving the cool spring breezes
Don’t pick me today.
Pretty Dancer
A pretty dancer I am dancing around the floor,
fast and then slow with the partner of my dreams.
We move together to the beat of the songs
waltzing and the jiving as the music changes.
Each dance that there is we move together
he knows just how to make it look good.
I am now the pretty dancer I want to be
with the partner of my dreams
as he leads me around the floor
Mountain Bike
Robbed of my knobbies,
Stripped of my tools,
Tilted against the wall,
I see but am not seen.
Dirt-covered wheels,
Grease-coated chain,
Clothes-covered frame,
I am but a coat rack.
Until
Oregon skies brighten,
Clouds drift away,
Puddles disappear,
And he comes to my side.
Caressing my body up and down,
Running his fingers across my top,
He clears away the debris
And tunes me ‘til I hum.
As his thumb strokes my gears
And he mounts me for a ride,
I know he’ll take me long and slow,
He’ll take me all the way there.
April 2, 2008
A PROFESSOR’S IPOD
The origins of your ideas
all wrought in smooth
metal and words
sought and recorded
for preservation and drowning
I can’t hear Dorian or Huck Finn
over Thrasimicus: They know John the savage
inside and out — there is no consolation.
Over the thresholds of memories,
hold me like a comfortable miracle.
Draw our magic circle, louder, or softer
opaque, or diaphanous, while you
wash the dishes, or ride the bus.
Parade
At first it feels like nothing
and then the giant cartoons and agents
of commerce lift into the sky
like the ghosts of whales
and I move into their warped shadows.
Some of me waves, some of me
concentrates on not falling,
not flinching as the air grows risky
with hard candy and torn pieces of paper.
When I am a parade
I leave trash behind my music
which I keep pushing toward
the next part of the city
but it can’t help where it goes.
In the middle of my life as a parade
I am difficult to resist.
I am like a river
if you could see all the gears
and effort. And out of the uniforms
and synchronizations that make me one thing,
the time arrives in which anything
can happen. Here is a torch,
here is a bicycle leaving me with a swoop
into the memories of those who watch
me pass. A gust of doves flies toward history
from the papier-mâché head of a float
from whose head you would never have expected.
But I am a parade, and even as
I must pursue my own end
I am capable of many things.
Muse
At three p.m. I push back
the silk eye mask that shelters
my delicate eyes from harsh daylight.
I’ve left my charge to wade
the early hours of the day
alone, unguided, uninspired.
After a quick tossle
of my auburn curls,
I start my daily stretching
routine—poke the fantasy
still ten chapters away from completion,
poke the short story idea
she still hasn’t put to paper, poke
the poem, the one about the plum,
that she just can’t figure out.
My workout complete, I lounge
on a velvet chaise and eat cold grapes
until she calls for my aide.
I sip wine as she pounds
her head and the keyboard—
a slave to my whims.
Happy and Unhappy Woman
I open my eyes today,
Life is good, though he has not gone away.
The sun is shining so bright,
The children have slept through the whole night.
Breakfast goes smoothly as everyone eats all on their plates,
No fights transpire between us for we are life mates.
I go to work while he goes to his too,
He drops off our two eldest children to school, without a clue
That today is my birthday, something that he forgot.
This simple wish is given to me from our youngest tot.
Our three-year old girl’s smile and words cheer me up, so
Off to work I go, but first to day care, her in my loving tow.
The morning passes as work gets done,
Another year older, yet the day is still an ordinary one.
After he remembers the day, it is already two,
The afternoon apologies begin with promises of dinner too.
Afternoon work gets done so I make my way home,
But first, pick up my youngest tot from whom my heart will never roam.
Dinner out is happy with the family together,
We always look so perfect, no matter what the weather.
I recall the line in the song I hear in my head and recall a song with dreams of you, my dove,
Telling me to love the one I’m with if I can’t be with the one I love.
You are busy, but called me the next day.
You miss me, still love me and wish you could take me away.
Life is good once again,
For you, darling man I miss, still love me and ease my pain.
House
I’m so cold and empty inside.
Five o’clock and I listen,
But no car approaches;
No door opens.
No food cooks in my kitchen –
No smells wafting up my empty stairs
To entice my children to the table.
It has been so long since I have been warm.
A sound.
A car in my drive.
A family, and my agent.
Children laugh as they run through my rooms.
Snatches of hushed conversation:
A little older than we wanted;
Nice job with the master suite;
Pretty pricey.
They leave.
If only they knew
How much I long
For the joy of their company.
The Bear
I see you
through the crack
at the hinge
of the door
of the closet.
Do you see me?
I see you
crying.
Was it a boy?
I see you
shivering
on your bed.
Your shoulders
shake.
I wish
you’d get
a blanket.
How long has it been?
I see you
and I wonder
if your eyes still
sparkle
the way they did
when lollipops
could make your day
and laughs
were free
as Monopoly money.
Have you smiled since?
I see you
and I try
to remember
why you left me
here
behind the crack
at the hinge
of the door
of your closet.
Could I come out?
I promise I
would behave
and not make you
grow young
too fast.
Could we play?
I know it’s been
awhile
but I hate
to see
you cry
like this.
Could we laugh?
I know
it’s been
awhile.
Could I stay?
I see you
through the crack
at the hinge
of the door
of the closet
and I wonder
how long it’s been
since you grew up
and forgot
to remember
me.
Unfinished Novel
I’m a paranoid schizophrenic
shut up in this dark box.
So many fits and starts.
Yellow legal pads.
Colored-coded 4 x 6 note cards.
(The colors meant something once…)
Spiral notebooks.
Scribbled scraps.
I’m all over the page.
Oh, and all those years of analysis—
Outlining
Streams-of-Consciousness
the Snowflake Method™–
what good did it do?
Who knows where you end
and I begin?
Face it.
You gave up on me.
Have the courage
to finish me off,
one way or the other.
Please.
Carol Brian
Kindergartener
Every day we have to
say I plejallejens and then
sing yankeedoodle.
Our teacher makes us sit
on the hard floor
but she gets to sit
on a fluffy chair with
rolly wheels.
She tells us to write
when we want to draw.
Then we count to a hundred
and it takes so so long.
The Living Dead
The screams sounded,
So closed it seemed
I couldn’t help it, I had to see
In torrents the blood was poring
Was that from me?
The pain intense
My guts somehow, outside were flowing
It smelled so putrid,
That beast who took a chunk of meat
Is this, is this the end of me?
I think I’m swooning
I feel so weak
I’m standing, I need to eat
I see my Rosy, so close is she
Can you please help me?
She comes much closer
Her cheeks so thick
I hold her tightly
Love you honey, I start to eat
Can you really blame me?
ICARUS’S MOTHER
Always the men with their silly ideas—
to taunt the universe and all its gods.
Daedelus left me to tend hearth and well,
stew pot and wine jar, took my shining boy,
his eyes already full of light.
The dawn of my son’s birth my bones
weighed already heavy with grief.
Each day was a wager with sea and sky, the ledge
he would leap from, the height in his heart.
My heart hangs like a stone, my eyes
blind with the wool of my shroud,
and I have no use for my husband,
no need to see the sun.
Ketchup Bottle: I love you.
Wearing My Sister’s Dress
The times I feel at my best
I’m wearing my big sister’s dress
she’s everything I’m not
I’m the sister that time forgot
She’s wild and crazy and fun
I see a cute guy and I run
In her dress I don’t have to be me
yet I still can’t see what she sees
I try but the dress has not spell
to make me the popular belle
So I’ll spend another saturday night
in my sister’s dress, no man in sight
Diana
The Wind
I guess you’ll never see me
but you’ve know i’ve always been there
you heard me this morning..
..but when will you ever truly care
maybe after i’m mad or when its already to late
your house is in the sky…
..since to you my warnings were fake
don’t worry i may die down tomorrow
12am is a new day
once the wind always the wind…
and you’ll never look my way.
"Ketchup Bottle"
You squeeze me too hard sometimes,
painfully contort the plastic of my body
trying to get the last thick red tomato
guts from me.
Did you ever think how it feels to be empty?
Squeezed and gutted like fresh kill
by your french fry grease stained fingers,
and thrown aside.
Do you ever think that maybe
my 57 cries in place of fleshy bulbous eyes,
knowing the mocking look that mustard gives,
her emptiness hidden by gaudy fluorescent yellow skin?
But mine is for all to see,
a painfully transparent
plastic monstrosity.
Dolly Parton
I keep myself pointed
in a firm direction
Knowing a slight veer
to the west or the east
could make your pappy blink
or your mama leave the room
Ain’t no use
being what I’m not
Good fortune and surgery
made me what I am
Forging ahead, that’s me.
Morgan le Fay, Queen of Gor
They do not understand me –
My husband, my child, the peasants, my half-brother King;
Not even Merlin.
My father, slain in deceit;
My mother, made whore by the deceivers of my father;
and I cast aside in the sudden importance
of my “new” father,
followed then by my shining bastard half-brother.
I was taken in only by
monks,
and magicians;
politicians and
conniving family….
All I ever wanted was
simple, plain, unadulturated
Love.
Love that no one can ever give me
because of
Perceptions of who I am or who I might be;
even my son does not love me;
his father and cousins poison his ears and heart.
Lovers see only power and prestige;
never see
the heart
of me.
I’ve become
who they’ve painted me to be
and I will mete out my pain and grief
on them instead.
AUDREY
Beauty
Grace
Talent
long-necked, slim figure
I charmed in “Breakfast At Tiffany’s”
Cary– my favorite leading man.
