30 Poems in 30 Days

7

The Afterwards

It was born on the wind,
that need to fly,
to unshackle the chain
that ties us to the dirt.

So we lift, leave,
free from any grounding,
any persistent stampeding
of our souls
and fly, off beyond fences -

those boundary soldiers
that kept us tethered
and choking in dust.

We can blame it
on the wind,
and wear it with pride
on our shoulders.

It was born on the wind
and now lives in our soul.

14-22

tonight, it comes down to this
trapped in a dirty snowglobe
with trash swirling around a city stench
the dirt and dope breeds
a negative weed, like kudzu
so hard to chop down once
the bionic growth begins
the vines constrict, cutting off
flow of the good
blow it all up
blow this trap wide open
into a moon sized crater
and start over later
with several humans who
are familiar with the concept
of respect.

14-23

gradient black slash purple
slash apple red, feels
just like coarse silk
fallen across milk white
flesh; the undulating tones
of electric sheep dance over
her and me, random goa psy
playing, possibly,
and i am amazing
and she is perfect
and we switch off, taking turns
amazing the other with
some perfection that i've never
ever known
how can something real
3d
be so good?
this lesson proving
reality bites so good.

8

A season of change

The trees are calmer today
as if the storm yesterday
wore them out -

............................they had spread
their bone-limbs wide,
cast dissent to the wind
to cross the land
that fed them.

Today, the birds are happy
flitting from one sun-drenched branch
to another, chattering
as the oak leafs will next month.

The world is golden,
viewed through pine pollen rain.

Dr.M I-8

1-8 Modern Love

I had nothing to do, no place to be at
I picked myself up and I put me down and sat
She left dark tracks in the moonsilvered field
I told her what I'd give her if she would only yield

"It won't be much"
"I can't use much"
"Champagne into vinegar"
"That's good enough"
"Truth into lies"
"That's some pretty good stuff"
"Betrayal and deceit."
"Please! I think I'll bust!"

I bent her over the park bench, just like that
Went into her brutally, so dry we scratched
Hurt her hurt myself, I think I bled
She offered me a tissue, I ate it instead
She came from pain I came from fury
We thought it was good enough
We said we were jaded
It was modern Love

Dr.M.1-9 Announcement

1-9 Announcement

Whoa! Can you see that Pornographer's purple life?
WildSweetOne was right
It all has its meaning and it did lead to light
It was darker than hell but the nails are driven home
The anchors all hold and the bolts are fixed in stone
There are no bounds on the Poetic Mind
I was dead, now I live. I was dull now I shine
And I heave from the swamp and stop sinking abjectly
Rise in the air and I'm soaring majestically
Victory! Free! Damn, now Free!
I have my powers and the North wind is me!
Transparency! Look at me!
I choose the hours the grandiloquent sages
The talk of the ages, the poetry engages
The munificent pages and sexual rages
And grief's sad cage won't stop my love's insane outrages
So all come tumbling after me and master me and faster me
Now him or me then sing for me
And come to me and bring to me
Play with me and talk to me
And come for me and come for me
The Poet is Priest, bring your whip in your teeth
Stand in the doorway with our shadows in our hands
Eat the shards in bitterness and then don’t go back again
And never be the one that you ever were before
Because there is no more; there is no More.
For we'll no more a-whoring go down by Old Opinion
For we have found the golden glow, the joy that's forged in heaven
Poet is priest. My own leash is in my teeth
I'm Griego of fable
And once again I'm able
I crush words in my mind
manufacture divine pictures
I texture sublime structures
Abstract ideal living lectures
And high upon the mountain where the sun sets down her bedding
I am strong, I am golden, I am remade, I am ready
I'm the Doctor. I am back
I'm the Doctor. I am back.
I'm the Doctor. I am back.
I am back. I am.

14-24

sweet and creamy, my
freezepop girl sings
in the front seat
while i sit behind and watch
there's black hairs
all over my lime green sheets
from where she sleeps
three days ago
i noticed them then
and didn't have any need
to brush them off.

