30 Poems in 30 Days (Redux)

1-6

And now
lets face the music and dance
having swung past a war
blowed and gone like a leaf
in a breeze progression erosion
eternal returning the breath
the wind the voice these
the giant steps where now
former giants recede and the wind
blows and changes. Prez and Bean
recede and the wind blows
steady on.
 
1-6 Lemmings

The precipice calls,

It's a party,
another wild party,
jokes and drinks,
plenty of food,
a more-liberal-than usual
air of sexuality,

The wide open air beckons,

Just another office party
to celebrate another year,
ring in more of the same,
counting the dropping ball,
looking for mistletoe and
an open set of lips,

Swirling, roiling waves entreat,

Afterwards, once punch-driven
hangovers are countered by
wallet-driven concerns over not
being back at desks, in cubicles,
on phones doing whatever we do
with ourselves the rest of the year,
we groan, bitch, moan, and kvetch
and silently wish we had been
worse swimmers.
 
1-6

jean-luc-picard-earl-grey-hot-417852542181-300x236.jpg


Earl Grey Redux

Chere Maman,

I look upon the view, Christmas day.
Inconceivable, monstrous beauty
a vacuum of ink, sparkling
with diamonds
Small rituals anchor me
in this pitch sea
Where luminescence flickers
like so many lost souls
Tea, which reminds me of you.
Steeped not in water
which gives humans life
but in gin
which makes it more bearable.

We are so alone, Maman.
I wonder if I shall see you again.

-Jean Luc
 
Last edited:
1-7

galliano2.jpg


Galliano Cocktails Lead to Failed Relationships

It's so easy to be misconstrued.
I got slapped when I asked
her for a Wallbanger,

cursed when I said
her lips made me think
of a Golden Dream.

She walked out when I told her
how she'd love
my Golden Cadillac

because of how I shake the cream.
 
1-4

People say loneliness is being alone in a crowd
But for me, it is knowing that,
No matter where you go,
And what you do,
And who you meet,
And how much time passes,
You'll always be alone.
Ignorance is bliss.
 
1-6

43 degrees Celsius
and climbing,
19 hours and counting
life water burns the eyes
a shower pours
from face, from arms, from legs
salt slicked skin,
the dregs of energy that remain
utilised to keep you sane
press on beyond normal
endurance, in this furnace
rise and fall, a saws screeching call
dizzy dust sticks to every slicked
muscle, the struggle
bearable by force of will alone

I will
I can
you will not
stop me
 
for tsotha

1-7

alone
a misconception
here
we are not alone
not while one burns
in furnace heat
another pair compare
cocktails and recipes
as another snaps her fingers and
clicks her heels to old blues
smokey notes diffused on
memory and time
and then there are those
who
though not here compose
still read and live our thoughts
our indiscretions
weigh our words
eyes unheard
and then
by chance
the hai ku cat
cream on her chin
and a purr
oh writer
you're not alone
 
Last edited:
1-7

Al, Screw and You*

Who's to say that a barely
clad babe holding a salami
isn't art? Has no redeeming
social value?

The salami is kosher.

Poor Al, dethroned
by his own success.
Yes we'll have those tits
that ass and open wide
here comes the money
shot. O gritty

Times Square huffing smoke
tattered burlesque houses,
42nd Street a sticky midnight
cowboy kind of town
where a son of Brooklyn
can cover up nothing
because the world is curious
and will know how to
fuck an artificial vagina.

America is exploding.
We're all screwed.

*RIP Al Goldstein
 
1-7 Cleaning Day

I am being mocked.

Not by the neighbors, or
my youngest sibling--who
would certainly be up for it,
Nor is it one of the weeds
who live upstairs and pass
themselves off as merely
children on the verge of
not-children,

I am being mocked by an
inhuman stain on the cheap
formica covering my kitchen
countertop. Nothing to be
done about it, for now.

I kick back in a vinyl chair from
that dinette I bought at Rose's
all those years ago, occasionally
sipping at a barely still chilled Fresca,
and breathe in the Clorox, while an ad
for Powdermilk Biscuits plays on the
radio. I rest and plot the
next plan of attack.
 
2/1 - Kopi Luwak

Civet dinner detritus
After dinner delight
Sales pitch supreme
 
Last edited:
1-8

13591.jpg


Hpnotiq

She's really beautiful,
from those bleached curls on top
to the Nordic chill of her demeanor.

It's only when you begin to kiss
you find the fire low
in her body

and how, how sweet that swirl is.
I did her four times last night—
she left me groggy.
 
1-5

A hard clock upside the head—
Is it a slap, is it a chronometer
Embedded in flesh?
Confusing thoughts,
Confusing words,
Do you feel the same
Without the safety net?
This, too, will pass;
Patience will break the fall.
 
1-7

406448_Fuzzy-Navel-Cocktail.jpg


Fuzzy Navel


Somewhere in Cali....

The keeper
concentrates
cuts, squeezes
inserts, inch by inch
bends and binds
in black tape

creates clones
beautiful Brazilians
sweet, juicy
navels so
perfect so
gorgeous
you almost want
to eat a peach
instead.
 
