30 Poems in 30 Days (Redux)

1-9

Our man in Paris
builds it note by note
travels up the breaking daze

of anticipation and slides
a guttered moan this stair
way to the stars this story

the stylist tells the timbre
of the tenor voice rumbled
from reed to mouthpiece

rushing breath through brass
slow ringing pleas when
the bell pours honey but

honk and swagger when
it's time to jump.
 
1-9 This Here is a Poem

I watched the sign go
up among the vertical
litter that campus kiosks
tend to be sometimes,
it looked for all the world
like yet another list of
someone's used books they
were hoping to unload for
at least a few cents more
than the bookstore bought
things back for, or maybe
the announcement of some
club's inaugural meeting,
not what it turned out to be.
A poem.
Formless, at first glance, but
with the smooth use of pace
and a mingling of internal rhymes
that flowed so that you didn't
mind that the ends of the lines
were free of them.
I liked it, smiled, and walked off.
Kind of made my day.


:cool:
 
1-9
Scarlet Rain

smooth-shouldered red head
generous curves
fit into the palm invite
fingertips' caress the
roll of thumb-flesh in a
hollowed back
the dimpled impress of a name
upon cool skin
upon his thoughts
a vibrant soothing sorbet sort
an underthecovers agent provocateur



scarlet rain by mandarina duck
 
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1-10

jager_bomb_thumb.jpg


Jägermeister
Das ist des Jägers Ehrenschild,
daß er beschützt und hegt sein Wild,
weidmännisch jagt, wie sich’s gehört,
den Schöpfer im Geschöpfe ehrt.


As metal stars sucked Jäger down,
the drink began to gain renown.
Then partiers, to break the ice,
would hammer some, turn brains to gneiss.

And then there came the Jägerbomb,
a drink not known for its aplomb,
that left the drunkard wide awake
with senses dulled as a beefsteak—

a combination to avoid
if one wants to remain employed.
Please. Sample Jäger sparingly,
and do not end up amputee.






Well, that was bad. But another day down.
 
1-10

jager_bomb_thumb.jpg


Jägermeister
Das ist des Jägers Ehrenschild,
daß er beschützt und hegt sein Wild,
weidmännisch jagt, wie sich’s gehört,
den Schöpfer im Geschöpfe ehrt.

This stuff is what poison is made of
I've been told it tastes like black licorice,
but it's more like green NyQuil,
it doesn't put me to sleep, though I have
walking nightmares puking in the streets
of Tijuana. The fumes are an instant drunk
that doesn't quell munchies for
roast pork sold on the corner, flesh stripped
right off the bone for fools who eat it
and throw it up before they get Montezuma's
Revenge. Jägermeister, oh what fun it is until half
a bottle is gone; it's a hangover that lasts forever.
 
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1-9

Wishing Well

I should wish you well
Well, wish you
might well grasp my
worn edges, maybe
drop a few pennies
for your thoughts
or, my thoughts
into this well that,
well, waits
to swallow change
store pennies thought worthless
a treasure no one sees
a drop in the bucket
a wish in the well
Just wish me well.
 
1-9

ideas collide,
ricochet
in this place where
people are words

thoughts are thought
and herd in different ways
fingers fing,
as lips would speak
their own sign language
in qwerty

I listen with my eyes
 
1-10
to hang a painting

need to look with a critical eye
at how light plays on walls
the lamp outside
the shadows thrown like
shawls across the shoulder of a room
the cool of dawn
high-noon
the ruddy fling of sunset
and dusk's immortal hues

i need the perfect setting
for this precious piece of you
 
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1-8 Entropy

Thoughts once laid, yet left unfinished
Of things crystal clear, now fading away;
Words woven like a tapestry,
Abandoned to moths, never said;
This mystery of intention, convoluted,
Turned around, on itself, brought low,
Muted.

As I refrain, pain breeding anger,
I want things to be again the same.
Yet time never goes back, never relents;
Beauty is an illusion, slipping away.
 
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1-10

Christmas Ghazal

Comes the holiday we get hung on the holly time
green in between the tinsel we nog us a holly time

build a snowman doot doot rolled in the merry cold
carrot for a nose and no coal bro just a jolly time

hang up the stocking the pleasantly pleasant warm
cocoa and marshmallow peppermint train the folly time

trapped in the stores the parking wars Black Friday
smackdown off the rack town what a hollow time

Christmas of my youth the Hanukah bush eggrolls
Lawrence of Arabia matinee Holy Land hallowed time

All the dreams that passed the in-betweens red
and melting luminous scene of snow and golly, time.
 
1-10 Forgotten Party

The open door had worried me,
not really the time of year
or the right sort of neighborhood
for that sort of thing, but stepping
to the doorway the trailing notes
of the birthday song dissolved into
nothing but giggles and laughter,
the infectious, grin-making sort of
happy sound that we could use so
much more of around this house.
A hand on my shoulder as I finished
entering was backed with a soft,
"Glad you decided to come anyway"
and a follow-up kiss that left a hint
of merlot on my lips and tongue.
Nice to have friends like that.
 
1-11

Martini.jpg


Kahlúa

Dark, sweet, smooth, sinuous
over the tongue,
with one final little bite.

Forgive my hands—
their wandering is unconscious
for I am drunk on your eyes.
 
