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007 Challenge

Angeline said:
I take it as hommage. :heart:


For T With Ever

Six years of us,
cooking pots and pillows,
Ginsberg and Piercy,
Lou Reed and Jay Farrar,
the chair with the leather seat
that changed its mind
and decided to tag along,
all the passion, the laughing,
furniture with the dents
and dings to prove it.
A prayerful night of emergency

room, stained with tears
and promises. All of it, all
of it parceled into boxes,
bags stuffed with three
in a space for two, and oh so
carefully fitted like us, hand
in hand, shoulders brushing,
eyes speaking and bundled
like spoons in a drawer,
off we scoot.
Click to expand...

happy scooting! is this it, your move? :rose:
 
chipbutty said:
happy scooting! is this it, your move? :rose:
Click to expand...

Yep.:)

We finished packing last night, and eagleyez's son and his buddy came and loaded a trailor for us this morning. They are both 21 and very fit--it was laughably easy for them. We otoh are fecking exhausted. We're holed up in a hotel till Friday morning when we start the long drive down. Our trailer will arrive a week after us, so we shall be camping in our new house with a sleeping bag, a skillet, a coffee pot and a tv (gotta have tv--it's baseball season!) until we have um a bed and etc.

Still in Maine, but not for long. And my landlady has probably discovered by now that I did not clean the freezer when I left, but then she didn't offer to return our security deposit, so we're even!

:rose:
 
2

Joint Promises

as sound as history written in chalk
on the classroom slate
of selective memory

in later years, each knew
that what they had then called love
was just a shotgun, triggers wired together,
thrust between their legs

so, boom
 
3

Two Avatars

The first is sculpture, shaped by claret scoop
of fabric. A tress of hair descends
the rightmost edge
as if to offer anchor, lest I begin
to feel giddy in the swell
of my conventional, conversational desire.

The second, stretched in littoral of white
like seafoam whipped
about the naked Venus, lies
just beyond my fingertips, elsewhere,
frozen in my visual field. I can only stroke the screen,
not skin, and yet that too quite draws me in.

I know it is hormonal,
but they make me feel machine—built to work
a certain way, efficiently,
the way a bird or crocodile mate
based on daylit hours or temperature.
Just some little flash of photograph

(and lovely photographs they are),
is all it takes for me to write
a poem like this, and moony, want
to meet her or her in Rome or Portugal or Cannes, discard
my sodden, careful life, my wife and parents, friends,
hell—my bank account,

limp as it is—and somnambulistically
wander European streets in search of that one happiness
we all, we ever, seek. Unrealistic? Yeah, I know.
My real pleasure, though, is how
each picture's cropped, below the neck:

No faux "I want to stare into your eyes."
 
4

Cabo San Lucas

I walked into the surf, was swept away,
and Amanda never mattered
as I beat against the pull
of undertow

but I was lucky. I emerged
near the Arco, swam
up onto the beach

that end of the world place
where the south is simply sea.
 
In Ye Olde Yankee Towne
metaphors are mixed with candles,
antiques and bath soaps. The smithy
and minutemen are ersatz. The joint
doing its slow revolve
at Wight's Tavern is too dear,
and our pilgrimage calls.

Already the maples have gone
over from bony twig to scarlet
wave and a riotous row
of tulips nod lavender and orange.

This afternoon, parked
by the tracks, we ate french fries
and sniffed the Atlantic air.
We were locked in memories:
me of old trains, Honey Fitz
and the SE line to Boston,
you of seashells and long ago
little boys with sand pails.

The carnival rides were locked tight.
The wind blew. No one paid heed
to the fiddler with the eyepatch
except us, two old hipsters
daydreaming and thinking Goodbye,
goodbye Maine.
 
Last edited:
5

Pretext

I was only trying to help, surely,
and indulge an engineer's curiosity
of stress and load. Test
with my own two hands
that old, old corporate tagline,
to lift and separate.

Cross my heart. Really.

P.S.: The lift part was great.
 
6

Navigating while Drowsy

I dream of more than your nakedness
near the window, indistinct
in my sleep-fogged eyes,
as white as the gauze curtains,
or nearly so, save the red here and there
of painted nails and mussed hair
and that small, dark, round brand
like a map's compass rose
except yours points me to the south
into Eden.
 
Last edited:
7

Compline

The long, feline turn, that quick look back
through a scrim of loose, waved hair
is not quite offer, not quite not,

but well more than enough to shock
my body into ancient ways.
I would dispense with all preliminaries

but certain rites must be obeyed,
arcana written on the skin
with studied fingertip,

lines on palms and soles retraced,
charms mixed and blended with a kiss
or laid along my lazy tongue

in its slow row down the canals
of her undulant body. Finally she bends
as if to pray,

and as this is a god I understand, I join
the sanctity of her devotion
and move toward another nightly miracle.
 
For A Little While Last Week

The other day summer slipped
into the spring confusing swallows
who are only starting to sing
songs and oh those pretty iridescent
wings of martens fresh arrived
thought time had warped and today
was really June. And yesterday
winter returned to now with snow
and wind more violent than all that fell
this winter past passed without
comment all of March but time
allowed its cold return too soon.
The birds held tight to branches
and rode the tree tops through storms
designed to stick on buds just swollen
fresh and against their backs as confusion
swayed its way into today and spring.
 