Did I live a magical life?
maybe
But the cancer proved me human
just like you
And the role that made me most proud?
the children’s charity in Africa.
C.Chase
4/02/08
The Office
Within my walls
I know your secrets
I see all the things
You hide away
I hear the gossip
I know the news
I watch my children
Grow old and grey
You are discontent
And you are lonely
But you refuse to admit it
You smile and say happy day
And rejoice in the work
That’s also your greatest pain
You would leave
You threaten it often
More to keep them on their toes
But you couldn’t
You could never leave
Not these four walls
Because you know better
As do I
These walls are your home
And if you left
You would be lost and bored
-not knowing what to do with yourself
You would never leave me
Without me, life has little left.
"ED"
Sometimes it was…
uncomfortable?
Slimy? So I learned to wait until
The flesh dried… sure, I waited.
Patiently like a good tailor does
waited on my material like a cat waits
hovering on an elm branch above
the unsuspecting young robin.
The pounce of the prey,
a release.
An orgasm of motion and murder
Sure, I did.
That’s what I am.
Often feeling like the prey
My thoughts, the predator
using my hands to harvest
flesh from muscle
from skull
a dead skin mask
And beneath it, my face
just like a child’s
on Christmas morning.
grinning wide like a machete
shining in Manila moonlight
Life Of The Vampire
By Samantha Altman
The darkness falls, I come out at night.
Taking victims in the alleys, flickering streetlights.
Blood soaking my teeth and staining my clothes,
Their blood inside me makes my pale skin glow.
I weep that I’m a killer, but my nature won’t subside,
My lingering love for life and my instincts don’t coincide.
The craving for blood, the yearning for life,
To reminisce and to wonder that I once was a wife.
Now all I have is eternal sorrow and strength,
The sun I know longer see, I hide in the coffins length.
I will use my nights to hunt and to search,
For another like me, my loneliness makes me hurt.
On a night when it’s warm, I might find my match,
To guide and protect me, he’ll grow quite attached.
We’ll love and we’ll feed night after night,
Until fate catches up and we won’t fight the light.
Sylvia Plath
Leave it to Ted.
I left him specific instructions.
A little black binder,
exactly how I wanted things.
And what does he do?
HE rearrianges it.
HE changes it.
Leave it to Ted.
Take all the spotlight
and glory for himself.
Hide me, ignore me, brush me aside.
Like always.
I fell in love with him
like we were equals
and he loved me like a child.
Another Daddy to leave me
is not what I needed.
It was my turn to do the leaving.
Cell Phone
I hear you laugh
I hear you cry
Can you hear me now?
Hello? Hello?
You yell at me,
drop me repeatedly,
and you wonder why your signal was lost
Hello?
Mee* me a* ***
You’re breaking up on me
Run over,
lost,
drowned in the washing machine…
Use me,
break me,
replace me
And yet you feel empty
when I’m not with you
And you never leave home without me.
April 2, 2008
The Golden Calf
I’m stuck, stuck on 78 E Washington St, Chicago, IL
Hands of different color and different sizes grab my horns and sometimes even roughhouse on me. They bring weird devices called “cameras” hmmm. They pose in every way imaginable of course without the help of their friends they could never get on my back. I’m gold and beautiful but people just don’t know of the phrase “look don’t touch.” And because my creator has made my feet to stay planted in front of the cultural center I can’t leave these annoying humans. I am an attraction not a toy people leave me to myself and just admire my beauty.
Daniel Stanford © 2008
I am My Cat
Oh I can’t stretch enough today.
The longer I reach the warmer I get
when I snap back into a ball.
It’s better with the morning sun.
The human I own has gone outside
and will be gone until the patches of sun
in my home disappear.
Today there’s not much sun and I am annoyed.
So I sniff a path through every room,
making sure things are as they should be.
The food hasn’t changed all day. Where is that tuna?
Oh, that is only on the days both humans stay in.
My scent is not strong enough here. I can scratch my whiskers
on the doorpost edges, books on the desk until they
fall to the floor.
Birds calling on the outside make my throat itch
and no matter how hard I try to chase them from my sight
they still call and taunt through the glass.
At least I can call them names and howl
from where it is safe –
jump to cover when they take flight.
No telling that they can make their way in here – if they can
I am hosed because they are so much larger than me.
I guess I should have thought of that when I called the raven
a pig-starved crow.
Oh well.
A good roll on the rug on my back
massages me into a sleepy mood. I curl into that last long
angle of sun.
When they come back I am sure they will rub my tummy.
i am the youngest baker the sugar
grains across my palms the greased
cake pans and rough-rustling cupcake
tins spread on sun-glazed countertops
half-cup of palest skin teaspoons
of uncertainty bright eyed mornings
her tentative glance
what is youth but the batter between
spoon strokes? what is love but stiff
peaks folding froth over froth? when
i sleep my dreams spill between new
concoctions pirate cupcake daffodil-
lemon-meringue tartlet filberts and crème
fraiche
but the most difficult recipe
calls not for pastry crust and butter cream
frosting oh no what spills into my sleep
are thighs soft as my own and flour-dusted
breasts her lips vanilla-smeared
her fingers curled around apples undressed
in one long coiling peel
mine are the scents that stop strangers
on the street the tastes that are bought by
the dozen the droll pastries and crumbling
crusts soon perhaps mine too will be
undoing something i cannot measure
anymore than the tongue knows how to
speak of those sweets flavored
by yearning and bliss
Ruby
Jimmy had a little dog, little dog, little dog
Jimmy had a little dog and Ruby was her name
Every where that Jimmy went, Jimmy went, Jimmy went
Everywhere that Jimmy went, that dog was sure to go
She followed him to school one day, school one day, school one day
She followed him to school one day, but couldn’t go inside
The teacher said no you can’t, no you can’t, no you can’t,
The teacher said no you can’t, turn and go back home
Ruby was so very sad, very so sad, very so sad
Ruby was so very sad, she cried until she stopped
And then she read the playground rules, playground rules, playground rules
And then she read the playground rules, and waited for recess
When all the children ran outside, ran outside, ran outside,
When all the children ran outside, they saw her barking mad
Teacher said quiet please, quiet please, quiet please
Teacher said quiet please, I think that’s quite enough
Ruby pointed to the sign, to the sign, to the sign
Ruby pointed to the sign that said:
Dogs only, grown-ups go home
And so the teacher did.
A Tree
I feel naked in the harsh grey light,
longing for the warm yellow glow from above
The family on arm nine is waking from the night,
daddy’s off finding food to show his love
My feet are cold as they are soaking wet,
the white snow is melting through the blanket green
I can’t complain my thirst quenting is met,
itchy spots appear atop, below and in between
The day springs on as the sun is out now,
warming my arms and bringing them to life
A wind rustles through me sending birds in a row,
the nests prick and poke me causing me strife
By mid-afternoon I’m warm and cozy due to sun,
the itchy spots are opening to allow new summer shade
The squirrels are tickling my body having their fun,
when they leave I’ll be lonely its unfair trade
Six hundred and sixty green fingers now lie open,
more will open in the days that are to come
The sky indigo the forest quiet sleep will happen,
all my friends close their eyes and cuddle me some
Darlene
The black rimmed clock on the sterile white wall ticks slowly,
Tick, tick, tick, I stare at it through narrowed eyes.
A nurse bustles in, checks my blood pressure and tubes
Hooked to my body.
Tick, tick, tick, five minutes have passed.
What happened to get me here? Heart issues, diabetes, kidneys,
Each problem runs headlong into the other.
Tick, tick, tick, 3 more minutes pass.
Richard is back with a soda, I can’t have any. I can’t have anything
Good, that is why I am here, it all caught up to me.
Tick, tick, tick, here comes another nurse.
Oh, my girls are here! It was just yesterday it seems, they were
My blond haired, blue-eyed twins. And my ornery son !
Tick, tick, tick, goes that damn clock.
Will I see my grandchildren again? My mom died from diabetes,
Why did this get me to?
Tick, tick, tick, I am told many are praying for me.
Does God exist? I am told miracles happen every day.
I want to see another sunrise, go camping by the lake.
Tick, tick, tick, there goes another 5 minutes……
Tick, tick, tick, I will my heart to keep going tick, tick, tick.
4/2/08
My name is Peter. May I help you?
My name is Peter.
May I help you?
You are buying fishing tackle.
Good! Spring is almost here.
When my son was younger,
we would fish.
Short trips and long trips.
Sometimes to Canada.
We would get away
and just talk.
Now he is older
and too busy.
But I remember
those days.
I think of them often.
A Swan
The last few flakes of winter drift down around me
as I sit on the ice at the edge of the lake.
Soon, I’ll fly north, back to my home.
But today, ah, today, I’ll enjoy a quiet day on the ice.
I preen for awhile. I twist my long neck this way and that,
sliding my beak in between the feathers,
cleaning out the debris from my earlier swim in this mucky lake.
I lift one rubbery foot to scratch my chin.
Then I flip my head up onto my back and rest for awhile.
What a strange view from this angle.
In a house at the water’s edge, a lady watches me.
She slides a window open and shoots several pictures of me.
I lift my head, stretching my neck to its full length,
posing, proud to show her my perfect profile.
Too soon, the sun begins to fade in the western sky.
I move to the edge of the ice
and silently slip into the frigid water.
It’s time to find my swan friends.
We’ll swim together, find some delicious vegetation to snack on
and then settle in for the night.
If I Were A Book
If I were a book
would you finger my spine
hold me close to inhale my scent
would you crack me open
and read me from cover to cover
would you fold down
your favorite pages
write notes in the margins
would you call a friend
to rave about me
If I were a book
Sunday Morning Crossword Puzzle Not Yet Solved
It’s all been a blank until now,
A few bits here and there
to piece together a coherent whole.