1-11

What The Birds Say:
Coldness

attachment.php





*have to log-in to see the illustrated poem.
 
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1-10


Don't Ask


Crazy reminded me today
to tread carefully, or things
might rattle and roil like

that revolutionary snake
with crude forked tongue, Don’t
tread on me, and Understand
everything, Every Thing
has motive murky to most

but
Clear to we clear-eyed.

we beat the grass for
inevitable betrayal, meanness,
rejection, isolation, venom in
milk of human kindness, thorns
in the brotherhood of man, in short the

Divine misery of hyperawareness

the one satisfaction remaining:
unveiling those Benedict Arnolds
And tar and feathering their suspiciously white legs.
 
1-10

Unwrrrrrap it she said
sultry tones hummm
an early gift
we do it,
each year

slide my fingers
under the delicate wrapper,
smile, kiss her, she squirms
whispers huskily,
you need to unwrap it

not tired of the game
I pick at the tape
gentle and slow,
contain my own excitement
reign it in, deliberate

a slight pop as it lifts away
just a little, work at it
pretending it wont come
loose,

hurry up, pleading
she moves to do it herself
smack her hands,
no,
it's mine,

finally the gift is bare before me,
I let her open my gift
she shreds the wrapper
in an instant, patience
never her strong point

Christmas comes.
 
1-9 Don't think

A mind aware, looking too far
Moves into words, into thoughts
Considers contexts, connects dots.
Keeps note of emotions, needs, desires.
Forethought working miracles,
Suddenly fails spectacular.
Looking too far, in between,
Thoughts become poison
Ready to fester within.
The only remedy, truth,
For better or worse
Leaves you tender and exposed,
Ready for the picking.
 
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2-1

Home For Christmas

To sleep is restful
with you nestled close
against my skin;
where you are meant to be.
Right here upon this sheet,
your steady breath
creates drifts
of comforter to rise
and fall in syncopation
with my own - inhale,
exhale and again.
 
x-x

X marks the spot that's hot, boiling
words simmering, fragrant broth of thoughts
that old adage, too many cooks? *laughs* Phittt!

Yeah, x marks the spot where friends gather
wouldn't want to lose my way back
to what smells like a great repast. :heart:
 
1-11

fair sailing
a fresh breeze
sonar still tracking for lurking hazards
breathing in the green sea air
as i test it with wet finger raised aloft
half a smile
no pipe
 
1-12

What The Birds Say:
Shiver

attachment.php





*have to log-in to see the illustrated poem.
 
1-11

The Wild Swans at Coole: The Prequel

The executioner
prepares the gallows
crowds batten on a feast
of loathing behold the Witch
comes bearing stinging nettles
gathered from among
the graves of innocents even
as the tumbril nears she works
to knit the reeds together
make as near a whole cloth
as time allows

and how the crowds pray
for her quick descent--
Let the devil claim his own,
let them fall let good
triumph. Instead

eleven swans
lift the witch who is really
just a girl. They carry her
to a tower near the seven
woods where she covers them
in cloths of heaven so they can be
her brothers again, whole

but for the youngest
who will forever bear
a broken wing.

This is how happily ever after ends:
the spell is broken and the witch
writes a poem.
 
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3/1 - m4w

CHRISTINE the waitress little Italy

Does anyone know her ?
Or where she is she’s at?
She must be 27 or 28 now.
Had a daughter I remember that,
and very short hair, very pretty.
We used to date and then lost touch.
She worked at Florio’s in little Italy.
and, I think, part-time at the Dutch
bakery. If you know her tell her
I’m looking to reconnect, shoulda
bagged her when I had the chance.
Got the ring’n everything.
 
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1-11 Through a darkened mirror

It seemed just another
excursion...slow, dull day
turning to adventure. One
without the changes the
earlier one had wrought
upon her body, but that
had it's own distinctive
form of animation.
"Curiouser and curiouser,
indeed."
 
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1-11

Road to Damascus

A blanket of ice cold
delight covers the Middle East
CNN has sighted snowmen
in various national attires
Smiling internecine snowball fights
Limestone cities coated in powdered sugar
and palm trees bowing in worship
Amman, Beirut, Cairo, Tel Aviv:
an assortment of snow globes

And you wonder whether
(Oh, wonderful weather!)
Someone — maybe the Pope, this one seems
a decent sort —
could collect and display them
on a Vatican shelf, preserve that
Everlasting, just shake!
goofy joy and maybe
there can be peace after all

Then you notice
there are no photos
of Damascus.
 
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1-12

midori-sour.jpg


Midori

Being an exchange student was difficult enough. She was fluent in English, but struggled with slang, and everyone always talked too fast. The translation inside her head ran a tick slow, the way the stock exchange delays quotes. All-in-all, it wasn’t so bad, having the same name as a liqueur, until some smart-ass looked it up on the Internet. Then there came the jokes about “nice melons,” which her American friend Susan had to explain to her—slang again—and she was mortified, being unusually busty for a Japanese woman.

Angry, she went to the Christmas party topless, painted green, and caught the eye of Nelson Freck, two months before his VC-funded startup went public.

They were married on Ibiza that March. Green-gowned reality star Kim Kardashian gave the bride away, as Midori’s father was living in a monastery in Tibet. On their wedding night, the bride advised Nelson to consume this product responsibly.

He designated a driver, and did.
 
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