30 Edits in 30 Days

1-17

AFTER

The Ballad of Adrien and Julian

Each one of them had one good eye,
and one plus one makes two,
although not much else added up
in nineteen forty-two
when both of them had tried to join
an almost holy war
denied to them, instead they chose
a uniform to wear

of simple brown Franciscan cloth
unlike their smarter frères
who didn't dress like mendicants,
professing their affairs
to teach devoted postulants
"I think therefore I am"
and joked two seminarians
thought more like Sam I Am

because they couldn't comprehend
the Blessed Trinity
or Summa Theologica,
much less infinity,
since Adrian and Julian
who never earned degrees
spoke mostly monosyllables
like yes or no or please.

So one became chauffeur for them,
the other sacristan
when not the abbott's janitor,
valet, or handyman.

Nor would their abbot let them row
the boat they built for fun,
"for vows included poverty
until the battle's won"
he reprimanded both the twins
who knew obedience
and charity towards everyone
forgave malevolence

but vowed to have their pennies spent
on Sundays during Lent
to sin if you could call it that
on one banana split
they shared when some came after mass
to see the smiling grace
of simple joy in come what may
and syrup on each face,

but by the new millennium
they'd seen enough of life
that Julian succumbed one day
and Adrian that night.

Their other worldly colleagues came
to honor both the twins
a summer's day as dawn began
while two played violins
and two sang when the morning broke
and blackbird like first bird
first sang a monosyllable
of love that was the Word.

BEFORE

Adrian and Julian

Each one of them had one good eye,
and 1 + 1 made 2,
the way the twins lived anyway
in 1942

when both of them had tried to join
an almost holy war
but chose instead a life of prayer
and wore the uniform

of simple brown Franciscan cloth
unlike their smarter frères
who didn't dress like mendicants,
discharging their affairs

to teach devoted postulants
"I think therefore I am"
but joked two seminarians
bore medieval phlegm

because they couldn't comprehend
the Blessed Trinity
or Summa Theologica,
much less infinity,

since Adrian and Julian
who never earned degrees
spoke mostly monosyllables
like yes or no or please.

So one became chauffeur for them,
the other sacristan
when not the abbott's janitor,
valet, or handyman.

Nor would the abbott let them row
the boat they built for fun,
"for vows included poverty
until the battle's won"

he reprimanded both the twins
who knew obedience
and charity towards everyone
forgave malevolence

but vowed to have their pennies spent
on Sundays after Lent
to sin if you could call it that
on one banana split

they shared when half the village came
to see the smiling grace
in simple joy of come what may
with syrup on each face,

but by the new millennium
they'd seen enough of life
that Julian succumbed one day
and Adrian that night.

Their other worldly colleagues came
to honor both the twins
a summer's day as dawn began
while two played violins

and two sang what Cat Stevens sang
when blackbird like first bird
spoke when first the morning broke
and song sprang from the Word.

1-1

squatters house

door opens, senses assaulted
stench hits
like a heavyweight boxer

roof cracked a leaking gap
junk hoarded in every corner
ramshackle stacks of this and that

a name scrawled on the wall
in high gloss pink
Amy,
I wonder as I wander
how people can live in this hovel

every room
has seen neither mop nor broom
for what seems like centuries
the gloom cast by magenta drapes
scrapes the light from the sky

I feel like Gollum in the drab and dank
mould crawls up the walls
fungal life thrives
crouch low as if the very house
may eat me alive

bathroom door hangs off its hinges
beakers of glass used for the illegal
linked by tubes and hoses
hold my nose as chemical burns
turned to watery eyes

the floor boards bear the scars of abuse
gouged and scraped
raped by neglect

one room with a bed in it
there the name again
Amy
and it seems so happy,
A smile from the dark



before

The door opens
my senses are assaulted
the scent is a weight that hits
like a heavyweight boxer

Roof cracked with a leaking gap
junk hoarded in every corner
precarious stacks of this and that