I’m open to your questions
I’m willing to take suggestions.
Yet I feel boxed in somehow…
When at last I reach daylight
morning sun warming my bones
the smell of good coffee nearby
with a good snap of the page
and the soft folds until am
the only one you desire–
Then I will be a slave to your gaze
for as long as it takes,
at least until your coffee runs out
and I am left, drunk with words
and yet so easily discarded.
The world falls apart
In a multifaceted
Jagged impersonation
Of something that is
When it really is nothing
Than could or world
Exist
Not even in the mind
Of the most introverted kid
Not even in the silent knowledge
That autism brings
Not even the holies of holies
Could bring enlightenment
To the moment
To the instance
When it all becomes clear
With out a soul to love
The world falls apart
And nothing is ever truly clear
The Humble Beer Bottle
Smooth and Tart
I stand steadfast and true.
Pressed against fevered forehead
Comforting chill seeps in
Smooth lips pressed
Against cracked ones
Liquid forgetfulness
Pours into dry mouth
I offer absolution.
Finished,
I join the other sentinels
In the box
Both womb
And tomb
Here is another one….enjoy.
My Computer
She sits me on the counter
Alone, mute with only the printer for company.
Great conversationalist that printer.
Occasionally, she will take me out
To the mall, though does she rarely take me out of my bag.
Why bother?
I could be seeing some awesome sites.
But no, just a change of geography
I can’t see.
I’m a Hungry Little Squirrel
I must hurry and scurry, to find the big big oak tree.
I know it’s going to be a long cold winter.
I need food, lots and lots of food.
Hurry, hurry, where is that oak tree?
I know it’s here somewhere.
Ouch! That hurt, what hit me on the head.
Yeah, I found the oak tree. The big, big oak tree.
It is so tall, I must run, run up the tree to where the acorns are,
I must store them up for winter, the long cold winter.
The TV Guide
I can’t believe how little
the new me is,
since I used to be so tiny
and less full of color.
I used to cover all the channels
and times of day to boot.
Now, they care little
about what’s on during the day.
Oh, how I miss the way people
used to highlight their shows,
showing more care for the guide.
I used to be THE guide. sigh.
Maybe I’m being cynical
in my old age, but
I sure miss those good old days.
Now, I get looked at less and less.
I wish I could look like, well,
sigh, like I used to look.
I pray for a makeover
with maybe a little less reality.
The Pointer and the Mouse
I am the pointer
You are the mouse
Why don’t you let me
be and stop pointing
me around?
The mouse is forever chasing me
and making me go round and round.
Sometimes I go up and down and
then go back to round and round.
I am the pointer that wants to be
still, but the mouse keeps pushing me around. Let me go Mr. Mouse so that I
can rest for a little while.
Bad Cold
I don’t have a chance
I only live for a week
and for that seven days
all I hear is how awful
how unwanted I am.
She can’t even call me
Cold, it’s Bad Cold
that just about says it
I’m doomed by my name
Looks like she could
just go on about her life
forget about me
let me live and enjoy
the Cough if it stops by
and the Chest Congestion
who I don’t see often.
I get a bad rap but its
Cough that is mischievous
causes lack of sleep
and runs others away.
Me, I’m just a Bad Cold
and I get the whole bad rap
just let me live my time
in peace here inside of you.
Oh geez, not Nytol again
I put up with Tylenol all
day, cut me some slack to
night, that stuff makes me
feel woozy, I can’t even
enjoy myself or my friends.
A SOLDIER
YOU HAD TO FIGHT THE BATTLE
THAT WAS WAGED AGAINST US ALL
THERE TO FIGHT FOR FREEDOM
FOR YOU HAD HEARD THE CALL
WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO FIGHT
SOMETHING YOU DIDN’T START
FOR PEOPLE YOU DON’T KNOW
AND SOME WITHOUT A HEART
WHY WOULD YOU GO AND FIGHT
LEAVE YOUR FAMILY AND YOUR FRIENDS
FOR A WAR YOU NEVER WAGED
JUST A WAR YOU MUST DEFEND
THIS WOULD BE THE SOLDIER
WE ARE VISITING THIS HOUR
WHO WAS SHOT BY A SNIPER
TAKEN OUT LIKE THE TWIN TOWER
THIS WOULD BE THE SOLDIER
WE WILL NEVER EVER FORGET
SO MR. SOLDIER, WE THANK YOU
FOR HAVING PAYED OUR DEBT
JUST LIKE OUR SWEET SAVIOR
WHO WAS PUT UPON THE CROSS
WHO PAYED FOR OUR RANSOM
THAT WE NOT FACE THE LOSS
YOU ARE PRAISED TODAY
BY EFFORTS WE’LL NEVER KNOW
FOR THINGS WE’LL NEVER SEE
BECAUSE YOU WERE WILLING TO GO
BY: BRIGID A. ROHDE
The Boss of You (aka GOD)
Another interminable day
in the nosebleed section of heaven.
Some omnipotent manager
I, my mignons messing
with my catseye marble.
I whip out that ole white magic,
transform bullets into gumdrops,
quell tidal quakes,
heal old folks aches,
banish traffic snarls,
and let junkies yearn
for something more
than pill-fashioned euphoria.
These miniscule problems
at last retired,
I head down to Molly’s,
throw two quarters in the juke,
straddle the stool,
and share a
frosted one.
Nature’s Path Organic Optimum Slim 4-2-08
Don’t you love my politically correct name?
Nutritionally correct, too, isn’t it?
I just ooze svelteness and good health.
And surprise—I taste good, too.
Go ahead.
Pick up the box.
Read my ingredients.
Don’t you feel better, all soothed,
after you skim the list?
Not every cereal boasts of wheat bran, oat bran, and
soy flour.
With only 2 fat grams, and 7 sugar grams,
but a whopping 9 of protein and 11 of fiber.
Why, by the time you finish reading all the good things in me
and all the things you’re going to do to be a healthier you
and munching mouthfuls cooled by fat-free milk,
you feel healthier already,
don’t you?
Now, just don’t blow it by ordering
a big fat lasagna for lunch.
Sears Tower
Stretching from the marshland
I am strong
Landmark to Midwestern
Gumption and go-to
1,450 feet and 110 stories
Filled with more stories
Than anyone can imagine
I was Tsar
Of the Skyline
Conquered by a cornice
And the death of an empire
I am a pen
deep inside a purse
zipping open
zipping closed
light and darkness
the brush of fingers
grasping finally
a warm grip
touching my tip
to the blank page
dancing me along the lines
letters, words, phrases
pushed and pulled
by the passion of the writer
ink flowing out
like blood
like emotion
like life
to say something
worthwhile
to connect
with the page
with a reader
with a heart
so much better
than my last gig
shopping lists
signing checks
paying bills
math homework
this is why
I was hand crafted
and filled with ink
my purpose
is fulfilled
Wall Street Banker (Bad year)
I do anything I can
to keep from thinking
it’s more to keep from knowing
that I’m thinking
I’m full and can’t allow more
to enter
I’ll burst
so help me please.
I met a man once
a man who could help but he flew off
the empire state building
the 67th floor not all the way up
but up enough to ensure he couldn’t help me.
so it’s up to you
to release the pressure
to pull your finger out of the
moss covered hole well below the water line
but before you do
print flyers, run ads, warn those living
below the water line
that something big is coming
something they won’t soon forget
tell them now before it’s too late
before I reach the 68th floor.
The Voter
Isn’t it sillery
To be voting for Hilary?
It’s a race she’ll never outrun.
And our President
Is hell bent
On religion and owning a gun.
Poor ol’ McCain
Thinks he’s John Wayne
Full of swagger
Not a fortunate son
Some don’t give a damna
for Mr Obama.
In the end it really don’t matter.
Eight more months to go,
It’s still “on with the show”
and that endless CNN chatter.
© Joe MacKinnon 4/2/08
Dick Cheney
I am the vice president
Making all the rules.
With George sitting in his office
Looking somewhat cool.
No one else has what I have
With all my power.
With George sitting in his office
Smirking away the hours.
I have the rest of the year
To enjoy where I am
Until George goes to Texas
To work on his tan.
FEAR
I am the little beast
That rises every morning
And sits by Tara’s bed
And ticks off her defeats
And says: "You shan’t go farther
Look what you haven’t done."
I am the little mole
That crawls in Tara’s heart
And digs up trenches there
And bombards her hopes
"No, he’ll never look your way
No, your work won’t prosper."
I am the little worm
That eats of Tara’s soul
In green and cankerous words
"Your dreams weren’t made to fly"
I am the first respondent
To each of Tara’s plans–I’m fear.
“Cheeto”
I am Cheeto,
An orange, round
Masculine cat
And I hate the dog.
The white dog,
With her sagging slobbering lips,
She disgusts me in every way.
She is bigger than me yes,
But I am much more powerful, so much
Quicker than her with my cat-like reflexes.
And of course, much, much smarter than
The white dog will ever be.
I am plotting everyday for her demise,
It is only a matter of time.
The woman,
My beautiful bathing beauty,
Will cry but that is nature’s way.
Si’ senior,
That is how it must be.
The stupid white dog will be mine!
Brittney.
My two kids are geniuses, especially Sean Preston.
Sometimes I don’t feel like wearing underwear- So what?
Who are you to judge?
My fans love me. They buy my music.
They hate Justin because he’s jealous of my success.
Come on, get over yourself already!
So I cheated on you. Big deal.
You’re just mad ’cause I did it first,
so go on Justin, ‘cry me a river.’