9

The Day of All Days - (Father's Day tomorrow, in Kiwiland)

Four fathers feast
their eyes, drink
the heraldry of history
before them.

Pillars of change,
we acknowledge them,
their legacies
passed down the days

to children
who cherish their strength,
remember their passions
and wear their sight in the future.

Dr.M 1-10 The Poet Strikes A Deal

1-10 The Poet Strikes a Deal

What if there were a place in the brain
Where you could feel poetry happen?
And you could place your fingers there
When I looked at you,
And feel images collect like fire engines under the roof of my skull,
Like come squeezed peristaltic,
Through the tube of my cock?

And what if I as poet, gave this all to you?
And made the world over for you?
Daily and hourly, showed you my love anew?
Trays of flowers and snails and elevator men with machine guns
And me ripping flesh from you with the teeth of your own unknown passion
All the trees proud with erections,
jumping
Climbing and flying through the windy skies
Trying to fuck burly raincloud cunts
How hard they try!

Would that be enough for you?
Would you astonished be?
Would you realize then that Poet is King
That I've Dragon's eyes and can set you free?

Would you put down your magazine
And stop thinking about your skin
And your face, how it disappoints, Lord! you think, how it all just disappoints!
"You haven't said a word to me," you say as you skim.
"How are your cells?" I'd answer. "How goes it with your seventh soul?"
"Sentient beings are raping you even now"
"In dimension of which I dare not speak."

14-25

sub atomic inspiration
teases, flashes before my mind
in short seconds
just before the physical
consumes me, trapped under
a cup while self created destiny
plays the shell game
with this life
the mnd is quicker than
the eye
the sun seems to shine-
that's good enough today

10

Fledglings flown

I think no one knows
the difficulty of cooking half -

meat packs that feed
a family of five
now sit, frozen
at the end of the freezer,

a wasteland stash
of summer-tossed fodder.

No one knows the stretched silence
where tinnitus intrudes, (yet again)
to reiterate the empty walls
of echoed words,

rain knocks
and I would let it in,

if the cat's curled tail
around my ankle did not lock me
to this chair.

Bough bones scratch the spouting,
a mozzie flies close to hand,
legs dangling to almost land -
a suicide mission.

No one knows.

14-26

psychicly formulating
the color of a soul
wrung-out love and
all that it was worth
something familiar
similar to attempting
to count every boar's hair
on a brush, it could be done.
anything can be done
if enough time is taken
the longitude of a life
interdimensional challenge
scouring this existence
to find more of a meaning
than fucking and sleeping
all the things between
every lifeforce
is a connection
from this speck of dust
to yours.

Dr.M. 1-11 Day at the Beach

I-11 Day at the Beach

Wave comes in—

Floods the beach with foam
That magic tracery of bubbleslime like sex on mud
Sand vanished tumbling pleasure of particle on piece together
My spermy bride cling to me, show me joy in ruptured cunt
I made you mine didn't I? All white and shiny running upstairs
Flowers flying catching you, lip cherries dream gardens ours forever bed falling
Shadows on the bedroom walls your rapture throbbing needing. The space between us
Non-existent. Fingers twine and Oh God now give it to me want it from you all of you your
Heart and soul your breath and life and living dying now forever come on baby come on baby
Yes! yes! Rolling over thrust and pull and hammer harder! Pushing squeezing thrust and plunge and--
Oh God! This is heaven, being in you, Close to you and part of you I'm coming in you! Coming for you!
Here! Here! All of me! Gorgeous lover! Take it all! Now take it all! Now slow, slow. Slow down, down I want, down I go,
Down I am, down and slow, easy now, lazy now, days of ease, memories, memories

memories

dreams…

Wave goes out—

drags out foam
Out go bubbles dreams and magic endings
Girls in white that never happened. Islands swim in sunny seas
Love that sheltered, lasted, healed, seaweed scum abandoned trash I
Foolish think of things that happened
Think that they could again rehappen
"I'll stay here just until a wave comes
That reaches just as high as that first one."
But the suck of waves takes all away
The suck takes all away
I think about the edge of paper
How thin it is
How it cuts.