A name scrawled on the wall
in high gloss pink
Amy and I wonder as I wander
how people can live in this hovel

the alarm blares in a flash of
High pitched scream, every room
Has seen neither mop nor broom
for what seems like centuries
the gloom cast by heavy magenta drapes
scrapes the light from my eyes

I feel like Gollum in the drab and dank
mould crawls up the walls
fungal life thrives
I stay to crouch as if the very house
May eat me alive

door hangs off it's hinges
beakers of glass used for the illegal
are linked by tubes and hoses abandoned
the floor boards bear the scars of abuse

one room with a bed in it
there the name again Amy
and it seems so happy
A smile from darkness

1-18

AFTER

Wet Dream

Mon Dieu!, his dream was a wet
Mediterranean pied-à-terre
at nine o'clock in the morning
where a naked Genevieve
sat with her baguette crying

because Simone who wasn't hungry
pulled on his brilliantine hair,
screaming his name in ecstasy

at midnight after thirty-five years
next to a wide awake Ethel.

BEFORE

Dream Weaver

His dreams went beyond comfort.
Success meant a million-pound yacht,
red ripe strawberries for breakfast,
and a grouse moor of his own.

In a pied-a-terre Simone
was crying because Marie
pulled at his brillantined hair,
screaming his name in ecstacy.

My oh my, but his dream was wet
as wet as his groans and groin
at midnight after thirty-five years
next to a wide awake Ethel.

1-19

AFTER

Bill Thinks He Sees his Doppelgänger

Perhaps I'm just a bad reaction
to a psychotropic mushroom, Dude,
the night nurse put in your stage four drip
after which the clock on the wall
decided to melt at midnight,

a good time to talk of our future
in Meredith, a nervous wreck,
who after failing the rabbit test,
says she's really, really sorry
for ever dating Buzz, that schmuck,

or you're really drunk as a skunk
from the last of two measured fingers
after Shaunessey smuggled in
a fifth of Clontarf Single Malt
you thought might numb your esophagus

or perhaps I Am That I Am
you swore was a bad dream of Moses
drinks before dinner five p. m.
ten years ago, September fourth,
Willy-Nilly is here again.

BEFORE

Patrick's Doppelgänger

Perhaps I'm just a psychoactive
dream where a nurse put toadstools in
your intravenous stage four drip
after which the clock on the wall
decided to melt at midnight,

a good time to talk of our future
in Meredith, now a nervous wreck,
who after amniocentesis,
says she's really, really a Buddhist
and wishes us all the best,

or you're really drunk as a skunk,
the last of two fingers in your cup,
after Shaunessey smuggled you in
a fifth of Clontarf Single Malt
you thought might numb your esophagus

or perhaps I Am That I Am
you swore was a bad dream of Moses,
drinks before dinner five p.m.,
ten years ago September 4th,
willy-nilly is here again.






























1-2

Burlesque

lips painted in black
to taste of dark chocolate and clover
she is temptation personified
skin white as powdered snow
on smooth mountain peaks

The beat
thump,
thump,
thumps
her sway snakes as she steps
sinuous intoxication,

stalagmite forms
thicken from base to tip
in unabashed appreciation
stalactite spikes
glacial slow,
icy steps
shear reality

eyes widen
breath held

the reveal agonized
and demands
to be watched,
sequins flutter to the floor

the beat thump, thump, thumps






before
lips painted in black
to taste of dark chocolate and clover
in coquettish temptation
skin white as powdered snow
on smooth mountain peaks

The beat thump, thump, thumps
sinuous sway, stalagmites form
thicken from base to tip

glacial slow, in icy steps
stalactites shear the floor
pointed sharp
breath sticks in chest
the reveal agonized and demands
to be watched , beholden
As winter shimmer falls in snow flake
sparkle

the beat thump, thump, thumps

1-3

green eyed

last time I saw you
you were on all fours
panting as I thrust
my anger into you
I didn't want you to see him

you wouldn't listen
so I didn't care,
your oh god I'm gonna cum
my cue to pull out
buckle my belt and leave

gave you no second chance
no time for thought
a frozen moment of malice

years later I saw you
in the shopping mall,
you looked at me
with burning need in your eyes
to finish what we had begun