‘What goes around comes around.’
You wanna be so quick to judge me?
Wait till that finger starts pointing the other way.
Jesus
The blood streamed down
Distorting my view
Of the few who came
To watch me die
Some who believed
Others who did not
Some doing their duty
All in for a surprise
With one on the left
Another on the right
Condemned as was I
But unlike me guilty
One going down
Of his own choice
The other with me
For seeing the truth
Not a moment too soon
My time had come
My spirit was weak
My body was broken
My blood was shed
My Father was calling
My work was done
My time had come
I breathed my last
My eyes reopened
The stone rolled away
My mission was over
I had changed the world
St. Malo Corsairs
With a Lettre de Course we’re as legal as they come.
Alright, you still catch us, we get hung, but—!
The King’s blessing to sink some Brits?
We could hardly say no.
Praise the Bishop, there goes another one;
enemy trade sinking to the bottom of the sea.
Perhaps it’s our rogue roots or French spirit,
but putting holes in limey vessels is far too fun.
A Dream
I enter your sleep causing no harm
only to chased away by the morning alarm
I’m sometimes more then I might seem
though less then just a dream
sometimes, I may bring riches
others, I’ll leave you in stitches
though, you’ll hardly know why
as I’ll disappear with the bright morning sky
you may be on the run
heading for a cliff
looking for your gun
or falling into a rift
I often may bring a world of cheer
though when you awake
you’ll find I’m not really there
I’m certainly more then I might seem
but then again, I’m only a dream. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 4/2/08
ELSIE
I tried my best to convince
those city slickers
it wasn’t ethical,
more like downright mean,
puttin’ my face and my name
to Madison Ave. hype,
but them city folks big-buck
crazy wouldn’t hear
a mother’s complaint,
hankered on doing what pleased ‘em
and to hell with my pride
and all the young ‘uns watchin’
me dolled up like some floozie cow
with my TV smile, chewin’ my cud,
battin’ my pretty long lashes
as if I was in it for my health,
when all the while they’re pushin’
Borden’s Condensed Milk,
the cameraman callin’ out "Camera
ready" and make-up dustin’ my face.
Me! Elsie, Old Farmer Gray’s own
pride and joy, in a bonnet,
in an apron, in a TV commercial!
If it didn’t give me terrible
belly cramps, if my calves
didn’t go hungry, I’d strike,
say no to morning milkin’,
let them pull to their hearts’
content, curse at the empty bucket,
but farm country ain’t free country.
So I grit my big cow teeth into
one powerfully fake bovine smile
I show to the camera
and remember when a cow’s life
meant somethin’ and there was respect
for life on the farm
and rich pure milk
made America strong.
#
(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci
Lunch Lady
With the back of my hand
I brush wispy bangs off my forehead.
A bead of sweat trickles out from under my hair net.
Hands on hips,
I bellow,
"Sit down and eat your lunch!"
Children through the line,
Pushing,
Cutting,
Grabbing a tray from the bottom of the stack.
I regain my composure, put on a smile.
My pleasant greeting unacknowledged,
barely heard over the verbal exchanges
of children at the tables.
What do these children shout at each other?
Truth or dare,
Who likes whom,
Don’t sit here, I don’t like you?
I watch them devour food,
healthy food,
salad, yogurt, veggies, fruit.
Remains returned to the dishwasher,
I glance at the clock -
fifteen minutes of madness left!
Egg salad sandwich, celery sticks, a dish of applesauce,and
a water bottle balanced on a blue tray.
A boy,
A girl,
Eyes meet,
A foot in the aisle.
I get the mop.
LBC
Bag Lady
I carry life in my head –
people, places, things -
having learned to hold loosely,
knowing nothing’s mine to keep.
The city is a painting in which
junkies smile from doorways,
prostitutes from corners,
and on the sidewalks winos search for sleep.
Ever-moving, all I am goes with me.
Life is transient.
We each are what we are.
And being mortal binds us all.
Linda Brown
Sea of Galilee
Pressing on me, but not penetrating.
I can’t seem to control it. It isn’t floating
on my surface, or under my watery skin.
It moves like a skater bug but slower,
more methodically. I build my waves
into larger and larger surges, trying to dislodge it.
The movement tickles, irritates me.
The wind shouts and asks me to play.
He is boisterous and pulls me into the air;
We giggle together as I roll upwards in glee;
and I forget my irritation. Yet, another one!
This one seems to hesitate,
to move without grace, pressing harder.
Wait, it slips, cracks through my surface,
flails into my being. I swallow it for a moment – a human.
I swell with laughter, waves cresting in triumph.
The other one has left me. I prepare to swallow
the one remaining, who chokes on me in fear.
A voice freezes me, cools my heaving chest.
It speaks and I cannot ignore the command.
I must subside as it sooths me
into shimmering blue silk,
tame beneath the master’s hand.
The Unpacked Box/es
We are so tired of being stuck in this room, we get the feeling we are doomed.
You think you are making progress by moving us around.
Really we are always left dumbfound.
We need to be sorted through, the things inside wants to be rescued.
I’m sure there is a lot of junk that you can just throw away; you keep saying that you’ll get to it someday.
This spare bedroom could be so nice.
Why don’t you just take our advice?
Get done in here and get unpacked.
This room really looks like it’s been ransacked.
I know it is just a spare and that you don’t really use everyday.
But wouldn’t it feel great to have it done and out of the way?
Please just clean us out sort us through and look inside.
You may be surprised of the things you will find.
It will clear up the clutter and me and my relatives will be put to ease. Just to know that we can finally breathe.
Terri~Writer By Choice 2008 ©
This Place I Called Home
My house is made of many things. Its made of wood, sheetrock and glass,
but it’s also made of smiles and laughs. Its made of tears and childrens
little fears. Its made of firsts and lasts. Its made of all the little
things I fixed when things went wrong. Its made of love and lots of
memories that I will take with me when I’m gone. I left part of me behind
here to start a new. I feel a loss of home but I have comfront in knowing
that I left them to you. My house I will miss, and the home I once had.
But my journey has come to an end, and I must start again. I look forward
to filling a new house with so many different things, firsts and lasts and
smiles and laughs. This place I called home means so much to me.
by lynn rose
Dang, I didn’t even think about it that I wrote that as if I were mankind and the sun….o well
Mankind
We fear a lightless future,
under a dying sun.
We dream of starlit caverns,
beneath an earth undone.
We hear the black night whisper
that our time has come.
The sun looks down upon us,
and crumbles all but one.
You were born by me he says.
I was here long before you came,
and when everything you burn is gone,
Alone I shall remain.
There will be no one left to watch the night become my day,
Because nothing built by hands of yours,
will I allow to stay.
…and then the voice of one comes striking through the air,
He spites the vengeful sun with the fact he’s simply there.
True,
When the sands of time have won,
We will slowly come undone,
Drowning beneath a granuled sea in the desert of the sun.
With our boats built out of nails,
We will hoist our wartorn sails,
and we’ll hope and pray to God that he’d save us from ourselves.
When we put our faith in steel,
We will fast our final meal,
and starve behind a shadow in the desert of the real.
Still I cannot trust the sun,
For he would see our world undone,
Laid bare, here at the end of nothing, I can only turn and run.
One day push will come to shove,
and my eyes will turn above,
Fear will conquer even hate and leave me nothing left but love.
…have faith
Familiar stars in a foreign sky
shower down as the heavens cry,
and beneath this hope of love and trust,
stands my firm belief in forever us.
Athena
Metis was my mother
Whom my father swallowed so I could not be born
No avail
I burst forth from his forehead
Giving him the worst headache
Of his immortal life
Maybe because I am the only child
Who can handle his thunderbolt
And aegis
I am the goddess of wisdom and war
My being born of Zeus’s forehead
Made me smarter than all
And I can plan a war better than my brother Mars
I am known as Pallas Athena
As well as Athena Parthenos – the virgin
I am the lady of Athens
My sacred city
As well as Sparta
My warrior city
Perseus I assisted against Medusa
As I did help Heracles
Through the underworld so he could capture
Cerberos
Arachne I turned into a spider
For making public the infidelity and vileness
Of the Olympian gods
My favorite hero is Odysseus
Whom I assisted on his
Ten year journey back home
My temple in Athens still survives
An example of beauty in architecture
I am Athena, a goddess, a woman,
Born of the brain and fear of my father
Yet my power is not denied
In this day and age
Where women prove their valor
My power grows as you read
My words upon this page
One day you will awake
And at my throne you will worship
Again
I pray to You every day.
Can You hear me?
I pray to You every night.
Can You see me?
I need You in my life.
My life is empty without You.
I see the evidence that You are alive
All around me
As I go through my busy day.
I’m so small.
Can You really see me?
I’m right here, waiting for you to answer me.
Can You hear me with all the other voices talking over me?
I’ll still pray to You every day.
I’ll still pray to You every night.
For You, You only, will put my world aright.
Crack Cocaine
I come from the earth
Some call me a curse
the cause of a disease
For some I am a means
To Forget…
To forget
Love,
to hell with Self respect
I’ll make you spend your entire
Welfare check
I’ll make you sell your body
for sex,
I make men forget
Their hetero
I’ll make a mother forget
her baby is sitting next to her
and when that baby wanders
your in Hell’s Replica of Heaven
Unaware
of the tractor trailer
passing the intersection
the expression on your face
severing the neck
the mind is a terrible thing to waste
I bet you’ll never forget
that time and place
you’ll never forget
the pain from all you’ve seen
so that way I know
You’ll never forget about me!