1-8 A Silhouette Affair

You're only here for a moment,
love me in the shadows and gone
before the sun reaches the windows.
It's an exquisite arrangement,
pleasing only when we want.

But, I wonder
what you do while you're away.
Maybe you're married
and when he's away that's when
we have our cameo sex,
scenes in places I've never been.

Neither of us want to take it home.
It's round beds with Magic Fingers,
heart-shaped bubble bath
for two. Sometimes we go all out
with the cheese, get Strawberry Hill
and chocolate covered cherries.
It's dirty x-rated and fun, you say it is too.

But , I wonder
if your life without me is full of family
good times, kids and a husband.
If it is, I think this silhouette affair
needs the shades pulled,
spotlight out then fade to black.
 
1-7

She knows now
dreams end

That question
you dread

my answer
the same

as I was given,
not for a longtime

a longtime is a lot
closer than it used to be

I won't be able to shelter
you in my arms and whisper
it will be alright
 
Last edited:
1-8

Ella calls Rebop
and then comes Bepop a hard
joy refigured a scrapple
from the apple born at Minton's
the small paradise of Bird
and Bud Diz and Max
Monk's triangulated swing
to flatted fifths the music
reimagined

Backstage in Copenhagen

at the Jazzhus Montmartre
Society Red runs scales
and swings an easy stride
a loose-limbed jivey
boperation left hand voicing
blue sighs and sotto voce
My Mama Done Told Me

Marquee at Birdland

Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie Bud Powell
All Three for $1.50
Only at Birdland
How can you go wrong?
 
1-6 Dactyloadapter

vilcus_plug.jpg


Two fingers plugged into a socket,
A little flicker, a little tremble;
He is positively shocked!
Dazed and confused!
Heart beating like a hammer!
Oh, my.
*fidgets, pulls away*
Well, now.
All things considered,
Feels good, man.
 
1-8

half-asleep by the fire
mesmered by flickering flame
what better time
or place
for ghost stories

steep the brain in
melancholic narrative
frame
the creak of door the candle's plight the
wisp as light is snuffed and life hangs
tormented
a chillsome breath on neck despite the fire's heat

bemused by sound, the mind despises sudden
jolts that break the spell unless
soft-spoken words are spoken well
enough to hold, to lead, to squeeze a heart
with soft black gloves - some
have the art -

who wouldn't sit, enchanted,
by their fires
burning thoughts?
 
1-9

izarra.png


Izarra Horia eta Berdea

For days we sit
in our caravan, parked
on a little strip of green
near the crest
of the Col du Tourmalet,
sipping almond and mint
over ice as we dream
of straining through gears,
thighs burning, lungs bursting
to be the first one here.

Then we pour a bit more spirit
into our glass,
recline in the sun
and wait to go zoro
when the cyclists arrive.
 
1-9

Moab Self-Portrait

A snowy morning
frosts desert sandstone;
by noon it's a pink river flowing,
carving a new canvas.​

attachment.php
 
1-8 Stellar Costuming

Disguised planets happen more often than
people think, luring folks into making
wishes that end up between merely themselves
and the great void where their target hangs;
I know I would be better off, by far,
 
1-8

1litermixer_grenadine_0.jpg


Grenadine

Sweet syrup
Sweetens the sting
Stains waters
Sin-scarlet, like
Spilled seeds of that
Serpent-suggested snack
Sing it with me now....
Trust in meeee, just in meeeeeee
Shirley in a Temple
Sunrise in tequila
Singapore in a sling
Sweet sweet sweet.
 
2/2 - The Longest Night of the Year

Birds rouse late tomorrow morning
hungry in the dark when, surely
seed and suet, berries and bacon rind
wait.

We too, rise late,
mindful of things unaccomplished,
weary of the twisted meaning
of a season turned on
its head.

Last cards to write,
the once-a-year hail fellow
and the paper boy still awaits
his box. Would that it was his ears
for all the deliveries into the
holly bush.

Night comes too soon for man
and beast and I’m mindful of
the cardboard condos full of
hopelessness, the nightshift
that seems endless and I give
thanks for all I have, this blessed
night,


59f2deb5750f73a6f1f22c5a65fe029f.jpg
 
Last edited:
1-8

"FUCKING CUNTS"
eeeeeeee, you shouldn't
what are you doing,
"FUCK OFF"
falls to his knees,
hair pulling
slapping ears
tears glisten but wont fall
his eyes

his eyes
display, twisting
twining things,
roaring
rattling, running,
consuming,
controlling
crying
out
fucking his head

the medication
oh the medication
all it does is sedate
it's all still happening in there
he's just too drugged to care
 
1-7 Wordkill

Wrote a poem so bad
It hurt my tender sensibilities.
Replaced it with this one instead,
Also an inexorable wordcrash,
An ugly wordkill left by the wordlane,
But in all honesty, slightly less lame.
(Yeah. That other one really sucked.)
Ta-da! Mission accomplished.
All that is left to do is plant the sign:
This here is a poem.
 
Back
Top