I walked on
the tang of jealousy
still on my tongue

before

last time I saw you
you were on all fours
panting as I thrust
my anger into you
I was jealous didn't
want you to see him

you wouldn't listen
so I didn't care,
your oh god I'm gonna cum,
my cue to pull out,
pull my pants up,
buckle my belt and leave
gave you no second chance
no time for thought
a frozen moment of malice
drank from the chalice of
the jealous

all these years later I saw
you again in the shopping
mall, you looked at me
there was a burning need
in your eyes to finish what
we had begun

I walked on the tang
of jealousy
still on my tongue

1-20

Leave It to Beaver, Amos, 'n Andy

Bobby Hamilton, twelve years old,
tossed The Perth Amboy Evening News
on porches up on uppity Barron
Street where doctors, lawyers, and Wall Street
rich willy nillys go to sleep.

I was a hot shot junior boss man
at Woodbridge High School on Freeman Street
whose job it was to hand out dailies
to fifty-five screaming prepubescent
paper boys in a dusty building
where floorboards groaned as much as Sally,
the old whore who rented a room upstairs
trying to get her beauty sleep.

Bobby, as black as Bunns Lane was
at midnight with all of its busted lights,
was one among many apron strings
tossing The Perth Amboy Evening News
to pay for his peanut butter and jelly
on Wonderbread for lunch at school.

If lucky, Bobby got seven on Friday,
subscriptions and tips included,
five of which went to his mommy
for aspirin and pablum for Kenny and Dolly
and a bottle of Bali Hai for Mommy,

and then, of course, he went out on Sunday
when one, maybe two bucks of stragglers paid
who had no change at five o' clock Friday
in their ornate furnished hallways.

So one day waiting for the delivery
from a truck that up chucked the daily,
Pillsy, my paperboy of the week,
and me were telling jokes we heard
our parents tell at dinner on Sunday
with roast beef sandwiches from the Deli

and Mother who was raised in Missouri
said "Did you hear the one about....?"
some Jew or a Jap or a Guinea
to the sound of putting on the Ritz
with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

But Bobby Hamilton didn't get it,
the one about Amos 'n Andy
and their Mystic Knights of the Sea lodge leader,
George "the Kingfish" Stevens,
the voice of whom I mimicked so silly.


Punch Line

‘course it was funny. Why else
would seven paperboys laugh
after Mr. Zudoni left?

Two weeks of doorknob delivery
he says everyone
everyone, Man!

Some old lady with blue hair and a teaspoon
gets wet when she gets her afternoon paper
after Buddy tossed it from his Schwinn.

Missed the porch, big deal,
so everyone suffers cuz of him, right?

Well, I had to do somethin
to lighten up Buddy,
Little Joe, and Harry.

and it was funny;
Mom, she even laughed
when Dad told the joke at dinnertime.

Yeah, everyone laughed
but Sammy Brown Eyes
lookin down.

Boy!

What’s the matter with him,
he never heard the word before?

Ya’d think we took his bike,
and trashed that piece a crap
the other side of the tracks.


a re-write of a poem submitted for Pandora Glitter's challenge on Race RelationsJanuary 18, 2011

3-0
..3-1
Nothing beats lunch in the Forum, I mused,
wiping away lost gazpacho drops,
pulling my toga to cover, hoping no one would spot,
a Patrician among the patrons of the plebe run place.

He stood two tables back with a belch,
paying due to his own midday stain,
arranging a strategically placed garment, smiling,
discovering eyes on his covering hand, blushed.

Hail Caesar, sez I, with a grin for his condition:
red-faced and searching for those that might see,
haberdashery profaned by a man such as he.

