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30 Poems in 30 Days

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1-11 pop

pop goes the weasel
stuck by Billy, the brainiac,
in the micro, full blast
far beyond way past
reason and responsibility
that lad, but he sure knows
about blast, and oh wow,
how to have one

he really did it once, you know,
goes the camfire corridor bushfire
fry some poor little thing,
no really, a friend
of a friend
of a frend
was there

cool like clubbing baby seals
he is, Billy the bully master,
kicks you in the nuts a little
harder, takes you down a little
faster, rubs your face in
fancy suburbian mud and waits
patiently for you to say
Thank you, sir, can I have another?
or tell your Mother, or blame his,
whatever, any sissy response
will be measured and magnified
for tomorrows stigmata

Billy's gonna get you, Billy's
gonna kick you ass
as if he wouldn't
anyway
 
1-11

flesh finding process
undoing my inner worst
body by jake, obey your thirst
a long running joke going
up one steep side and
stumbling down the gravel of
the other
a heart monitor green
with continual ups and downs
the cord plugs in, right there
something to hook my foot into
and casually jerk it out
cut off the power source
telling myself with convincing conviction
there is forgiveness in friction
along with the tiny needles of static
that light me up, one cell at a time
a notion of rhyme
as i bend down to
reconnect
with your light.
 
Tea Table Rock 1-11

Tea table rock held
sky over the river I
once slept underneath​
 
1:11

It’s Grey in the End

Grey,
a shimmering dew
on the lavender
that leans
against my summer
wide window, the sweet
scent a colour that tints
the blinds, is carried
in clouds on a breeze across
an endless ocean –
only an arc I see
through green edged
windows. Within, a reflection
that shows how the grey
has grown and now frames
my face forever.
 
1-11

It's white hazy skies, freezing
I pull my collar up. I see
breath puff out clouds

What?

The weather guesser says
it will rain today, but it
smells like
smells like
snowflakes
no flakes

no
 
1-11 Storm Front

Today they write of the weather
I do not remember ours.
All I recall of the great outdoors
is the deafening anger-fear
of watching my stubborn son
turn his scooter around and refuse to go my way
down the park road.

I convince Owen and the dog
to change directions
and chase brother Cain who ignores
calls and threats and safety warnings
as he races his own way down towards the river
down the middle of the road.

I catch up to him next to the car
the scooter flies as I grab his arm
pull down his pants and spank-
1,2,3,4 times as I put him
into the car seat,
turn to make sure Owen
followed me back.
Safe.

I stand on the leash.
I do not notice the weather.

After supper I lie on the bed
and as I fall dead into exhaustion
he says
Goodnight Mommy
think about the bracelet I made you
okay, I love you Mommy.
I never spank my kids.
 
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1-11

Just A Little Off The Top

Joey drove his razor too fast
and shaved tops off of trees
it's not the first time
there's been a killing.
There's a scar on the pine
beneath the spot missing
all those branches
that Ted and Brian trimmed.
It all needs barbered again.
I hope David doesn't drive
his shears too damned close
to the highway's nape.
 
1 - 11

I am in the dock of the poetic High Court
by the poetic Police I have been caught!

If convicted by my peers I will be a criminal,
my crime writing a silly, puerile villanelle!

My defence to this sick, heinous crime
weak though it is, it was my first time!

I was seduced away from the free by seductive form,
the sensuous discipline attracted me like FemDom porn.

Should I repent and flee back to the land of free?
Or succumb to a sestina and cop an insanity plea?

:eek:​
 
trickle down econ 1-12

I don't know economic theory
but my daughter does,
having mastered it in a
location I only ventured to party

I'd ask her......... however
we only talk of fashion and beauty,
vanity being the one subject
we both know rather well

without help I'm on my own
researching my past......
I think it was President Ronald
and I paraphrase........

' The small guy eats
after the mighty are full.
You'll feel better in four years or so.'

I still carry me plate waiting on scraps
to trickle down from above,
yesterday I looked up impatiently
as seagulls.................

:eek:
 
1-12

Patriots On A Different Field

A new victory shouts down
Italian Alps to the sea,
past the muddy harbours
of France and Spain.

Look west, beyond Portugal
and hear the voices raised
in salute to the souls
that helped to teach

how to be champions.
With dignity, in defeat
with pride, when the best
you've ever been is not
best enough against
the one standing higher

with respect, in victory.

Exhalt with your companions
and sing the anthem
beside the nation standing
with you in song.
 
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1:12 Reflections

Shimmery-beautiful,
an electric crackle,
a lightning storm,
a sunrise,
wildflowers.

Like seventh grade,
girls feeling their way,
testing, tasting all the flavors of Her.
Story drama light and love
catfights scratches hurt hearts.

Every reflection of woman
calling a part of me,
a part of She.
Some lie dormant,
some linger long
in their starring roles.

Like a prism,
shifting, changing,
feeling them move in me
all at the same time

Taste the rainbow.
 
2.2

Newton's second

sculpted ice
& Net torque equal
speed
a moment of intertia
calculated flight
angular acceleration
air



I feel like I should have used Bernoulli's equation (faster is better) instead of Newton's second law for rotational motion...<scratching head> it's been awhile since physics.
 
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1-12

presently tense as you
cover me with a sawed off
pretention
aformentioned razor stripes my
libido with pretty red lines
you read my lines and
i missed the whole point
this foggy gray stuff has left
me disjointed
disengaging from an imagined
hot rage, keep it caged up
with a three quarter inch
barrier between
the sick and the suffering, and
the innocent thing
four quarters
a whole of it all
sum of my parts
is visualized, and
curiously, baby, it
looks just like you.
 