Creativity Coach
my name doesn’t matter
my students are scattered
like reason and rhyme.
so many who don’t
and many who won’t
find their own time.
how do i reach them?
how do i teach them?
that they need not fear?
i do what comes to me
knowing that through me
the ways will come clear.
Cell Phone
I’m tired!
My buttons feels bruised
by constant finger pressing;
I am loaded with images I’d rather not see–
The scary one of your cat
with laser beam eyes;
The one you sent you boyfriend
when he was out of town. . .
well, we won’t go there!
Full to overflowing with texted words–
LOL, OMG, ILMAO. . .
I have two letters for you sweetie. . .
But, we won’t go there either.
Annoying ring tones–
My God what kind of hip-hop
rap crap is that?
All I ask for is one day off–
no calls, no texting, no photos,
don’t even put me on vibrate,
(It may feel good to you, but
does nothing for me)
One day. . .
just let me. . .
sleep!
NASCAR Trophy
Today I can be anything.
I have chosen to be cold, metal, hollow.
Smeared with fingerprints,
passed from hand to hand
on a wave of sweat, motor oil,
and gas mileage calculations.
Shaken-up soda, sprayed everywhere
in the exuberant celebration
that belongs more
to eight-year-old boys
than full-grown men,
drips down my smooth sides.
First place, he grasps me with warm hands,
hoists me up, plants a kiss
on my shiny face, reflecting his own.
He raises me over his head.
I am afraid of heights, I want to say.
Kiss me again.
Five Years Old
I know they are talking to me
I hear their words
Their faces show they know
I understand
I don’t
the sound of words
What do they mean
They say get over here
They mean I’m in trouble
They say isn’t she sweet
They mean don’t mess up
Sometimes I try to tell them
The words don’t make sense
I think they understand
They don’t
Tabebuia
(aka Golden Trumpet Tree)
HINT: google the name Tabebuia to see it
She stands to my side with her yard man.
They are looking at me, and he is yakking
About how untame-able I am, and my “growth
Habit” being bad. The last thing he says is “I
Could take this tree out and put in a really
Nice magnolia.”
Mz Cheney isn’t having any of it. “My daddy
Planted this tree,” she says, and considering
I remember that day 50 years ago, and every
Hurricane and windstorm since that tried to
Take me out, if I could applaud, I would.
Instead, it being April, I use my fingers
To push out the once-a-year spectacle
My dandelion-yellow blossoms make–
Tubes with ruffly edges, maybe a lot like
Trumpets but since I’ve never seen one, I don’t know.
I think they look like yellow azaleas actually,
But so BRIGHT–people come from miles around
To take pictures when I push them all out.
I heard one lady say “I think these blossoms might
Glow in the dark,” but that street light is on every night
So I’ll never know. But I do know this: as long as I
Can dazzle her once a year, sweet old Mz Cheney
Won’t turn me into firewood.
The Suffering Flesh
A brief interval of time that strays in now and again
Soon to be lost or taken after committing sin after sin
Drowning upon the sores that eat at you within
No hand to grip just watch you slip deeper to the end
Refuse to face the issues that hide all in your mind
The tape continues to play without a way to press rewind
Focus fades, passion lost, only memories left to find
The days where you were happy the times that you once shined
Pain behind every door searching for something worth living for
Regrets pulling you down wishing you had amounted to more
Escape is all you seek but the path was washed at shore
Falling back into the ocean to drown again once more
Its all a game, a crave to race and the pace moves way too fast
Live in shame from face to face constantly being harassed
Your present and your future’s blank, your vision’s in the past
When will you ever be able to think, how long will this moment last
Write as many as you like. I’m all about participation.
I’m really impressed with the cast of characters chosen so far for this challenge. It’s really interesting being inside another’s skin–& I’m not talking in Silence of the Lambs terms, either.
Not sure if I am allowed to do this, but here is a second poem for the same prompt, and the same name.
A Dream
I come at night
when your asleep
I enter your thoughts
but, I don’t keep
I represent
all you see and hear
I seem so real
but, I’m not really there
© Rodney C. Walmer 4/2/08
Another off-prompt poem (I skedaddle so early in the morning that I’ve been missing the prompts & writing on my own).
What Made Me Smile That Day
secrets seemed to creep
along each leaf’s fragile pathway,
turtle shells heaved their burdens
from under the flailing grasses
into green weightlessness,
tufted birdsong quavered
in the dense yellow air
press into my skin the window
of this day, fold
into my sweetest crevices
the dust mote’s singularly bright arc
under a wide oblivious sky
-Tria Wood
Taffy
Take me to the park
I need to roll in the grass
sniff the trees
swim in the creek
chase the birds
get mud on my fur
Then run ‘til my tongue
hangs halfway to the ground
and pant all the way home
Open the back door
I need to do my business
sniff along the fence
check out the neighbor’s dog
watch squirrels race along the power lines
chase bunnies out of the yard
Then bark ‘til you let me back in
so we can play this game again
In half an hour
Feed me
I need to eat
Why can’t I have what you’re eating
It looks so much better than
that dry chunky stuff
that fills my bowl twice a day
I crunch and munch ‘til I’m full
Then slurp water all over
the floor
Love me
I need the attention
Scratch my ears
Rub my nose
Pet my fur
Tell me you love me
Then play with me ‘til I’m bored
Now I need a nap
But I’ll be back ‘cuz I’m insecure
Holly Golightly
A chocolate croissant
and coffee in front
of a storefront window
in the morning
before all the feathers
fall around at night.
In the morning
knowing the cat
is around here somewhere
and seeing the neighbors
through thick eyelashes
and thin hangovers.
Oh to be somebody’s Tomato
and have a cab waiting
so long for me in the rain
just as darlings turn to dusk.
GEORGE W. BUSH
Sometimes (most times),
I just wish I was back home
in Texas.
Back on the ranch
clearin’ brush,
ridin’ horses,
wearin’ jeans instead of suits.
Sometimes, I just don’t get all this stuff,
speeches, signing statements, approval ratings.
Back home, I could be just playin’ baseball
(or at least watching it),
drinkin’ with my buddies,
watchin’ the sun set every night.
And if I didn’t want to, I
wouldn’t have to say a damn thing
about Katrina,
recessions,
oil prices,
sub-prime mortgages,
Shiites versus Sunnis versus
Kurds versus Turks,
global warming,
secret torture prisons,
No Child Left Behind,
or that bin Laden fella.
I instantly thought of Godzilla. Nuts.
SUPERMAN
Flying is great when you can enjoy it.
People are always yelling for help, help!
Get a ladder.
Get the cat yourself.
Solar energy stinks
when you must where long sleeves
all
day
long.
My super sweat gives me super odor.
It’s Not Easy Being Three
Doreen Cutting – April 2/08
I am sitting on the step
She is mad at me
I just wanted to play
Now my new boots are muddy
My pants are wet
And the big kids are playing in the water.
Everything that’s fun not mine
I have to eat the crusts
And sleep with the light off
Even though the boogey man is real
And I know he waits in my closet
I rub my face because I can hear me crying
While Mom pulls off my socks
and says these were my last pair of pants
And sends me for a nap
While my brother plays in the water
with my new yellow boat.
Dear Robert,
Okay, this is not response to the poetry prompt, per se, but I thought I’d include a link to my own Ode to Godzilla:
http://www.poemeleon.org/jeannine-hall-gailey2/
There’s also a Godzilla poem in Paul Guest’s latest book, Notes for my Body Double (and it has a toy godzilla on the cover!)
Always willing to share more poems about Godzilla…
Best, and thanks for the prompts,
Jeannine
turntable
you like the way
i swivel wax
against my hips: my hula
hooping coyly against
a needle
the vinyl swirls
in a whir of autumnal
sounds; crackle
of leaves, cool
wind, and lovers
under thunder
and covers
i sing the blues
and bring back
jazz, memories
of faraway throats
and fuel
the dance
be careful
oh yes
be sweet
because, sometimes
my birdsong
is noise
and static
and when you
least expect
a chalkboard
shriek; i
scratch
Earth’s Lament
You dug into me
never caring that
your wrents caused
permanent damage
to my crust
You filled my ethereal
space with the noxious
fumes of your motors
and factories until a
tiny tear occurred and
you ignored it believing
it would go away while
each day it grew larger
letting in the absence of
light and air of outer space
I am weary of the trials
I must bear as you destroy
my blue- green seas with
your poisons and kill off
my innocent playmates
who only wish to swim
and frolic in the cool waters.
You are a curse to me and
I wish for the days when
you did not exist and my
green and glorious planet
was untouched.
Cancer
Atom by atom,
Mitochondria by mitochondria
I advance and enlarge and engulf
Whirling activity uncontrolled
Beating back the cells that fight me
Tricking and devouring them
Until I win the battle
And in that winning
Cause my own end
Oh the irony
* my poem is entitled "A Lego Dragon"…sorry!!
It’s not hard to see:
I don’t pose a threat.
The only flames I can muster up
are confined to the stationary bolt
of see-thru orange plastic
fixed to my lower lip.
My jaws are gaping wide,
but they only will be until a human
or something else with opposable thumbs
comes by and closes them.
My claws are as dull
as the smooth blue pant-legs
of the guy standing on my back.
I’m an emasculated monster,
a myth now factory-pressed
into seven interlocking pieces.
Calli
After a year and a half
I know more than you think
You still seem surprised
when I know what you mean
I love you and love to snuggle
But right now I need to run
to play to bite things
Why did you take that away?
I will cry,
but I’ll get over it
This world is too wonderful
to spend much time sad
-Justin M. Howe
04/02/08
The Dentist
When I glance up from the drill
I see the iris of his eye
contracting.
