30 Poems in 30 Days (Redux)

1-7b

kisses float like cherry blossoms
fall like velvet snow
gracing sharp curves and contours
putting on a show
 
2-5

A chamber of molten rock
and fluxes that climb, up a duct
'till pressure builds, hot,
uncontrolled, set to erupt.
All this beneath a desert of ice.

His face may be flaking
but the smile stays on.
A nod and a smile, swallow a roar
an apology, wanting to explode.
We know the score,
inside his heart is breaking—
but hold the line,
on with the show!

----

The Show Must Go On

I apologize for this one... it's been hard to think straight today.
 
1-3 A Villanelle For Difficult Choices

Don't walk blithely into that dark night,
Take heed and consider before taking that road,
What at first may seem safe, may not be right.

Life sometimes appears to be nought but blight,
With only the weeds having seeds that are sowed;
Don't walk blithely into that dark night.

The attraction of being held so very tight,
Can result in a debt that will always be owed.
What at first may seem safe, may not be right

And so as you permit your desires their flight,
And you follow them to their uncertain abode;
Don't walk blithely into that dark night.

For we that remain have to witness that sight,
And watch whom we cherish decay and corrode,
What at first may seem safe, may not be right.

So come to us closer, and feed from our might,
And as we are stronger, we will help bear your load,
Don't walk blithely into that dark night,
What at first may seem safe, may not be right.

Inspired by Dylan Thomas.
 
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3-1 (again)

Last Night

I slept. A bell rang a voice said "Blue Rondo a la Turk," so I listened and wondered where the song ends when day begins.



reference
 
2-6

I built my house on thin ice
walls of rice paper and windows of light
a revelation, trying to get it right
and everything emptied into blue.
Not white.
No light, now, daylight so far.

---

Into White / No Light, No Light
 
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1-8 (just in the nick of time)

i consider myself a gentle soul
however I'd really like to cut you up
you've made me cry one too many times
off with your clothes and into the cup

which weapon from my arsenal
will grace your ivory skin
never has such a menial task
been so full of fire and sin

I hate you, you sadistic cunt
so may the skillet be your dungeon
we've walked a messy trail of tears
now I'll scalp you my little onion

(i finished cooking over an hour ago, and my eyes are still red and puffy from the stupid onions, if only everything didn't taste so much better with onions, I would never touch them again)
 
3-2

In The Beginning

“All fiction is history because what I tell you is true if only in your imagination,” he said. Then he sat and opened the book.
 
1-4 vegetable nonsense.

There was a young man of the land,
Whose onions were unfeasibly grand.
The milkmaid would swoon,
As she whistled her tune,
And cupped them in the palm of her hand.
 
2-7

What was the message, again?
The one that was meant to be, so crafted?
I forget. Try as I might, it just won't change,
it comes back, same old, again and again,
dust in my gears, a cobweb and a spider,
a dagger rending through the chest.
Shouldn't we be learning?

---

While My Guitar Gently Weeps / To Be Treated Rite

I'm in a sour mood for this challenge. Maybe stubbornness will see me through. Maybe...
 
1-9

a lonely florescent light buzzes and flickers
above book covers of women in their knickers
a forgotten corner of crinkled paperbacks
coffee stains and worse things found in the dusty stacks
balding and gray, a man shuffles by with a cart
shelving highlanders, oh be still my beating heart

:heart:

(I love me a good Moning)
 
3-3

What Metaphor?

Their relationship was a train wreck. He didn't see her coming, didn't look both ways, and she never had learned when to hit the brakes.
 
1-5 Winter Message (imagined).

Low sun shines through twigs,
Lighting this warm, quiet room.
My doctor looks pale.
 
2-8

"Choose your weapon," you say.
Do I dare hope that your choice
is to hit me with a flower?
For it's all I can take, unprepared.

This way we can hit each other
for eternity, all giggles and sighs,
and each time we reach out
it's the same as a kiss on the brow.

Now writing on autopilot.
 
1-10

'Better late than never' said the beginning to the end.
Always and forever an enemy and a friend.
Dealing in excesses forgotten at the end of the day.
One makes the messes that the other clears away.
 
3-4

American Fiction

They found things in a knothole, wax figures, a medal for spelling (not bravery). After a tussle the bird died but the boy did not.
 
2-9

The hands you hold before your eyes
aren't your own;
And though your feet take you places
it's not where you want to go;
And what you must say and what you wish to say
isn't the same;
On you go, another day, wearing a skin
you must eventually shed.
 
1-6 Business Travel.

In the real, I sense:
Strange bed,
Strange room,
Strange city,
Strange accents,
Strange words,
Strange TV,
Strange food,
Strange smells,
Strange comforts,
Strange threats,
Strange customs
Thank heavens that in the virtual, I have
Familiar friends.
That is all the comfort I need.
 
1-11 again with less than an hour to spare

As she slips silently back into routines
life seems as tasteless as saltines.
Looking out windows up at blue sky
all she sees is gray nearby.
Out there, somewhere, she imagines
vivid life full of fire and passion.
Occasionally the mist will lift
her view on life will make a shift.
Before long she begin to feel low
all broken smiles to put up a show.
 
2-10

The snake is a symbol for intelligence
It is a symbol for danger
For betrayal, for death, wisdom
Even health, at times
It's green, it's brown, it's mottled red
Scaly, long, legless
Two eyes
Fangs, reptile
...and then it sheds its skin.
The hunter scratches his chin
Time to start again
The snake is...

Originally posted in writing live
 
1-7 herrrummph!

Once it was agreed the way we should go,
Requirements written, we were starting the show.
Groups were formed and briefings were held,
And designs drawn up around which we could meld.
Normal methods were brought into play,
Including a briefing to stakeholders each day.
So it took us by surprise so late in the game,
After so many months of work in your name,
That you've decided you dislike our agreed approach,
In an off-hand manner and not accepting reproach.
Obviously, in general, we are only here to serve,
Now though I ask, what gives you such nerve?
 
1-12

I melted wax and shattered glass
stained my soles on dewy grass
spun in circles twirling round
Until dizzy I fell down
having fun and feeling free
beyond thoughts in memory.
 
3-6

Stockholm Syndrome

I'm perfectly happy. I find the wallpaper soothing. I especially like that painting of a window. It looks out on a field. Are those horses?
 
1-8 Get Well Soon.

Where I am it rains
Where she is there's snow and ice
She slips - sore ankle
 
2-11

Sometimes, it feels
unsettling
to find ourselves nailed
to the rough wooden rim.
We rise and fall, crushed and relieved
in turn, the turning
entrances, through harmonic
oscillation, going nowhere.

Sometimes, the settling is
unsettling
to my eyes, as my eyes to me.
Day to day, rocking
the boat, gentle sway
of spring distended—
every thing unbalanced,
returning to sleep.
Entropy without change.
Distractions, we miss
the constant pull of
gravity, the constant pull toward
(something).
The waterfall to the boat, the
heaviness in between days, the
equilibrium of mass and spring.

Sometimes, my settling move is to
unsettle
rock the boat, capsize,
pull the spring, beyond
a point of no return,
break the wheel, the chain,
the pendulum, let it go,
change, rearrange,
a new equilibrium.
For now.


Originally posted in writing live
 
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