Fly 1:10

It was the violation
law that stopped him, arrested
his fall and applied the full weight
of mass x velocity. In a pile
of arms and anguish he pleaded
for Dad’s eyes. Under the ER glare
I pushed his hair back and let my apology drip
into his vein. We’ll see
him soon, but I’m
here, I’m here.
 
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Uncle Izzy 1-12

Izzy's eyes are flat copper,
don't move, his hands shake.
He won't eat in the same room
with us. He keeps his face down.
I tell Leslie he must see
something in spaces between
the carpet and the floor.

He looks up when we come
through the door though,
the clean, bright-faced girls
in matching coats and angora
berets that belie the ghost
of a smile blown past his lips.

He give us five dollars each, whispers
buyacornedbeefsandwidg,
and we take it, walk down flights
of stairs past doors that smell
like cabbage. We sit on the stoop,
hold his worn bills in our hands
and watch cars pass.
I think Monroe Street looks
gray and stubbled
as the creases in his face.

Izzy's words are not in his own mouth.
Daddy tells his stories:
speakeasies and racetracks,
card sharks and Tin Pan Alley.
Izzy was the star sharpie,
the subway hustler who rode uptown
and conquered Times Square.

Daddy sees an Izzy I never met,
one I wish I'd known before
he deserted that old pensioner,
left him broke in a stained sportcoat
and a town full of cracked concrete
and dim neon.
 
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1:12

There are days when I feel you


There are days
when I feel you

in the sand waves
shifted by westerly winds

into algebraic patterns
on the beach before footprints

nail the grains
to the ground, days

when I smell you
in the scent of the blood red rose,

a cutting from the climber
that clung to the chimney

and bloomed under
winter suns that fingered

their way into your garden. And
then, there are the nights.
 
1-12 Sox

You know about socks, right?

They, who
hide rolled up
in separation,
hibernates
in the back of drawers,
between cushions,
in corners unknown,
or in plain sight.

(Because you sure wouldn't expect them
to avoid your scouting eye there, right?)

And then,
when every prospect
of successful matchmaking
is doomed, your cupid career
down the drain,
and in defeat you feed
the remaining wallflower
to good riddance,
you know what happens, right?

Shrivelled little singles,
stares back at you, suddenly everywhere,
and sing in unison.
Where is my friend? Where is my perfect match?
What have you done? Why have you abandoned me?

Not accusing,
(Socks are simple beings, does not understand
the concept of guilt, right? Right.)
but with that silent questionmark
bellowing loneliness from threads
to threshold of patience,
and you must once again
feed fabric to the flames,
just for the terrible symmetry
of it all.

Because you like symmetry, right?
 
1-12 Something

The note in bold caps
highlighted on a yellow sticky
pinned to the board with a jumbo
hazard flame orange thumbtack

How could it ever be missed?
Its not going anywhere
and neither am I

We both know
I'm absent-minded
distracted,
play ignore better than most
can do this and be detached
mean it when nothing is said

What's wrong?
nothing
What is the opposite of nothing
something

Don't give reasons why
and silence won't be my answer
 
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2-4

two whitehairs in a buick
classic, unoriginal brown buick
waiting at a dirt road intersection
for memory to tell them
which turn to take
 
1-13 a watched poet never boils

a watched poet never boils

maybe a slow simmer
small bubbles stuck
with not enough buoyant
force to break through

when their eyes turn
you pour the salt
bring on my rolling boil
steam sputters
lid rattles
this last line
gives a new twist
that I have yet to think of
summing it up together somehow
cleverly the way no one would have predicted
like sushi on a dime

I know this sucks ass and not in a good way, whatt're ya gonna do
 
1 - 12

lust is a lonely land without another inhabitant
another inhabitant to find and explore new lands
new lands of virgin undiscovered hills and valleys
hills and valleys that abound in the land of lust

:rose:​
 
2 t 2

Like machine bolts
Cross Threaded by
Somthin Fierce,

These cross polarity
Dream Syndicates Have SM 58's
Poppin transformers in my mouth
Roman Candles upon
Lapidary works, blowing glass-
A slight
Strain on the load,even still.

As
IF some still beauty across the low river precipitates
Lightening strikes meant only for my eyes,
Overheating a gazillion
Chernobyls-
Connecting east westrailroads
Across Continents, Sodbuster wagon trains morelike.



An hour this side of coffee
And she
sings backup
While Charlie the donutman
Gives it up
I dont think I could wake her with a
A hurricane-not today anyway.

And Anyway.

Time is Saltwater Taffe On an outgoing tide this morning.

A fable of the Re-construction.

"Driver 8 take a break
you been on this ship too long."
 
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I quit poetry once 1-13

what isn't understood
often treated as trash
discarded with less than a glance

good intentions
put on display
with never a second thought

hurting the marrow
of youths fragile wings
trying to fly at new altitudes

just words of love
left in a locker
read once and discarded

upon hallway laughter
how I wish I'd never,
never, ever, signed my name
 
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1-13

free flow of
anti-thoughts
some bits of wisdom
tossed in for color,
maybe flavor
borrowed like a cup of sugar
from a neighbor
ripe and full of
anti-me
thirteen poems to prove
a point to no one
but ...
that i pay attention to
intangible, long distance
long-time all-time love.
 
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