Hail Brutus, he cried, pushing past and away
with a venomous curse for the time of the day,
and I knew right then,
it was him or me.
..
Hopeless, I think I've lost the rhythm of the first

1-4

Tick tock

sky is blue blind
black and grey shroud
cast a cloud over
child care play,

rain rises in autumn fall
to pool a puddle
asphalt bleeds rainbow

A black car pulls up to the curbside

buckles and clips unclasped
an errant brick sticks from
amid the rubble ridden road-
side path
Kick a tick of tock and

gravity grips like a tyre gaining traction
tiny lump of flesh and blood blinks
addled muddle in flooded puddle
woozy swoon
of faded colors
stunned
mullet of glossy eyes
A lump forms on her head
his broken bled a small clash
of red dilutes to pink

Blue, red, blue, red
screams a wail of mothers despair

Can what is cracked be repaired.......

a glazed lens peers pondorously
glimmer a gleam of scale flash
as I wait the results of tests

to explain the rain, the slip, the pain
and what next,

frantic, frenetic and we wait
as minutes clock
time that won't stop
Till answers found,

exhale loooong drawn out
shoulders hunch forward
Head down
four hands rest
on four knees
four feet stand
in
watery droplets

oxygen thin
lungs ache
in relief.
*



Before
sky is blue blind
black and grey shroud
cast a cloud over
child care play,

rain rises in autumn fall
to pool a puddle
asphalt bleeds rainbow
rivulets slick

A black car pulls up to the curbside

buckles and clips unclasped
an errant brick sticks from
amid the rubble ridden road-
side path

gravity grips like a tyre gaining traction
tiny lump of flesh and blood blinks
addled muddle in flooded puddle
woozy swoon
of faded colors
stunned
mullet of glossy eyes
A lump forms on her head
his broken bled a small clash
of red dilutes to pink

Blue, red, blue, red
screams a wail of mothers despair

Can what is cracked be repaired.......

a glazed lens peers pondorously
glimmer a gleam of scale flash
as I wait the results of tests

to explain the rain, the slip, the pain
and what next.


Before

exhale loooong drawn out
shoulders hunch forward
toward a heart that
moments earlier
tried to hammer its way
from my chest

head down
four hands rest
on four knees
four feet stand
in
watery droplets

oxygen is so thin
my lungs ache
in relief.
*

1-21

AFTER feedback from New Poems:

Del

Sally, the bartender, cried in her Coke
as she recalled not ringing you up
after another Del autograph
on a White Horse Tavern napkin,
having pretended to laugh when you said
you'd die on the floor in her men's room.

Just last week she secretly poured
as you and Johnny Walker scored
with your latest barstool friend:

"At least Baudelaire had Mother's money,
trying to pierce heaven's shroud.
So what's a napkin worth to you, Buddy?"

How many times had I heard that gag
for one more drink "ere my fleabag hotel"
where, Del, you never did find the ink
for words from God in uppermost case
I say to the crumpled yellow sheets
on your naked bed in this naked place.

BEFORE

Here

1-22

AFTER (2nd edit)

Genevieve

When last I played her like a song
I sang anew with harbor whores
and rum in St. Lucia ports,
stood Genevieve, I had been told,
on widow's watch above the sea,
Chevalier in her heart and soul,
Trafalgar's dread in rosary beads.

As once pled she, so now I plead
upon an atoll's slivered reef
that God to whom I never prayed
might change the heart I once betrayed
while I bemoan the splinters of
a shipwreck with its treasure trove
I'd give to Rome for Genevieve.

BEFORE

See 1-10.

3-0
comments:
Thosa(1)
butters(1)
..
3-1
Combined reply(2)
..
3-2 > TITLE? Conflict of Orders

Establishing: a chance encounter at the entrance to the Forum. One man is leaving, wiping remnants of lunch from his robe then covering the other is entering with smiles and nods for all he meets.

To see him walking in the forum,
piss bleached smile blessing the plebes,
eyes ignoring all but his own planned decorum,
you'd think, There goes a great man.

I hid my gazpacho spots, behind a robe of grey,
surveyed the man drawing near in all his stellar grace
in blinding clothes of purest white, save for the sight,
of a line of yellow dots from the hem up out of sight.