As blue as the scrubs
my hygenists wear
but with a pinpoint
a black hole.
a falling into darkness
a window to nowhere
a shrill whine
the scent of burning tooth
I squint despite the protective eyewear
as dust from the molar
coats his tongue.
the back of a throat is also black
unknowable
Up into the brain
Down into the heart
But the tooth lies beneath my fingertips.
I’ve made it white
April 2, 2008
Marriage #2
As the second wife of a second husband
I should have had second thoughts
But no! A second ring circles my finger
And I’ve been back in second place
For 631,020,000 seconds.
Today I am Elvis
My hair is sleek and dark
My lip can curl just so
My fans love to see me
My fans are all I know.
I can rock in the jail
I can dance on the beach
I can play my guitar
I can sing seven days a week.
I love to wear tight pants
And move my hips just right
I can croon with the moon
I will see you next June.
April 2, 2008
Rubber Band
Stretched almost to breaking,
every inch aching.
I hold fast with all of my might
to the things I embrace
without even a trace
of a thought about what’s wrong or right.
Maintaining the tension,
pulled to full extension
whatsoever I may entrap.
I’ve no questions to ask,
I simply do my task
until they day comes when I snap.
CUP
white
with a red gloss inside
and the words
‘Eudaemonic’ boldly blazing
across the middle,
a red declaration of
purpose
bleeding out
from the canvas
of clay
every day
filled up
and emptied
striving to always
be
what the artist
sought for me.
but I wonder
if what I was suppose
to be was this.
why not an island
or a tray of bliss-
ful lemons set
out to greet friends?
why not a tissue
or a sports shoe
or even a tea bag
left out to dry over night?
no
I am white
with red gloss inside
and the words
‘Eudaemonic’ blazing
across my middle
my declaration
to the world
I will not be moved
to stop and linger in
the loneliness of not full.
"Joker"
The Ace of Knaves.
The Clown Prince of Crime.
The Harlequin of Hate.
They have many names for me,
in their pretty, portentous, pathetic
papers.
None are my own, none my choice.
I do not even know,
Cannot remember who I
Really am.
I’m just a smile on a face,
a face in the over-populated
crowd.
One that likes to gleam
in the Devil’s pale moonlight.
Ruby and twisted,
I grin;
a visage as gruesome as the President
on his pedestal –
unable to be knocked down.
I don’t know why they call
me these things,
as if witticisms will
impress me,
leave an nasty sting
a burn of the tongue
lashing I simply laugh at.
Call me Joseph Kerr,
Joe Kerr for short.
For I am only a Joker,
a simple cad at heart.
Here to show
that
not
all
jokes
are
funny.
Hey, I am loving this contest. This is the greatest. Thank you so much man. You rock brother.
Rod.
Being the girl beside myself
I’m munching and snacking and calling my friends
I’m eating an eggie that’s boiled and then
I pull at my skirt cause it flopped all about
and the wind comes up and it tickles.
I’m texting now but it’s taking too long
my eggie is finished and I’m thinking of…
Then I ask my friend what she’s eating today
chicken salad – that’s awesome I wish I had some o that.
I’m eating yams from farmer’s market.
I love them and eat them and smash them and yum.
My friend defrosted her chicken last night.
She loves yams, too and the world opens up.
How about artichokes? Oh all the ways
with vegannaise and lemon and steamed
My friend goes for fried arties and
Squash blossoms for dessert.
My food tastes different
flavored with friendship.
We’re quiet now, sated in
the seasonings of imagination.
A Dream
I start out small and easy to attain
then I’m broken into steps
whose difficulty are all the same
though I may change along the way
I know I will conclude one day
I may require lots of learning
which will lead to greater earning
I may lead to a great discovery
then again,
maybe, I’m simply a form of recovery
I have many different faces
I could happen here, on the moon
or any of many different places
I could happen soon
maybe I’ll take years to achieve
but, I will happen for those who stick with me
if only they believe. . .
© Rodney C. Walmer 4/2/08 Inspired by prompt #3 in the a poem a day contest.
The Best No.# In The World…
Two (2) is the best no.# in the world to me
Two (2) is the no.# of my little girls’ precious planted seeds.
Two (2), him and me’ two souls, two hearts, making one beat.
Two (2), doubled into four now look, such a happy family.
Two (2), so many years, me and mommy just the girls; how wonderful it was.
Two (2), my big sister and me, precious in my mommy eyes, joy, fun, love; so many memories for me.
Two (2), the best no.# in the world to me…then again maybe four the no.# that made my life complete.
I am Jerry Lewis
He strolled across the stage
Cigarette balanced between two fingers
A drink raised to pursed lips
His jet black hair radiant
Not a care in the world
The women waited on him back stage
They hung on his words,
praised him, and
jockeyed for position
He entertained them
I made them laugh
He was all charm and grace
I fell over things and spoke nonsense
He was virile, charged with bravado
I was all angles and sharp edges, a caricature
They wanted him
They pitied me
He gave them hope, fed their fantasies
I was their clown
They didnt know him.
They thought they did
I knew him.
There was less there than they imagined
No one wanted to know me
Though there was much to know
I hated that bastard.
No vampires please
It’s the night shift.
Who were they hoping for?
Little Miss Sunshine?
Prejudice or fascination:
Either way, they don’t see me.
They’re just like mirrors: empty.
Vacant portals into space
capturing nothing but their own soft
mortality. Please people. Give me a job.
Counting Sheep
When sleep cannot help find, sweet humans, that’s fine
we little creatures come softly in line
Across the floor, into rooms,
under beds, away from brooms.
Humans swear that when lights are out
Our nightly workout works magic, no doubt
We rest in the day, awaiting the dark,
Once summoned in slumber, we start sleep magic – our trademark.
We are the counting sheep,
Guiding anxious energy into deep sleep
Energy restoration bodies need at night
To make it through the day all right.
See and count us one through ten,
jumping wooden fences, then doing it again
We do not tire in our duties for you,
We know our routine; it is tried and true.
How many of us you count,
it does not matter, you know
You count to one hundred,
Off to sleep you shall go!
Living in every sleeping room,
All over the world I presume
you cannot see us at all,
running out of our stalls.
Don’t be foolish, just be wise
we’re just sheep, we’re not disguised
As monsters or creatures with super powers;
we live to start for you, your restful eight hours.
SATURDAY
Varsity softball
Game one is this Saturday
Ninth grade girl, hopeful
Dad’s biting his tongue
Mom is trying to be cool
It’s just a game, right?
HOTEL MATTRESS
i open myself up daily to the incoming stanger
looking pretty and neat without a wrinkle in sight
providing comfort and support
i am there for them in the morning
and for romps in the middle of the night
i keep secrets
i hold tears
i can be firm
i can be soft
i can be flipped over
i can be a trampoline
i have been stomped on
i have been kicked
i have been vomited on
i have been beaten with fists
i have held food when the table was given a break
i have felt it all, i have seen it all and yet i remain
even in the midst of feeling worn out, i keep going
i open myself up the same way to each person without hesitation
if only those that use me could be so resilient and forgiving
the world would be a much different place
Couch
4/2/08
Non-descript pattern
Faded with battered places
Where children climbed in another life
And kittens made their presence known.
Forgettable, really, against the wall
Without the draw of satin sheets
A little overstuffed, perhaps
But soft in the right places
To cradle you in times of quiet
A refuge from technology
Cushioned arms held open wide
For two or three to cuddle close
But left behind when passions flare
Abandoned for candlelit luxury
Where love has room for sweet abandon
Sweaty covers kicked aside
And pillows tossed in wanton ecstasy
In another room of brilliant color
Oasis, temple, paradise
No place for non-descript patterns
Or tattered cushioned arms
That stand open, empty
Waiting to be remembered
At least in times of quiet beauty.
Dressing Table Mirror
You pull your eyebrow hairs
You pinch your blackheads
You pinch your nose
And wrinkle it and
Complain that it’s too big
Or too small, depending on the day
You cream your skin and
Lean closer to me, trying to
Decide if your age shows
Hint: It does.
You examine the mole
The one you’ve always had
Unhappy with the grey hair
The wiry grey hair
That grows straight
Out of the center of it
Telling yourself that
It really doesn’t look
TOO bad
Hint: It does
You look past the glass
Only at yourself
Your hair, your skin
And your eyes
You wonder if it shows
In your eyes
That you are shallow
And have few thoughts
About anything but yourself
Hint: It does
I am Lisa
I awaken in the skin of my friend
rolling out of bed, straight to the mirror
I laugh as her winkles don’t seem to end
and her age is becoming much clearer
her eyes open wide as i wash her face
but the squinching returns and i mumble
there better be coffee in this cold place
for her mind and her bodys’ a jumble
coffee in hand, i am so much at ease
i could sit at this table forever
with wild hair, sweats, and oversized tee
as i recall what we have endeaverd
My friend then takes over and hides the map
that brought her to the place she is today
the makeup and clothing puts me to nap
the past is past,and present is at play
the world hasn’t a clue of who she is
they have never really, truly, met her
she disquises herself for social biz
she’s really me, right down to the letter
I hope again to visit my dear friend
so i may keep her "Lisa" till the end
Snow
One of so many, many, many
We fall
Together
But separtely
Alike
But individual
Falling, falling
Twirling
Swirling
Collecting
On the concrete
Melding
Into a pile
Hello!
I’m still here
Still me
Now part of a mass
But hey,
So are the others…
Spaghetti
Straight and tall I stand
Raw I do not bend
Side by side on end
In water I land.
At first I do not bend
Slowly I start to slouch
This makes me quite the grouch.
