30 Poems in 30 Days (Redux)

[29wordsforsnow]

20

Some days I did wake up to an intolerable world
where it was hard to find a happy corner to write
about the eternal grace of a blossom's unfolding
that won't wither because it's crushed before
about the simple joy of childish laughter in the wind
now drowned in the sound of marching boots
about the smoldering stolen glances between lovers
the fire that burnt down at too many graveyards.

Some days have grown to every single waking hour.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

21

A bookworm's life is a complicated one
again and again whatever they've read
it turns them at night, when the day is done
the mental husk breaks, deft wings spread
a butterfly, an eagle even, compared to none
flies, flees, the hunger grows for more of such bread

 

[29wordsforsnow]

22

The journey is the reward
some days, like almost forever, it's hard
to believe in fast cars, their tires unrigged
the fuel running low, in road signs bewigged
excuses like short fuses speeding through
your left foot halfway in your walking shoe
time stands still ten thousand mornings after
the wind in my hair filled with joyous laughter

(Tracey Chapman's hit song awarded - after 35 years)

 

[29wordsforsnow]

23

Welcome, Mr Friday Afternoon
you've taken your time to arrive
and as the sun falls faster than
an autumn leave, so captivating
your shadow grows into a giant
ready to turn the key and see me
again next week.
Sleep well, Ms Monday Morning

 

[29wordsforsnow]

24 hours between one goodbye kiss and the very next moments I miss you send in your text around lunch time only feeding my hunger rush at the end of the line where chest and tush shoulder the wave to come closer with every hour on my way home drawn back by your power that sleeps in our bedroom a barely covered mess are bride and groom reunited for another night to pass

 

[29wordsforsnow]

25

Wherever the Lady Autumn walks
she leaves red and golden invitations
carelessly written in all their abundance.

A cool-hearted youngling is in her every breath
courting her with the shyness of the morning mists
a spray of frosted flowers left on the window panes.

He grows old fast, bold and with sharp-edged confidence
moved in within the months, his thin blanket all over her
Father Frost is a fierce lover of the Grand Old Madame.

What is it under Grandfather Snow's heavy cover,
decency or decadence melting away in his last will?
The old man comes to a slow, tearful end, forgotten soon.

Their offspring won't ever tell, leaving her footprints in her wake
her dresses change quickly, lusher and more colorful each day
maturing to the same face of the Lady Herself again,
waiting for the first cold kiss.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

26

Hopping through radio stations
there it was, The Time of My Life
oh, no, let's not go down that road
of feelings I didn't understand then
or maybe much too good
suddenly picked for dancing -
well, a few well placed steps here and there -
partnered with the highschool crush
how could you ever forge your inner secret
into words, clever, but no creepy words
with a body so close?
The road is a winding one,
and somehow you've got to move on,
even with things unspoken, sleeping
but wakened by Jennifer and Bill every now and then.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

27

Apparently, plants don't talk back.
But extrapolating here, how do they react
to dirty fingers closing into their underwear
running through the bush of roots
diligent wet strokes on weary, needy leambs?
What goes on when I bring a new pot home
when their nether legions take fresh soil by storm
as the luxurious taste of fertilizer seizes their system?
I have no idea of their inner workings.
All I do remember is the forthrightness
the extension and embrace of stipes and tendrils
the spillover of buds stuffed with the sap of life
the explosion of the Big O of every single blossom right into my face.
I'd do it again, the potting, watering, all the tender loving care
for those silent, colorful climaxes.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

28

rain
hangs heavy
in crawling clouds
umbrellas in our hands
fall

 

[29wordsforsnow]

29+ words for snow

Guilty - I do, I really do want to shatter and concuss
whatever impression you got on our first encounter
there's not much love lost between the two of us.

How could it when wherever we meet
no matter the shoes or steps I choose
you creep inside to give me cold feet.

On silent paws you sneak around,
more and more of your infinite self
turns corners to seize the ground.

Timing, of course, is my distress alone
I've learned your flakey notions decide
when you show up in front of my home.

You keep me awake and make me rise for you
late or early respectively, you matter the most
I must accept the fact, more than I'd like to do.

How could I have missed the lovers you got
the endless lines, eyes on fire, worshippers
of your unspoiled elegance, until it's thawed.

It's all the pushing, clearing your mess
that made me pull back and care less
each time we met, I have to confess.

I don't have three simple words
because it's more complicated,
whenever your existence hurts.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

30 - A poetic crime, at last

As a matter of fact, of the all things
it's the better ones that come to an end
too early, blown away by a light breeze
like a feather they are caught between rocks
and hard places soaking wet by the rain
of tears that fall from a frustrated face.

Unfathomed feelings run at a high pace
through a tightly knitted maze so one thinks
this sudden invasion brings a new reign
of dread, the wish for a line in the sand
ebbs away, a flood of consciousness mocks
the hard-won control, it snaps, all limbs freeze.

Cold showers the back, teeths chatter, lungs wheeze
the heart is caught in a mad lab rat race
as the head falls down a deep chasm locks
eyes with the animal trapped inside thanks
to years of self-deception, neurons send
a warning of this uncharted terrain.

His brain remembers: her name is Lorraine
and adds this new fact: she likes to tweeze
her sensationally arched eyebrows and
his chest hair too, the feeling like a mace
hitting home, his blood pressure pounds with thunks
so loud he feels the beat down in his socks.

He stops, unhesitatingly she docks
his next reward and keeps a tighter rein
on her own buttons, wherever their thongs
might hide for now, there is nothing to sneeze
at, the blocked view rimmed by exquisite lace
just as if they're dressed for a one-night stand.

Here at executive position's end
the table is set and on top he rocks
on the balls of his feet, his crimson face
reflects in the glass wet by midnight rain
his hot temper cooled by the sudden breeze
of her tongue dictating those dirty things.

Ending his sole reign​

blonde locks cascade her sweet wheeze

upon his lace thongs​