Hail Caesar, sez I, with a grin for his condition,
red faced and eyes searching for those that might see
haberdashery profaned by a man such as he

Hail Brutus, he cried pushing past and away
with a venomous curse for the time of the day,
and I knew right then,
it was him or me.

1-6

*AFTER
On Love And Sex

You hit me with your words
the way they strayed into thought
and spilled from your mouth

caught blindsided and gobsmacked
stretched rubberbands of torment
at what you said.....

hands thrust into hair
words screamed
gutteral grunts ground
Into the pillow
as our pelvis's
crash together again
and again
you begged
you cried
drove back into the divining rod
that seeks your water

later legs crossed
pulsing throb and sticky thighs
content in the way you were bent
overridden of control
flayed in flames of flesh
heat that beat our senses

I digressed
you were speaking of love
and it ended when we came
with a compromise


BEFORE

tempt me with your words
the way they stray
into thought

caught blindsided and gobsmacked

left to float in ethereal gossamar
strands, the demands

stretched rubberbands of torment
a torrent of what you asked for

hands thrust forth into hair
words screamed
gutteral grunts ground
Into the pillow
as my pelvis
crashes Into you again and again
you begged
you cried
thrust back into the divining rod
that seeks your waters gush

and later legs crossed
pulsing throb and sticky thighs
content in the way you were bent
overridden of control
sacrificed
flayed in flames of flesh
heat that beat me senseless

but I digress because we were speaking of love
and it ended when we came
with a compromise

1-7

the pride in his eyes died
at my dishonourable discharge
unfit to sit in any pit lest it
Be filled with failure

they were weak willed
I was skilled
in manipulation, distraction of boredom
they followed and fired live rounds
into feral cats that I donned in
a manner unbecoming but found amusing
thought we were soldiers,
just dumb kids,

five hours stood at attention
the whine of out of tune music floods
in hammers the ears
torture,

that

"wasn't"
to name out the others
they were my brothers
I intended to take the fall

fault was mine stand for
the time it takes to pass out under duress
I confessed two names in delirious state

wished to god my betraying tongue could
be cut from it's spite filled home,
that I could make a curry from the betrayal
so hot that it burned all the way down

the only question asked,
Why?


last time I ever wore khaki
the sight of it still harbours
feelings of head hung
asphalt filled sight
blackening light and eye

scrape.
slide.
feet drag
tears trickle and a knowing



Before

rhe pride in his eyes died
at my dishonourable discharge
unfit to sit in any pit lest it
be filled with manure stench

they were weak willed and I was skilled
in manipulation, distraction of boredom
they followed and fired live rounds
into feral cats fur. that I donned in
a manner unbecoming but found amusing
by all, thought we were soldiers,
we were just dumb kids, living the lie
no dream of blame on our shoulders

five hours stood at attention in a room
the whine of out of tune music floods
in to hammer the senses in torture
that
"wasn't"
to name out the others
they were my brothers
I took the fall
fault was mine to take nothing soft to break
the time it takes to pass out under duress
I confessed two names in delirious state
and wished to god my betraying tongue could
be cut from it's spite filled home,
that I could make a curry from the betrayal
so hot that it burned all the way down

Why?
the only questioned asked
last time I ever wore khaki
the sight of it still emotes
feelings of
head hung
asphalt filled sight
blackening light and eye
scrape slide feet dragged
tears in eyes and a knowing

1-23

AFTER

Professor King's English

Drinking eggnog that tasted like swill,
I earlier interpreted "Ozymandias"
to Adjunct Instructor Bleistein
during a winter solstice party
wherein a bevy of graduate students
began reciting their primitive verse.

"Tammy last spring did a paper on Kipling
with would be poets who would be king"
I said while surreptitiously
expectorating some foul brie
to comment upon her assonance.

Bleistein, I think, agreed with me
or was nodding at her ass perhaps
as I plummeted two more merlots,
one to cleanse the palate of cheese,
the other one for the road.

