30 Poems in 30 Days

1 - 15

Steadfast Emptiness

stone walls anchor moss
shadow-filled crevice
darkness absorbs vision

5

Do to prior commitments (hehehe) I am unable to post my fifth poem tomorrow. With your kind indulgence, I will post it today (plus I just WANT TO ).

You've got to play this song when you read this poem!
(If you aren't up on your lesbian lingo - MONKEY SEX (n.) Wild, unusual or vigorous sexual activity. )

Attack of the Flying Love Monkey

She's disabled the early warning alarm!
Sent them away to friends for the night!
There’s no hope for you now; it worked like a charm.
You’ll be caught unaware by the Love Monkey in flight!

From her clutches there is no escape.
You’ll be used and abused,
Suffer hands fully groping your womanly shape,
The Love Monkey will kiss your face till it’s bruised!

Once you are quite incapacitated,
You will be dragged to the bedroom
And she'll use you until she is sated;
Love Monkey will have her way with your womb!

You’ll wake tired and sore, feeling anything but spunky,
But you never had a chance against a Flying Love Monkey.​

1-15

Baby Blues link

dew damp, petal soft
cucumber melon scented skin
slipped into your favorite shade
of comfortable

riding low, thin enough
to read the morning news through
striped hues of ocean and sky
trimmed in lime eyelet lashes
salt on your margarita rim

a keyhole loop at the back, just above grace
both subtle invite, and resting place
welcomes you in

today, you insist
your favorite color
is me

1 - 28 - Of temples and obelisks

"Rise above" Nature?
'Tis the eighth, most deadly sin.
As for what's Holy...

Flash Flood- Moira

..................

2-16

(Admittedly this should have been posted yesterday. I'm traveling seeing family and praying for a little flexibility on the part of the dear reader and forum mods as I struggle to get wireless at various aging relatives' homes.)




In his hands I am still dressed
and yet I'm fully nude.
All tender motives are expressed
though in his hands I am still dressed.
He sends my reticence to rest,
Prepares me like I'm food.
By his hand I'm fully dressed,
and still I'm fully nude.

xx

Tzara is outside, sitting on the deck drinking a brew and complaining (loudly) that it is too hot to write a poem, the lazy sod. So I cranked up the triolet machine again and out popped this depressing little number:It is hot out, though. I wish some nice human would spread a bowl of ice across my top.

1 - 16

Bedazzling tangle
of jeweled lies
fools the willing blind
clinging to illusion
for fear of dissipation.
Perception’s cloud
erected from emptiness
to fog reality.
victim affliction.
My friend, please go.

1 - 29 - Interspesies dating

Day two of my dream-walk,
past foothills, slopes, glaciers.
I'm on the southwest flank,
"where no man has gone before."

Leaving base with neither footplan,
radio nor so much as a "by your leave"
is a fire-and-deport offence,
but what they don't know won't hurt me.

It's mid-winter, a "long" weekend,
no work for a couple days.
If I return, noone will've missed me;
if not, noone will ever find me.

I look up and see a light show,
the crater reflected on low clouds;
it's pretty much the only light;
a few stars, no moon, no humans.

Standing here, I think the Norse correct,
that the world formed from Fire and Ice.
I'm on a pilgrimage to visit that beginning,
to pay my respects to the local Mother.

There's no way I'll get all the way there
with some PowerBars and three canteens,
not to mention my limited time-frame,
but I've reached her periphery.

At 7500 feet or so I'm as high as I'll get,
the gigantic breast beneath me,
aureole and nipple forever out of reach.
I'm 30 clicks from the nearest foot, ever.

Babe, I'm here to visit the Pele Consulate
but all I can see is you, your face.
You called me crazy to do this, but
ended with "Hon, I like crazy!"

I look due south toward "home,"
the final signpost on the road to Pole.
Your taste still on my frozen face-fur,
see the emerald LIDAR fucking the sky.

That's you, an un-arranged kiss on the eyes.
You look for aerosols in the stratosphere,
while I look for meanings in the small things.
How could we not be lovers, conspirators?

I trip and fall on a ridge of lava-knife,
slash my gauntlet and tear a finger.
Had that been my knee I'd never leave;
time to turn, to rejoin my community.