Sticking out on end
This bath is very hot
I see I’m getting thick
A thought occurs quite quick
This looks just like a pot
Now I’m all upset
And I think we’re done
Nothing good can come
From us getting wet
Onto a dish we slide
Covered in warm juice
We are soft and loose
I’m laying on the side
Around and round we go
Twirling nice and slow
Up in air we flow
Into… what! No… oh no!!!
Your Shadow
Dark gray I am with blunted form
No eyes are seen no forehead scorn
I follow where you go at night
But only if I have some light.
I stay behind you, look you’ll see
Then in an instant you’ll follow me.
During bright light I’ll hide away
Soon returning at dusk so we can play.
A Child
Forever looking up
Always what I can’t do
Always where I can’t go
My life, filled with "no" and "don’t"
Oh, to be able to reach the top shelf
Oh, to be able to understand words spelled out
Oh, to do and go as I please
Ick, what’s that?!
MOMMY!
Oh no, who is that?!
DADDY!
Ah, safe once more
Nevermind
I don’t want to give this up
too soon
Happy at Me
When are you going to be
happy at me?
I ate my dinner and my fruit snack
When my brother hit me
I didn’t even hit him back
I didn’t cry when I took my bath
When my brother stubbed his toe
I didn’t even snort or laugh
I keep trying but it’s not enough
I even when to my room and
cleaned up all stuff
Meter Maid
Head hurts
Feet hurt
Eyes squinted against the sun
Dents in my fingers
from writing all day
A pad crease in my back pocket
that won’t go away
The sidewalk often reeks
from the dogs that were tied
Well looky here, a broken one
Did you enjoy the free ride?
One block right
three blocks down
Off working my grid
you see I’m not around
Just crumple my slip
ignoring the fine
Or not so accidental wipers
and leave it behind
Seriously?
I can have you arrested for that
A Bottle
I was once filled with
water
and I was labeled at
the sides
I was put into
the chiller
and I was definitely
for sale
When I was bought and
she emptied me into
her belly
I was washed and cleaned
and the label was removed
and I was naked
I was left to dry on
the window sill
where the sun shone
on me
and I sparkled and
reflected the rays
into the air
Then I was placed on
the shelf
among other empty
bottles
as part of another kind
of display
Dollar Bill
You work so hard to posses me
Just to throw me to the wind
The longer that you hold me
The more you want to spend
It seems that I control you
And all the world around
You think that once you’ve got me
Pure happiness you’ve found
You use me to buy love
Or pay a traffic cop
Or bribe a politician
Where will this madness stop?
Some need me so very badly
For my presence they would kill
I wish you would remember
I’m just a dollar bill.
LR
Dolores Ibárruri (La Pasionaria)
I still control
the fervent strategies
the intellect of
young women
when their bodies
become an extension
I am the one who
lets them loose
so their bodies
shimmer from inside out
but holds them on course
true to the
revolution
the directive that they
never lose themselves
give in to
weakness give up
control but in my dreams
such dreams as we have
in this place
I abandon
the borders unguarded
myself to desire
I let them
all cross over
Dad’s Old Brown Sweater
Don’t hate me because he would rather be close to me than you
I smell like him, cigarettes, whiskey, and maraschino cherries
and anything else he has eaten in the past month
He likes the temp at 65 in the winter
makes him feel like he’s saving money
he likes the feel of me around him
like his blanket when he was a baby with a bottle
when he had a brother and a father
before they left him alone and untethered
We like it when you tease us about how close we are
"you love that sweater more than me!" you shout
it’s true, it’s so true but he can’t tell you
you would not understand
Last night he we fell asleep together on the couch
he dreamt of a long walk on the beach with Cordy
fetching sticks
you were there too
in the distance waving
at least I think it was you
The Hammer
My head is pounding
From being slammed into a wall
And I crashed my nose into a nail
And all I want to do is curl
Up and sleep for hours
But His hands are still working
And my body is stiff
Call Me, Cloud
Today I speak for the rights of the flocculent.
We, clouds, are people, too.
Why is it, Mr. and Mrs. Primate , that only
your shamans acknowledge our primordial personhood?
We hold the tears of the Big Bang,
we, the original shape-shifters, offer avian GPS,
once, denizens of fire, our tribes with names like
disremembered angels have cooled
to sentient
cotton candy.
Risk insanity and scry our dance:
snowy bowels hold more imagination
than the Zodiac’s necklace of macro-destiny.
Perhaps I am not quite so cosmic anymore,
but on a local level, I purvey life
and death for terrestrial living:
often my kinfolk and I make our own constellations
to cleanse what others can’t or won’t.
This eye is a hurricane as still as the heart of Zen…
My ovaries never repeat themselves,
for I am the mother of all snowflakes,
father of weather, sweet and sour,
unzip me, Human, and you will find your
future, gathered like pollen and waiting,
for in our most secret of songs,
I am the chameleon skin of so many flying saucers,
the alchemical placenta of mother-ships.
April 2, 2008
Maria Jacketti
2nd prompt
Unemployment (Don’t Hate Me)
I know that I am not what you want
You’re angry that I’m what you need
But I am what you’ve got
So right now accept that and accept me
I make you feel bad inside
I bring you sad thoughts
A failure is what you see
It is not your fault, honestly
I’m only here for a little while
I know that won’t make you smile
You don’t like saying my name
It brings you hopelessness and shame
Please understand that I want to lend a hand
It’s just for a little while, understand?
So please don’t hate me and what I do
Where you would be now without me to help you
Bouncy Ball
Whee! Bouncing up, up, up
Falling down, down, down
My rubber flattens slightly
when I reach the ground
and then I am up again
Soaring, flying, racing
The air swooshing past my sides
The ground retreating, retreating
then coming back again
The air is fresh and new and clear
The ground propels me upward
I could do it again and again
all day long
Mother Nature
I am the mother of all mothers, whatsoever
Is birthed on this planet is from my womb
Every tendril of fern, flecked wing, dew pearl
Is a cradle for you, and you are meant to cradle each other.
Though some of you have severed your umbilical cord to me
The memory of your leaving, each one, remains within me,
My cervix as freshly effaced, joyous bruises
And I gasped at your beauty as you left.
It is me, calling you to stand under waterfalls, so I at last can caress you
As the wind, I can trail my fingers through your hair
Every whisper of a leaf rustle and grandiose sunset
Is my yearning, to remind you:
You are of me, and by me, and for me, never apart.
Live well, until you come home, and love.
Sylvia Plath
In the darkness,
And under the stairs,
I smell the firm
Dry earth
Beneath me,
Comforting, that dank
Strong scent
Wafting through me
As I attempt
To still myself
In silence,
Block out
The world at large.
My little hiding place,
A hush to keep me warm,
I will stay here,
Only a little while,
Make shadows in the dark,
Whisper my litanies
To a future me unsung.
I’m a little girl,
Mean and grey,
A monster miasma
Waiting to burst
Into rain.
VAMPIRE
My red lips are full and sensual.
My eyes have a yellow glow.
When I move among the living,
my lithe body seems to flow.
I approach my victims in the night,
while they’re fast asleep in bed.
I press my ruby lips to their throats,
making them one of the undead.
Each night I change into a wolf,
running free beneath the moonlight.
My vampire children are all nearby,
i keep them close within my sight.
Lobby Plant
by Margaret Fieland
My ten tall tan stalks
stand seven feet high
in a black ceramic pot.
My glossy dark green leaves
are bathed in breezes from
the ceiling fan.
I yearn for the sparkling sun
and wild winds that linger
outside the glass.
Swirling dust settles on me
as I wait for water
inside the desert dry atrium.
Wild Bill Hickok
I walk down the street
People scatter for cover.
As I came their way
My spurs clink on
The hard packed ground.
My twin pearl handled colts
Ride lone on my hips.
My black Stetson
Pulled low over my eyes
Blocking out the sun.
Didn’t start out on this path
Life bucked me from
The path I was walking.
Fate stepped in and
Lead me down another path.
Now here I stand
Not William and Polly’s
Little man.
But a deadly gunfighter
That destiny renamed
Wild Bill Hickok
Just Words…For Much Change.
Nothing of today can remain the same.
We can say whatever we wanna say
Whenever we wanna say it to help
Make each day a better way.
Yes We Can!
You can say what I say if that’s what you wanna say
To create change for a better nationwide day.
Yes You Can!
So what, if they are words that someone has already heard.
Just Words? How would we receive the declaration
of our independence? Just Words….
Everyone who has ever had something great to say and
would say it, knew someone great.
Words Do Matter, Just Words…For Much Change.
Nothing of today can remain the same.
You can say whatever I say, since what
I say is what you say anyway for the quality of life
in the USA and a civilized place for all to stay.
Yes You Can!
You can say what I say
You can say what I write
Whatever keeps the nationwide change in this country hyped.
Words Do Matter, Just Words…For Much Change.
Nothing of today can remain the same.
Whatchoo Say?
EQUINE
grass smells like green summer.
warm and crisp between my teeth,
the pungent mash is sweet
the next bite almost peppery.
I shift my weight and chew meditatively,
savoring the soft clunk
as I cock my metal shod hoof
disturbing a rock in the field.
My back is warm in the first strong sun,
I feel the heat baking into my cold bones,
steam pouring off me
rain speckled back drying at last.
I toss my head and snort, stirring the weeds.
I hear the house waking up,
His boots on the stoop,
His tread over the stone pathway.
I leave from my snacking,
meandering through the chilly creek
up the narrow well worn path.
He smells of oats
herbs
tobacco.
I drop my ears
taste the salt on his hands,
rest there,
at home.