But the goddam road rose up on me.
What the hell was I thinking? Shit!
I don’t know. I don’t fucking know!
I didn’t see the sonofabitch!


BEFORE

A Road is a Road is a Road

At the very least Patroclus
For whom his friend Achilles wailed
Abused that magnificent armor
For the glory of a noble cause,
But tonight I wail for myself instead
Inside my armored Citroёn.

I earlier professed King’s English
To Assistant Professor Bleistein
With eggnog that tasted like swill
During a winter solstice party
Wherein a bevy of graduate students
Recited their primitive verse

Gertrude did Keats in the fall by me
With would be poets who would be king
Next term with Kipling,” I said
While surreptitiously spitting out
Some foul brie in my paper napkin
To note a surplus of assonance.

Bleistein, I think, agreed with me
Or was nodding at her ass perhaps.
I wasn’t quite sure when he left
As I plummeted two more merlots,
One to cleanse the palate of cheese
And the other one for the road.

But the goddam road rose up on me.
What the hell was I thinking? Shit!
I don’t know. I don’t fucking know!
I didn’t see the sonofabitch!
And the medulla just made me vomit
Comeuppance as they shackle me.

1-24

AFTER

Forgiveness of Tigers

She was every parents' good little girl.
Margaret didn't giggle at boys,
almost always raised her hand,
and was quick to tell the puzzled faces
about Phytophthora infestans
and all her dead relations.

And what other girl at twelve years old
loved “The Lamb” by William Blake,
then cried at night when she read “The Tiger?"

Some tiger boy, Willie Twist,
in Mrs. Hansen's history class,
just ran away with half of her sandwich.

Wondering why he would laugh when he's mad
there with his giggling friends in the corner,
Margaret gave thanks for the half that she had,
gently rubbed her smitten cheek,
and turned again the other.

BEFORE

Bullied

She was every parent’s good little girl
Whatever the ridicule
Whenever she didn't giggle at boys
But raised her hand to answer

And was quick to tell the puzzled faces
In Mr. Hanson’s World History class
Of all her dead relations
Who proudly ate their rotten potatoes.

And what other girl at seventeen
Loved “The Lamb” by William Blake,
Then cried for days when she read “The Tiger”
That just now filched one half of her sandwich?

Wondering why they would laugh when they're mad,
Margaret gave thanks for the half that she had,
Gently rubbed her smitten cheek,
And turned again the other.

1-8

Tick tock

sky is blue blind
black and grey shroud
cast a cloud over
child care play,

rain rises in autumn fall
asphalt bleeds rainbows

A black car pulls up to the curbside

buckles and clips unclasped
an errant brick sticks from
amid the rubble ridden road-
side path

a trick of puddle
hides it from sight

gravity grips like a tyre gaining traction
tiny lump of flesh and blood blinks
addled muddle in flooded puddle
woozy swoon
of faded colors
stunned
mullet of glossy eyes
A lump forms on her head
his broken bled a small clash
of red dilutes to pink

Blue, red, blue, red
screams a wail of mothers despair

Can what is cracked be repaired.......

a glazed lens peers pondorously
glimmer a gleam of scale flash
as I wait the results of tests

to explain the rain, the slip, the pain
and what next,

frantic, frenetic and we wait
as minutes clock
time that won't stop
Till answers found,

exhale loooong drawn out
shoulders hunch forward
Head down
four hands rest
on four knees
four feet stand
in
watery droplets

oxygen thin
lungs ache
in relief.
*



Before
sky is blue blind
black and grey shroud
cast a cloud over
child care play,

rain rises in autumn fall
to pool a puddle
asphalt bleeds rainbow
rivulets slick

A black car pulls up to the curbside

buckles and clips unclasped
an errant brick sticks from
amid the rubble ridden road-
side path

gravity grips like a tyre gaining traction
tiny lump of flesh and blood blinks
addled muddle in flooded puddle
woozy swoon
of faded colors
stunned
mullet of glossy eyes
A lump forms on her head
his broken bled a small clash
of red dilutes to pink

Blue, red, blue, red
screams a wail of mothers despair

Can what is cracked be repaired.......

a glazed lens peers pondorously
glimmer a gleam of scale flash
as I wait the results of tests

to explain the rain, the slip, the pain
and what next.