My blood on these rocks, a little merging
with the Goddess of the Ring of Fire,
new life and old, so old. A flash in the crater,
the clouds glow. I guess it was good for her.

I'll live with tephritic phonolite shrapnel,
she with red-flecked flanks.
I'll bring this back to you, the synthesis of
a crazy geek and Erebus' brutal passion.

1-16

Lust for the written word
Infused with
The tantalizing
Effervescent
Rush
Of nearly
Tangible
Indulgence in
Copulation as
Art

2-16 Out of the Furniture Aisle

How lovely it is not "where does this go,
miss where do you want it?" That you are in
because you need to be more than
anything, in my home, in my arms
in my life, in my cunt all with the same
urgency. I am so relieved
for you it isn't like
moving furniture.

And such relief when you tremble
from this moment in which you are--
not rehearsing for next time,
not correcting your oration but here--
right now with me in this tender blush
in this joyous pounding of bodies in this together
in this bliss our words spilling from our mouths
careless, sputtering, beautiful
and I know you are not just pressing
these words like coins to be spent
on another lover
tomorrow or even
later the same
night.

# 3 Burnt Ernie

.................

6

Can’t Rape the Willing

Come on you mother fuckers – strip me bare:
right here on your altar of bigotry.
Cruelly mutilate my mother’s breasts,
doing your best to ensure I’ll never enjoy
succoring my children again.

Come on you mother fuckers – mind fuck me:
try and gang rape me into suborned obedience.
Screw with my head deep and hard,
with long savage strokes of hate
until you spew your vitriolic jizz of intolerance.

Come on you mother fuckers – see the results:
of picking the wrong victim.
Be shocked by my lustful smile,
as your impotent seed falls
on ground made infertile by love.

Come on you mother fuckers – do me harder:
as I lift my hips to meet your thrusts.
Your hate isn’t prepared for me,
when I wrap what I now call family
around your pitiful frame and hump back at you.

Come on you mother fuckers – don’t stop now:
your heart ain’t no match for mine.
I grab you hair and crush your lips with my passion for life;
slip you the tongue of happiness
and joyously scream in orgasmic freedom.

Come on you mother fuckers – who's next?

21

Explaining Love with Metaphor

Your image lies in disjoint parts,
so I must play psychiatrist—
reintegrate your voice,

heard hungered soft in your few poems,
back with some fuzzy Polaroid
in which you’re eating ice cream, laughing

into the chlorine pool of camera.
At least you’re not insane,
though I may be, pasting fragments

of a life I’ll never really know
onto some Make-a-Person™ board.
(I mean, there, at least I learn

that you can be a kind of airplane,
watching as your paper fold sails out
my open window, prettily.)

But this is all, and always, about want.
Because I want you real
as this year’s phone book or my electric bill.

See, I want you in my life the way
that weeds grow in my lawn—
always green and healthy. And, oh yeah,

despite how I sometimes drench
our love in herbicide,
I want it always, all ways, there

and insuppressible.


.

1-17

always,
i hold my words
with both hands
i know them
they are my kin
today, i throw them
in the air
they neither float
like bubbles
nor sink, like stones
instead, they hang
loose like smoke
with no familial bond

1 - 30 - Party 'cause it's 1999

"You're over-engineering," she says.
It's about six hours since we dropped,
but it seems like a couple days.
The current project has become my life.

My lover's ceramics do the strangest things under UV,
what with glazes made from local materials.
I'm showing her girlfriend, and we decide to do
a "drive-by arting."

I pause a moment as the filament of a clear bulb
turns to a slow-motion lasso, then
get back to sealing every microscopic hole
in the one cubic foot tri-wall.

The "occularina," an ocarina shaped like an eye
has veins of pale green which turn to crimson.
Other people have to see this! To the lab, quick!
A lifetime trek through the snow to get a box.

The inside takes a whole can of stencil ink,
then is a black-is-beautiful, smelly perfection.
To Skua Central, quick! Another lifetime in the dark,
then we have the stuff to light-seal the handholes.