And the moon is wan on the edge of the world
The moon is wan on me.

11

Rakau Wairoa*

Tree spirits speak
to a waning sun;
voices in the boughs
talk to the dying, to the old
solace is in peace
and in the spirit world
of heaven.




* Maori for Tree Spirits

1

Slit

What the Somali boy saw last
was not light from a wedding
ring, nor the muezzin's final call
to prayer. It was the slit of his

mother's burqa, opened like a
cell door. And when it slammed
shut, came a parade of fists
and spit, stitching his last

memories, blinking quickly
like what he had barely known.

Dr.M. I-12

I-12

September corkscrews in.
Digs her roots into the thin sour soil.
Cicadas play cheap paper violins.
The moon's a whore with nothing to sell.

From the woods I hear the call of ashes.
Nothing's to be trusted, cicadas will die.
The world just heaves and passes.
Even one's heart can learn to lie.

So bend down by the stream,
Seek you there but one smooth stone.
It matters not which one.
Pick it up. Make that your home.

And hold it. Through September,
And December. And forever,
And forever. Till the leaves stop turning.

Call this what you love. All you have.
All you need. Make yourself believe it.

Hold it, and have it, and squeeze it.
And when the stone believes it,

Walk inside. Lie down.
Take off your lonely shoes,
and sleep.

And never
Go to the woods
anymore.

2:1 Morning Clay

Red clayed fingernails
trace an outline--lips, shoulder, elbow.
I am not asleep,
but you and I are content
to pretend
in slow breathed tenderness.
Your crimson night art sits
untouched.
I am morning clay,
sculpted by your breath.

14-27

five seconds today
going up, and alone
with you and thoughts of
putting on the breaks
stopping the thing between floors
backing you against the
carpeted wall, and doing that thing
you say i do so well.

12


...


A bumble bee collided with the window.
Not once, but three times,
each time backing off
before colliding again,
as if trying to enter
through the pane,
believing it warmer inside
away from the cold winter sun.

2

Rain Song

Clouds burst like piñatas,
soaking the grass with its song.
My father knew that tune,
kept it safe in his palms
as he raced through the city
with its newspaper roofs
and floating pavements
to pass it on to me
with his breath, which sank
like old shoes in mud
into my body. I, too, keep
its notes safe; letting
them out to colour the air,
thumb through whatever
is left and paint it gold.

2:2 Childhood

Fingertips stained raspberry,
dandelions in my hair,
I played on wax crayon
afternoons
alone
beneath the stair.

Dr.M. I-13 First Aid

I-13

It started out, it was a letter. A
Call for help. It didn't matter. I
Was hot as iron and red as copper. She
Answered through a line of wire. It
Took all night and two more days of waiting.
Waiting.
You learn a lot.

I left my skin. She didn't mind. She
Gave me hers. She struck me blind. I
Fumbled with the cup that held the wine. What
Spilled out wasn't worth going after.

What is love? Most simply put, it
Just grips and hurts when you try and cut it.
Kept together it works fine. It seems to be
Two hurt people bandaging themselves.

14-28

paint it into the past
minimalist expressionism
with only primary colors
to show the many shades
of life on lifes terms
in front of me is
a bare canvas, awaiting
the shapes of mind
to fill its four corners
its vast middle
but the white seems pristine
and even virginal
i am so far from original
why should i
ruin it with yellow over blue
over blue
and over yellow
over and over again?

13

Cherry Blossom

It is difficult to wait
for those pink petals perfect.
I often wonder
if they are,
or if it is something
that I wish for
so hard,
that that is the way they turn.

3

Forlorn

Her heart is in the drawer,
mine is still in the fire;
wrapped in newspaper,

drowning in heat.
There is no knife to pry
it from its new skin,

no tongue to test
its flavour, no ears
to hear its song.