Before

exhale loooong drawn out
shoulders hunch forward
toward a heart that
moments earlier
tried to hammer its way
from my chest

head down
four hands rest
on four knees
four feet stand
in
watery droplets

oxygen is so thin
my lungs ache
in relief.

1-9

A suggestion of tsotha's to make then end more formal to try create better seperation of the two pieces.

shuffling through the dirt,
un-cleanin your feet
tappin out your own beat,
a treat to find a little
froggy friend, end in bein
soaked
fishin for trout, no one about
try catchin butterflies, tellin
little white lies, smile,
melt hearts, playin in ya billycart,
happy little chappy you are
everywhere at a run, so much fun
excited over the mundane,
watchin aeroplanes
in the sun the place to be
a paddock, with a hammock, what
better way to spend a day than
hard at play

As you are so I was
enjoy little boy
before life takes hold, makes you old
heaps responsibility and
duty on your shoulders
try to hold to being young
and having fun.

When you have nothing left but memories,
make sure they are worth having

Before
http://www.literotica.com/p/little-boy-3

1-25

AFTER


Basic Training

Higgledy Piggledy,
Staff Sargent Darymple,
who looks like Daffy Duck,
makes us waddle,
picking up burnt out butts.
"Ducks!" I grumble
insubordinately.

Oh! A truffle!


BEFORE


Basic Double Dactyl Training

Higgledy Piggledy,
Staff Sargent Paterson,
Platypus Boisterous,
Makes us waddle,
Picking up burnt up butts.
WTF. I am not
Going to be his duck.
Oh, Look! A truffle!


Reason: The "double dactyl" verse form is supposed to have a 6 syllable word in the next to last line.

After

Screen of glass obscured in mist
heated water patters down
whistle of appreciation
Smile of welcome,
invitation sealed
Wet and hungry
to sup on your lips
appreciated with throaty lust
furrow deep as you grip the Windows sill
Cry out to passing cars
let them stew in jealousy
as we fog the windows
and silence the birds



Before

Screen of glass obscured in mist
heated water patters down

A small whistle of appreciation
Smile of welcome, bright invite

Lips to lips wet and hjungry
Morning coffee a distant thought

Unwrap the candy centre and caress
It with tongue and lips

appreciated with throaty lust
furrow deep as you grip the Windows sill

Cry out to passing cars your exstacy
let them stew in jealousy

Papers shuffled in document organisation
I head for the door where we meet to say goodbye

1-26

AFTER

Joe Joe's at Hooters on Christmas Eve

Joe Joe, draining his big longneck Schlitz,
says he was stunned to find coal in his costume
at Disney World where his Goofy's a hit
and tells the barmaid who serves him another
Christmas is shit despite all his gifts.

"Hey Joe Joe, no Disney World smile today?"
says Larry a kid he thinks he remembers
from associate training in November
during the firm but flexible role play
after they asked him if he could learn how to
yuk yuk like Goofy he does now for Larry
who has no reason to act so damn happy
with all those mind numbing kids from Ohio.

"Cleveland for Chrissakes, the armpit of Erie!"
he says to Miss Fit, looking at his,
who for a big tip says "Betcha ya pump iron"
and though he doesn't, says that he does
and pays two more bucks to have a St. Pauli.

BEFORE

The Narcissist

Joe Joe, draining his big longneck Schlitz,
says he was stunned to find coal in his costume
and further tells Miss Fit who serves him another
Christmas is shit despite all his gifts.

"Hey Joe Joe, no Disney World smile today?"
says Harry a kid he thinks he remembers
from ticket taker training in November
during the firm but flexible role play

before they asked him if he could learn how to
yuk yuk like Goofy he does now for Harry
who has no reason to act so damn happy
what with those mind numbing kids from Ohio,

"Cleveland for Chrissakes, the armpit of Erie!"
he says to Miss Fit who's staring at his
and for a big tip heaves "Betcha ya pump iron"
while Joe Joe nixes the Schlitz for St. Pauli.