Angeline said:
Yep.:)

We finished packing last night, and eagleyez's son and his buddy came and loaded a trailor for us this morning. They are both 21 and very fit--it was laughably easy for them. We otoh are fecking exhausted. We're holed up in a hotel till Friday morning when we start the long drive down. Our trailer will arrive a week after us, so we shall be camping in our new house with a sleeping bag, a skillet, a coffee pot and a tv (gotta have tv--it's baseball season!) until we have um a bed and etc.

Still in Maine, but not for long. And my landlady has probably discovered by now that I did not clean the freezer when I left, but then she didn't offer to return our security deposit, so we're even!

:rose:
Click to expand...
best of luck for a smooth move, hon! :kiss:
 
1

Date

I'm neither rain nor wind,
just some guy
who would ask you in the supermarket
about watermelon or,
I don't know, sweet corn,
and hope that you would somehow know
that what I meant was I want to sleep with you,
make you a home, fuck you crazy,
raise three kids and die
in one last hug and handclasp, eye-to-eye.

But that almost never happens,
here or anywhere.

Your thighs still sure look good in shorts,
if that means anything to you
on the spilled course of our both walking through desire.

It's a long walk and grim. And
I am old and very slow.
 
2

sakura

sudden bloom of pink
..........petals shimmering
......in the noon's lusty breeze
....................swirl to ground like snow
 
3

Assertive, with Racy Acidity

idly, this afternoon
I thought about the flavor of her skin
and inferred through Socratic method
it would be sugary, but cinnamon,
like a whole box of Red Hots
chugged for the rush
and flare of all that
brushing against
my tongue
but

then I thought
there also would be salt
from our exercise

and that I had better sample points
randomly selected:

sole, thigh, back of knee, fingertip,
waist, earlobe

lips, lips, lips, lips, lips
the long hollow
of her spine

oh, and other places numerous
but very carefully chosen
so. So I'm thinking now Sancerre

bone dry, nightly aromatic, with intense flavors of peaches &
gooseberries

intoxicant
 
4

Reading the Paper

is one of the great things about trains,
how some sweet girl
(well, woman) might sit next to you,
also reading her Times, chortling
over Maureen Dowd's handing,
oh, the pope his ass
on a platter or
maybe that thing that gets pizzas
out of a wood-fired oven,
and how that works like relationships.
Well, say this chick happens to just nick your wrist,
accidentally, as she flips a page
and suddenly, a green carp
is, like, standing on its tail,
huge flowers blooming from its mouth.

I mean, you know this is forever,
don't you?
 
5

Twittering Machine

it only happens in your presence, where
every part of me gets fluttery
like you've turned a crank, tapped a foot switch
that fires all my axons off randomly
(well, maybe a few more nerves just there)
and it doesn't seem to stop, even when you've left
to meet some guy named Ronald because your scent
still drifts wantonly about the air

my long bird tongue wants to follow you, trilling
 
Flying Visit--2

Just to say hello
could be construed
as trite when we
haven't talked face
to face in ages

Swallowed disappointment
belches heart burn
or is that ache?
 
6

Continental Drift

I could almost be Wegener, theorizing
that your small fray of hair
left untrimmed
like ryegrass growing
on some beautiful, bare hillside
where my tongue could hike the twists
and turns of a fresh and exquisite geology,
skids always eastward on a red and molten plate.

They laughed at him. You'll laugh at me, but
just let me fit Brazil
snugged up to your Nigeria.
 
7

Tattoo

I've never liked ink. How
it sprays graffiti over God's
epithelial plains.

But when I finally rolled your body
onto my impoverished bed,
unveiled that geodetic mark,

I knew that it would help me navigate
your complex surface,
even just by touch. Even in the dark.
 
1

I would walk before you, open to animals
who bled for me. I know
you do not eat
rendered muscle,

so I would befriend them, lick
this lamb's limp ears, this calf's angular flank

as if that meant anything
to their butcher other than lines
along which he could sink his cleaver, humming
some vapid tune and dreaming about a lake.
 
2

I can't quite count
the ways which we are different, for
how does one tally
girl and boy, left and right, how
darkness seeks, but avoids light,
how dreams blanket me, insensible?

I could never sleep with you,
for your fine and perfect touch, or possibility,
keeps everything in me awake

if only to annoy the neighbors
and provoke their little, whiny dog
as if that was what God intended for us,

late nights, on even Saturdays.
 
3

opened dead boats,
oily entrails washed to sea long ago,
lie like bleached bones
on shore

we snap, snap, snap photographs of their skeletons,
draped in barnacles and anemones

like a floral arrangement
for those dolphins and gulls
who cannot rust so prettily as steel
 
Last edited:
4

you could be just a candy bar
found on the sidewalk,
pristine in your sealed wrapper
and only slightly melted by noon's vertical sun

but I fear
you also sing addiction

diabetes is my family's affliction
and oh god god I don't want to piss your sweet away
 
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