30 Poems in 30 Days (Redux)

1-22

Growing Old

Men grow old, quite literally.
Gray hairs everywhere,
yes down there and even
down around there!
Longer noses, some have
cherry red and bulbous,
hairs growing out nostrils.
Ears never stop getting
bigger. Nutsacks are pendulous,
swinging and yes, so much
extra skin, sometimes they
are pinched when they're sat on.

Not such a pretty picture
not so distinguished,
I contemplate this plucking
a wild hair on top of my ear.

3/14 - Ten-Twenty to Victoria

I hated the salty sting
of threatening tears,
the quaver in my
“goodbye” and how his
hand slipped from mine.

I walked then ran beside
his window until he sped
from my life. I know he
settled back and snapped
his paper open with a sigh.

2-11

Willful

Determination is mixed
in blessings or curses
the ratio being nigh
on one to one but then
the line blurs sometimes
and what starts out
determined is just stubborn
jaw and mulish resistance.

1-21

sledge hammer falls,
thumpthumpthump
explosive power,
forty repetitions,
next, 50 kilos held
in each hand, containers
filled with hardened sand
walk for a hundred metres
the strain, the pain oh feel
the gain, the sting as sweat
hits the eyes,
back to the hammer,
thumpthumpthump
next
150 kilo barrel hugged to chest
walk you fool, no time to rest
face red, tendons bulge body shakes
drop the weight after a hundred
metre-mile
back to the hammer
thumpthumpthump
lunges deep 25 kilos
in each hand madness
in each step
a final run of hammer blows
teeth gritted callouses rasp
the hammer falls

she watches and waits
after the shower
my hammer falls

time for her
to sweat and pant
grunt and gasp
her hands to clasp
on the power I have built

1-20

Skin scorching sun,
lip parching heat.
In a stage so blue,
so wide, no white.
The water bearer
enters the scene;
his life vessel so dry.
He would give you
his tears if he could,
the water off his skin,
and all the time in between
the first and last smile.
If only it meant not to die.

1-22

You make me want things

Time travel so we could get it right
this time, parallel universes because
these options, yours and mine
are also right
Clones 'cause I am greedy regardless

Small things. Some contact
that doesn’t orbit around your vacations
or my lapsed judgement after an
extra drink. A simple so,how are you
would do

Compromises. The right to
hang on your arm in public, for
which I would even try to love
sports and wear an ugly hat, scarf
or jersey supporting your
team

Scary things
speaking unsaid words, sharing
unreasonable fantasies of erasing
her face next to yours and replacing it
with mine

Surprising romantic things
Waking up in Venice
a walk in the Catskills, I would
show you ancient trees and rocks
Hot chocolate in Bed
rose petal filled tub in Bali
Breathing words into your ribs
for days and a thousand and one
nights

Then walking away, happy in my freedom
Happy with things as they are.

Things
I cannot have

3/15 - Imposition

We spasmodic siblings meet
in prickly agreement.
A round-table of parental betrayal,
perhaps patricide, I can’t decide.

The old mariner can no longer
sail through life solo so must go
into dry-dock for the duration
surrounded by other relics living
on memories and repetition.

The food’s good, the staff kind
but he just wants to set his jib,
face the wind and sail home.

1-22

his name's Bien
well, his first, anyway
and the world's full of connections
keeps rollin' on
through the blissful black
strafed by tracerlines of starfire
it's all good
love

1-22

We could be blue as trees
the hue of spruce a frieze of fur

Winter we dare not stir
we dare not shatter shards of ice

Our lair's warm nicely nice
a fire warns the storm: think twice

We're calm and who plays dice
with gormless snow icing the breeze?

2-12

A Week Of Daze

On Monday you deceived me
when you told me you'd be fine.
So Tuesday I could look at you
and know that you had failed to face
these Wednesday truths that change
the pace of heart beats struggle

Thursday I may have not been true
as you begged me to let you know
that Friday you'll be coming home
for a weekend rest with me.
But Saturday dawns too soon and flies
past lazy afternoon naps
when Sunday couldn't delay the end
and we actually look forward to work
on Monday...