My little UV mineral light is secured, then - I pause,
as her teeth glow a gentle blue with gold edges.
I look back to the Box (somewhen it got capitalised)
and now her perfect, talented mouth smiles from it.

Irrespective of this, I splice wires, tighten screws and -
Voila! The Box works. Now to inflict it on others.
But first, I pause, as her mouth floats off the box
and kisses me on the face, the throat, my hands.

It then flies out the closed window, but that's O.K.
She's grown another one, just a good as the first.
We pack up the ceramics and go to find a victim.
The gay couple down the hall are our test case.

We knock, traipse in while they stare and she
plays "blister in the sun" while we plug in the Box.
She hands them the occularina and orders them
to place it in the Box as she throws the switch.

"What in the world?!?" A most gratifying question.
They look at other pieces, then we all go a-hunting.
Our party grows, inflicting art and trippy logic.
Half the dorm has now experienced our Magnum Opus.

Heading to her place I pause - was that her mouth?
Nah, just a shooting star ascending to zenith. (?!?)
She smiles and invites me to bed, floating above us.
I love how her nose and ears outshine her eyes.

We kiss some, her new mouth indeed fully functional,
and then she stares at me, seeing everything I don't.
She is my mirror, and I'm hers. I'll show her what I see.
As I move toe-ward, "What in the world?!?" she asks.

intercourse, destination cheese

.....................

2-17 Reunion

. . . . .

1 - 17 & 1 - 18

Well, I am on vacation in Tennessee. Yesterday, I managed to write a poem with a fitting title after a 10 hour drive. This morning, I wrote a haiku. I plan on making it through this challenge, though I won't be able to post the poems that I write everyday.


Exhaustion

Weariness settles
in comfortable silence.
Clock argues with body’s insistence
on early retire.
Turning off
the noise,
the desires,
the complaints
proves difficult
as silence turns
to haunting emptiness.
Lack becomes evident
at every turn of the mind.


Wind Clap

Moss-mottled column
Supports leafed tangle
Leaves flapping in unison

1-1

It's spiking again,
and I don't know if
I should laugh or
well, you know,

cliches don't just
come out of nothing,

even when they seem
to walk up and shake
hands with you like an
old friend or some

glad handing SOB who
isn't likely to remember
having touched you, let
alone gave you a smile
and a wink and a heartsome,
"Nice to meet you, great
to have you with us."

If only the pills would work.

---------

7

1-1

neonurotic said:

This is a challenge.

Yes, a challenge to write 30 poems in 30 days to encourage you to get off your lazy poetic asses, out of your winter blahs and back to writing some poetry. Just so you all know, I totally ripped this idea off a community in Live Journal that I'm a part of, but since I like the people over here better I'd rather try it over here instead of there.
****************************************************************************


Winter Blahs, ah yes I remember them, hard now since it is 90something in the dog days of August's summer heat.

Nevertheless I tried to keep a dying computer going long enough for 5 in 5 and it crashed after day 3 (sure, blame it on the poetry). The computer has been resurected and I'll try 30 in 30, should I disappear it is not for a lack of poems (winter or otherwise) but rather a darth of computer parts.

So..

1-1

One minus one
is zero
they tell me
I've never believed that though.

Something always remains
even if it is the problem
which was the problem in the first place
and zero has always been worth
more than a debt
trying hard not to be
negative.

I reversed a negative once
without gaining anything positive
I did see inverted writing
For Sale backwards
puts the handle on
the wrong side of the door.

The wrong side of the door
I have been a frequent visitor there
looking within
while everyone else
has gone out
looking out
while life rages inside.

Click to expand...

1-18

Give Me The Night link

That precious time of day falls
and all is right in my world
Bring me the night

I can feel the flow of current
Electric hum of city lights, come to life
coursing through my blood
Give me the night

Shadows dissipate, in the absence of light
and darkness is an absolute thing
with a beating heart, divine
Take me into the night

When that blanket spreads in ripples
as inevitably, it does
from west to east, in gradual shades
I become the night

2-18 Lifeguard

here you take over the chalk line
to draw as wide as you need it
after all you are the one
with complications

not me
I have
job will travel
all I need
is a reason

probably
won't be you