After


Pressure gauged by tensions stages
when the core draws hard the rhythm right
the sound of slip of slide the smack
of a beat timed by urgency
pelvis crash and groins mash
flexed sinew taut
a rope of arms and legs knotted together
tetched to breaking

screams that mean nothing but fuck
me. are
Panted,
gasped,
breathless grasped
hot hands that bead with sweat
everthing is liquid
chemical reactions

heat unbearable
draw me to you
into you
foreheads touch
we erupt

ride the ridges of Pompeii
as lava floods
from pressure release

Before

Pressure gauged by tensions stages
when the core draws hard the rhythm right
the sound of slip of slide the smack
of a beat timed by urgency, when wet is the join
of pelvis crash and groin crush
flexed sinew taut and we truss each to the other
in a rope of arms and legs knotted together
rawhide leather, stretched to breaking

screams that mean nothing but fuck
me. are panted, gasped, breathless grasped
in clammy hands that bead with sweat
everthing is liquid
chemical reactions
chlorine and break fluid

the heat unbearable
as the first drops mingle
to explode a torrent of
wracked spasms
where everything is erupting
in a display to shame Pompeii

1-27

AFTER

Black Mountain

Ten more buckeyes fell yesterday.
I swear it feels like October
on Black Mountain in Kentucky
no matter what the calendar says.

Today is August 14th deranged,
gaunt as a stick figure is.
That leafless maple might as well face
a photograph of the sun.

Ten more catfish lie belly up
in the river's eddy surrounded by slurry,
one among many spinnerets
of No. 9 coal on railroad beds

woven by spiders of ill intent
that drape the slope and the river
and bungalows of black lung widows.


BEFORE (from a Glosa Challenge)

No. 9 Coal

the goldenrod have turnt burnt orange
choke cherries crowd the tiny path
rent by misspent webs spun
by spiders of intent

1201 "a walk on the path"

Ten more buckeyes fell yesterday,
and I swear it feels like October
on Black Mountain in Kentucky
no matter what the calendar says.
Today is August 14th deranged.
The goldenrod have turnt burnt orange.

Another red maple, leafless as
a stick figure might as well pray
to a photograph of the sun,
yellow cum brown as that swallow is
swooping down through dust that covers
remains which, once choke cherries,

crowd the tiny path with ash
by which I choke and spit out the taste
of palpable waste;
a rainbow trout lies belly up
surrounded by slurry on a pond,
rent by misspent webs spun

exalting collieries on the mountain
that make this forest their parlor,
"the prettiest parlour you ever did spy,"
billows another backloader lie
from industrial spinnerets
woven by spiders of intent.

After

Prey

full moons cycle has come
hunger bit deep
your arms, your charms
too long denied
the air stale between us
let us open the windows
allow fresh breeze to blow
away tensions built by
abstinence

count the numbers from
one to one hundred on your soul
with my tongue
taste you blood in a frenzy
drunk like a carnivore
about to bury it's bone
in the sand


Before

full moons cycle has come
but hunger has bitten deep
your arms, your charms
too long denied
the air stale between us
let us open the windows
and allow fresh air in to wash
away tensions built by
abstinence
count the numbers from
1-100 on your soul
with my tongue
taste your blood
drunk like a carnivore
about to bury it's bone
in the sand

1-28

AFTER

SWF, 33, Seeking...

She put her face on
her Panasonic
mirror mirrored
on the wall
to snap her fairest
of them all
portrait better taken
if in her room
was the face and finger of
Brad already on
the button.

BEFORE

SWF, 33, Seeking...

She put her face on

Looking down
Her camera mirror
Mirrored on the wall

To snap her fairest
Of them all
Looking up
Cheesy portrait

Better taken
All the while
If in her rheum filled bedroom loft

Was the face
Who made her smile
Finger ready on the button.