1-23



VeeV
"Sustainable Açaí Spirit"

I know it's probably marketing,
but sustainable seems misleading
from my current viewpoint,
face buried in floor.



.

1-23

That little finger sticks out
every time she sips her
tea and I have the urge to bite it
or at least nibble her perfect
little nail manicure.
Because perfect needs imperfect
to appreciate what is best
and every bad boy needs a good girl
to mess around with,
Miss Primly is mine.






all right. too much cold medicine. nighty.

1-21 Lunchtime

I wanted pizza.
But as we entered the
cafeteria on the ringing
of the second lunch bell,
I looked over the sea of
assorted schoolchildren,
mostly ignoring me back
with their shrill laughter
and jibbering speech,
and remembered that they
only served pizza on Fridays
(except during Lent, oddly enough
when you consider it was
public school) so I munched
badly reheated chicken patty on
not-too-stale-to-serve hamburger bun,
and inwardly was thankful
Parent's Day was only an annual
thing while eyeing the
small bowl of vanilla pudding
on the side of the tray next
to mine.

1-21

Chill northeast wind's bite;
fine white sand's given flight
in a coast so gray and long.

Sharp alar razors of stone
go unseen in plain sight,
as bare feet plod along, alone.

Not a soul walks the night
to join hands in the cold
for a touch would ache to the bone.

Fire's a soul shining bold
marching on to a fight
that is meant to go untold.

1-22

twisted twist and sweetness
hand in mine,
these moments where a smile
a look, communicate
more than I could with words
or songs,

I know these moments aren't
forever but to prolong it,
to have that pulsing flutter
the heart beat in your wrist
touched upon my lips,
pulse jumps upon
my teeth as I drag them
slowly along
a touch of gentle and hard

show me your scriptures
tales of your rapture
show me that coy tease
eyebrows raise inviting
my lips to meet yours
I pause for reflection
a second of contemplation
before diving into the ice cold
electric burst that tingles me
every time

1-23

Say you want to write a pantoum
but you're not sure it should rhyme
you could use soon instead of womb--
close enough for jazz one time--

but you're not sure it should rhyme
and then you're stuck with the damn repeating,
close enough for jazz one time
but two or more and you'll want deleting

and then you're stuck with the damn repeating
and do you want another stanza?
(But two or more and you'll want deleting
and nothing fucking rhymes with stanza.)

And do you want another stanza
when you've said nothing in almost four?
And nothing fucking rhymes with stanza
god@#$%^& pantoum's a chore....

2-13

fattening

Frittered time, while not clove
-scented apple still has flavour
when spent bubbling in oil
with poetry from ago
and read with guilty cream,
whipped to clouds of puff
and sugar that gets spooned
over guilty gluttonous sin.

3/16 - Thank god it's over

Deflation around the ruined tree
where piles of presents used to be.
The cat has had its way with tinsel
hiding from the new pup, Prince,
he'll soon learn his place in here.

If batteries were not included,
ruined mood but games renewed it,
charades, murder, karaoke.
Auntie Gwen votes Hokey Pokey
but the rest of us decline.

“Fine!” she sputters, hits the wine
and anything that’s alcoholic
later on she starts to frolic,
flirts and tickles Cousin Roger
who attempts in vain to dodge her.

Belts are loosened, dishes washed,
snoozes taken, presents squashed
under ample buttocks by mistake
“By Jove! It’s made not to break!”
Shouts Grandpapa in delight.
And so to all a great goodnight.

1-23

for what it's worth
your gift is priceless
enough to make me want to
don a black cat suit
pack super-thin high-tensile cord
pulleys and plastic explosives
smoke bombs and confettied-decoys
to steal it right out
from under red-taped noses
clipboards
and her majesty's avaricious gaze

1-24

Box Elder's Reprieve

The sun shines until
the bugs come to crawl
the windows by the dozen,
creepy, pesky but harmless.

By nightfall, they will be
dead in the snow dust.
Morning, I will have black and red
carcasses to sweep.