A CROCUS
For months I have lain cramped and compact in this shell around me
Sleeping in this dark cold world of soil
But now I feel a stirring in the deepest recesses of my being
I am changing,
Though I know not how.
Slowly I push up through the soil above me
I feel the warmth touch my the delicate skin
I am afraid.
But the curiosity of what lies ahead
Outweighs the fear of the unknown.
Finally I burst through the surface that has held me captive for so long
Do I dare enter this bright and sunny world?
I have lived my life knowing I was ugly–
Nothing more than a useless crusty bulb
Hidden and safe in this dark decaying world around me
But now I stand tall for everyone to see
Who am I that I should do this?
What right do I have to think I can rise above the life I have lived?
But wait someone is coming.
I must hide but there is no place to go.
What was I thinking?
Pushing my way into a world where everyone could see my faults
She is looking right at me
She is leaning down, stretching her hand toward me
Suddenly she plucks me from where I stand.
Will she be repulsed by my ugliness?
I wait for her to cast me aside and trample me beneath her foot.
But instead she gently strokes my head.
And in her eyes I see my true self shinning through
In her eyes I see the reflection of what I was meant to be all along.
My Coffee Cup
I’m sturdy
Kept warm
Well-worn
Loved
Caressed
By worshipful hands
In the morning
By tired hands
In evening
My place
A pedestal of heat
My job
A vessel of comfort
My reward
A hot shower
And the chance
To repeat my work
Tomorrow and tomorrow again
The Journal
Each night my owner comes to me.
Some days she’s happy,
and excited to share with me.
Other days I see her take a glimpse at me
but then she turns the other way
i guess she’s too tired, or doesn’t have much to say.
But there are other times when
she comes to me with a lot of pressure in the pen
she rushes to me in tears
and I embrace them.
I let her cry on me willingly
until her heart ceases to feel pain.
She smears the tears over the tear stained words
that bleed out of her heart onto my lines.
She closes me and places me gently on the table.
I see her close her eyes and sleep in peace.
I am grateful that she finds comfort in me.
Miss Jessica at Daycare
7:30 in the morning and here they come,
down the hallway and through my door.
In their clunking heals and polyester skirts
they have one hand attached to a toddler.
The toddler will be mine for the day to play, nap and spill milk.
They return to their cars and race to their jobs,
that some of them think are more important.
But they leave part of their heart with me.
Its 5:30 in the afternoon and here they come,
down the hallway and through my door.
A Baby
I came into this world
through a tunnel of darkness
out into the light I came
a world of voices and pain
i want scream for i cannot talk
i am helpless for this world is
so new but their is my mommy
smiling bright and stroking my cheek
reaching out my arms
I want to be held
against her chest i lay
each passing day I am growing
one day I will talk then walk
one day I will stand on my own.
Revolving Door
Just for a moment,
A few seconds
I have them:
Like flies in a web
But moving on…
As I always do
They’re gone
And then I’m still
Across the street
I watch him turn:
Automatic
Step in and he moves!
That’s not for me
I’m hands on
I like it
All touchy feely: Nice
Sometimes they come
Two at a time
A bit scary:
Start Stop Start
End of the day:
Locked in place
Still night
The long Still Night
discarded paper
meant for greatness
from the second highest tree fell
years spent gathering dust on the shelf
amongst lesser paper
from lesser trees
he brought me home
put me in a warm place
ink seeped into my fiber
once, twice, three times the ball of the pen found me
neglected once more
setinto a dark case
dust gathers
it is cold
strange hands my temporary rescue
once again warmth
till
sudden pain
fibers broken
crumpled i fall
once again amongst lesser paper
from lesser trees
Abandoned Puppy
i stand lonely on the roadside
watching cars streak by
i am trying to be careful
i do not want to be struck down
the people do not care about me
as i lie here on the ground
the driver swerved to hit me
i could not get away
lonely is my death
but no one will cry
Dream Merchant
Wrap me in my purple velvet
Blue satin ribbons tie me with in.
Let me take a bit of royalty
And all my carnal sin
I now take with me my dreams
That I held inside my heart.
Things I let my self pretend
But in reality never start,
My choices as a mortal
Are a simple life.
A lover, a mother
A loyal, loving wife.
I now reach the
Highest mountains,
Soar the valleys deep.
I am free to continue
While I rest and sleep.
From: Random thoughts of an old white woman
London
My name is London
I live at the Boston Tipton
There’s the candy girl Maddie,
Meanager Moseby,
Pest Zack, and Pest Cody
And Ivana who loves me so well!
My bellboy Esteban
Carries my caravan
And stumbles onto the couch
Yay me!
Emo Girl
I sit
silent
glaring
you walk
carefully
noticing
but not
I toss
my head
and stare
challenging
you quickly
look away
shaking
your head
I gaze
at my boots
blurry
behind tears
CRIMINAL
I break the law every day…
Steal, cheat and inflict pain.
I violate the unwritten laws every week…
Lie, covet and deceive.
I can not refrain from taking
What is not mine and wishing the authorities
Would let me go on my merry way.
Without evil, there would be no good,
I am a savior to all the decent folk in this world.
You can not change who I am
Or what I strive to be every day of my life.
There is no changing, no becoming a better person…
I sold all those chances to the Devil
For a double cheeseburger and a side of fries.
In and out of jail, the brick and bars do not phase me;
Nor do they transform my frame of mind,
Despite what all of you think.
Putting my hand on the Bible
Means more than zilch.
This oath you think I have taken…
Swearing to tell the whole truth
And nothing but the truth
Is just one of the many lies I have told today.
N. E. Tasker
Orchid
"Slender, graceful, stunning"
You stare and ask
"How can it be so beautiful,
And be real?"
I am creation
I am wonder
I am God’s laughter
And joy
“Isn’t it amazing
how long it blooms,
How can it last so long,
And be real?"
Out of forces
You cannot know or see
More real than your plastic
Not static
Not controlled
Created.
I am Brooklyn
Come to me
Make me nice
Fix me up
But don’t change me too much
Snickers the Cat
I chase the light
I climb the walls
When mood is great
I race the halls
And when at last, it’s time to rest
I curl up on my lady’s chest
In all the world, there’ll never be
Another cat as cute as me.
The Tide
Auntie Moon, she pulls me
to wander the world in waves,
I reach for the shore
and push away,
dreams tangled with the flotsam
in the line I leave behind.
Julius Caesar
Caveo Idus of Proficiscor, meus tergum terminus.
I say beware historians and poets
always getting the story wrong, trying to
sum up a life with maxims or please
whoever happens to be wearing the crown.
Has one single historian even once
mentioned any of my inventions,
how I pateneded 16 variations
of the seed drill, was the first ever
to make fun of the French?
Poets are worse. Et tu Brute?
Who says that, really? I loved him
like a son, yes, but what I really said
was Tu spurii, You bastard! But try telling
that to any 10th grade English student.
Don’t even get me started on the soothsayer.
Poets always have to create drama
when they tell a story. It’s as if they feel
compelled to manufacture the myth
even before it has a chance to have a life of its own.
Nobody remembers how much I liked
the color blue, or walking by myself at dusk,
with the pale sky slipping into dark.
All anyone wants is to hear about Cleopatra,
whether or not I liked men, or three word speeches.
You can take the Ides of March and shove it
for all I care and all it counts. It was a day
like any other: bright, a little cold, but otherwise
unremarkable. As good as any other day for death,
to be murdered, to be forever maligned.
Brittany
I’m beautiful
and boy can I sing;
but all that I do
is never good enough
to get the fame
and fortune
that I seek so much.
I know what your thinking;
Paparazzi, Tabloids,
and Headlines…
but in the end
the fame I truly seek
will come from the eyes
of two small boys
whom I adore;
They are the Fortune
I already have…
I just don’t know it yet.
Computer Keyboard
must be morning
here she comes
again
pounding
all day
pounding
the sound of the phone
brings respite
5 minutes
anything
I’ll take it
oh God
not the peanut shells
every day
peanut shells
until I can’t move
upside down
her hands crashing me
on the desk
over
and over
until the shells are gone
pineapple juice
peanut shells
salt from pretzels
pieces of sandwich
drops of soda
why can’t she see me?
why doesn’t she care?
when will it end?
life season’s
fall washes away the pain that summer bring
winter hibernates the love that grows from summer as the heart begins to sing
spring test the heart’s desire as the flesh sparks sinful things
summer repeats the devilish substance with the addiction bringing new carvings of lust to sling
Jazzee the Chiweenie Dog
What do they expect of me?
I’m trying to learn new things.
Everything I try to do
Is never right.
Yes, I wet in the floor
But it was in MY ROOM!
I didn’t piddle in your space.
Why do we have to fight?
You let me outside to play
And said it was time to run.
You didn’t let me know
That digging was bad.
Remember I’m trying to learn
I’m just a little chiweenie dog.
I haven’t had time to grow yet.
Please, please don’t be mad.
Squirrel on my window sill
Nuts, seeds = delicious
Crazy poiny eared beasts chirping at glass
Fuzzy paws prevented from snatching me
Why do they continue?
Bonk! Bonk! as I munch and crunch
Curious creatures with yellow eyes
Crouching Crouching BONK
Headaches are their only reward
Nibble, nibble, gulp.
Hawk! Run! RUN! RUN!
Up in my perch, I look down
They continue to stalk me through
A force field window.
Strange, stupid creatures.
A Nervous Bunny
Always in a rush
No matter how much I try
Still I am behind
My new watch is slow
I left my gloves in my house
Stupid girl delays me
Late for work the worst
Her Majesty not amused
I may loose my head