Rinse and repeat.
That tree is a mess but it's a good
shade. It survives another year,
that is until the fire needs fat wood.

1-1 Fire and Forgiveness


A kiss stained by salty tears.
Tongues battle for authority
as both attempt apologies.
I knew it was my fault,
I’d overreacted but I refrained from admitting fault.
You were perpetually calm,
even as I spewed strings of profanity at you.
You refused to allow my jealous bile to hurt you,
you didn’t allow my fire to burn you.

Calm and curt replies tumble from your lips,
your composure was kept.
I couldn’t get a rise out of you,
even though I desired to see your cool exterior slip.
I longed for the fire that I knew was inside.

I want to be forgiven.
Veins once fueled with explosive words
burn with something else entirely.
I allow the fire to burn away the barriers between us.
There’s a need to be closer, to feel more, to be one.
You embrace my heat, smoldering me with your coolness.
We tangle together, melt into each other,
chocolate and marshmallows.

Lips, teeth and tongue come in contact with your soft flesh
leaving passion marks; brands.
My hands roam freely,
caressing and groping you.
The ferocity of my need is unprecedented.

My name slips from your lips,
softly, sweetly, as you bring me to you.
Raining kiss on me in an attempt to extinguish my fire,
but it doesn’t help, I’m too far gone.

My hands travel south,
passing through soft curls and soon,
I reach my destination.
I slip into your cool waters,
first one, then two, and finally three fingers fill you.
I bask in your moisture, enjoying the feel of you wrapped around me,
tightly, refusing to let me go.
Breathless whispers of I love you and please more
satisfy me as I watch you.
Even now,
with your face contorted with pleasure
you maintain a sense of tranquility.

Your body bucks beneath me,
shrieks and squeals of ecstasy escape you,
the dam breaks, more cool waters flow.
Breaths are uneven and fight for regularity,
the embers of the fire cool.
Ice blue makes contact with hot chocolate irises,
a conversation is had absent words.
You have forgiven me.

1-22 Saturday Layabout

Winter's finally here,
Mother Nature had been
teasing us about it for
weeks, off-and-on, but I
can finally feel it in the very
air--not quite chill enough
for my breath to slip past
my lips in small clouds, but
enough that a quick glance
up the street confirms that
Jungle Golf has renewed
the plastic shielding on
their palm trees. I spend the
afternoon in my favorite
spot on the couch, idly listening
to Journey going on about the
taste of bittersweet while
wondering what might be like,
but all I can taste is the odd
tingle on the tongue when
I breathe in the burning
pine logs on the hearth.

1-24



Whidbey’s Loganberry Liqueur

Finally. Something local
I can serve you—if just a splash
in a flute of prosecco,

as we lounge in deck chairs
looking out over the Sound
and the mountains,

waiting for the sun
to sink just a bit lower in the west
before we test the firmness of that bed.



.

1-23

Crosses

My cross to bear
may be
star-crossed, but

Stars do not demand sacrifices
and if the fault is in our stars
then when we reach
warp 10, can we please uncross them?

Or maybe double crossed--
which implies we betray each other,
or betray ourselves twice
crossing out common denominators --
there is some mathematical issue there.

The thought crosses my mind that
our lines have been crossed
countless times and
as for putting a cross on it, I think we
agree
we will cross that bridge
when we come to it.

At this crossroads,
I can only
cross my heart
and my fingers.

1-23

violence isn't the answer
in this instance,
his screams every night
going to sleep
he fights it as I would a mugger
I wish that I could answer this
aggressively all the training
all the muscles, all the strength
I can muster,
valiantly walk into his dreams
quiet his screams, comfort
him through the night
a stalwart guardian
ready to protect
so he isn't there alone
bound and prone in his
own thoughts

there is nothing I can do
to fight this fight for him
so I cradle him in my arms
try to will my strength
my everything into him
let him know I am here
that rest is possible

I want to cry
with him
have to control myself
because if dad is afraid
or nervous, or angry
how bad will it be.......