30 Poems in 30 Days

[Tzara]

4-19

Style

His hand holds hers
how a butler holds a glass
of port—indirectly,
set on a silver platter.

I always held her hand
the way I hold a beer,
fingers firmly clasped, up
adjacent to my lips.

 

[MissBri]

 

[Liar]

5-2

Christoph

No "er"
he has to sigh
and point out
almost every time.

Not quite wishing
he had it,

//because
one has to be
what one is
or what else
is one?//

but still,
wishing a little nano controversy
didn't nag with every fresh face

doing a double take
when he brashly flips out
another business card.

Yep, that's right, no "er".
Quaint, eh?

 

[champagne1982]

2-1-16

Cleaning Day

Not an inch of space
without your presence,
here in the otherwise
drabby burrow of mind
and ideas. Shabby shreds
of curtains hang behind
the gorgeous armoire
of your strength.
Wallflowers faded into puce
contrast starkly against
the gleaming white
smiling into the shadows.
Corners, still with dust
ignored, until you polish
floorboards and lift rugs
to expose the quality
chique right here
at the heart of me.

 

[Tzara]

4-20

I guess I'm safe. Ms. Crewe has already posted number 20.
Sssshhh! Don't tell anyone I'm early!




Klangfarbenmelodie

I dream the color red—your skin's
fair flush that accentuates

the smooth cream of your inner thigh.
And then, that darker blush,

Phoenician purple, runs
through those folds

on either side. As I breathe
and touch with optic tongue,

I become a synaesthete. I hear sounds.
My sense of color there is lost.

But later, when I see you talk
to some other, then the suite ends

on an inharmonic key
that there is played both green and blue.

 

[Guest]

4-2 No Lifeguard

I wake with burning eyes
stuffed nose, full ears, feeling
like I've been swimming

in my sleep again. Eyes open in deep waters,
blacker than, blacker than a starless night.

I must have, with heavy chest
and breathless.

But tasting salt, I know different.
Some places in dreams go blacker, deeper,
much too sad to remember

and there is never a lifeguard on duty.

 

[arienette]

3-5 'The Wrathful and Sullen'

Bodies Instead of Street Blocks

We skip through bodies like old
city street blocks when we used to play
kick ball in the intersections and murky water
left over from a mid-day storm, but were
led on by the rainbow that never came.

We scream 'Tag, you're it!' after we've
finished cleaning up in the morning,
after we look our best again; or at least
how we remembered each other.
Our bed dressed in fresh linen before this
upturned cycle of events started taking over.

We say love when we really mean revenge.
When our glances never wink and we are
fully incapable of smiling anymore.

We stop talking and lock eyes
with the intertwined fabric of the floor.
We do not pity each other any longer
but what our time together has become.

 

[Guest]

4-3 Bruised

Years and years and still he's internally
two-toned from the beat down.

Shades of blue surface, turn green,
fade to yellow, but not disappear.
Not quite.

That kind of bruising isn't a flesh wound.
It's marrow deep; part of DNA, RNA.
You're not his blood, but you had a part
in making him the man he is.

The part that crushes with anxiety,
holds him in a tar-like depression
and sleepless without a 9mm.

Years and years later, he won't care,
you'll be dead and he'll piss on your grave.

 

[champagne1982]

2-1-17

Emotive

The single dust mote,
in itself, seems insignificant
but piled on others
just the same, becomes
a cloud that swallows
a sunbeam in shadow.

The lonely dissident
will use a voice that clashes
with the chorus until
the ear becomes
accustomed to the dissonance
and calls it harmony.

A tear drop weakens a dam
until it bursts and innundates
the bystander with opinion.

A fallen leaf soon overwhelms
the lawn until white
colours everything the same.

The smile that lifts the corners
of lips always tight
with disapproval brings
the sparkle of laughter from all
who look for change.

 

[Liar]

5-3

Knocking On Jenny's Door

Knocking on Jenny's door
leads to irrefutable sneak attacks
by three feline bodyguards
defending her honor
and body
with the vigor that only
ever is bestowed upon
a hand that not only feed
but hands out tokens
of unconditional love.

But that's not the weird part.

Knocking on Jenny's door
leads to a chamber of candlestick
and lip gloss, fumes of expensive
java beans and cheap black tea,
and somehow,
fresh ground pepper as if stuck
to levitating dust. And a distinct
echo of avocado, even though
she's so allergic it could kill.

But that's not the weird part.

Knocking on Jenny's door
means three seconds of silence,
and three knocks back
before she opens.

And I'm afraid to ask
what that is all about.

Because she just might
tell me.

 

[Tzara]

4-21

Dining in East Hollywood

Breakfast is just cereal. No juice or toast.
I keep the Wheaties in the fridge,
next to the milk—the only place I know
the bugs can't reach. Too cold,
in any case. Even if they do get in,
they'll go to sleep. At school

all day, I work. Lunch is
the smell of pizza on the quad,
some days perhaps a Coke. I work
to keep the hunger down, and think
of how it's better to be thin. I have a beer
at night for dinner, with a bowl of soup.

For my dessert, I think of you,
though I don't know you yet.

 

[arienette]

3-6 'The City of Dis'

With the Jet Li's and the Jackie Chan's

The first gate to the lower hell
is guarded by furies and Medusa
only reminds me of a giant green rollercoaster.
Thank you, Great Adventure.

I have my own fury and it lies
deep within my gut, where the excess smoke
of another stale cigarette rests and ferments.

And I can scale the highest walls
with my acrobatic fine judgement
with the best of them, with the Jet Li's and
the Jackie Chan's. No gate has to be opened because
who is to say that gravity
still has to keep me grounded here?

Who is to say that my dead weight
has to keep me laying on the floor
instead of scaling monumental walls and sailing,
kicking, and jumping over high rises?

Who is to say that this should
have any relevence here?

 

[Tzara]

4-22

.....

 

[Tzara]

4-22-b (or 4-23, dependin')

Neocatastrophism

First, the Alvarezes,
dad and son, find iridium
spread like jam all along
the KT boundary. Later,

in the Yucatán,
the open jar is found,
with shell-shocked quartz
sugared in the ground.

Then Levy and both
Shoemakers find SL9
Jupiter bound. NASA
films the T-bone crash.

Once Velikovsky made us laugh.
Lyell's theory now is ash.

 

[champagne1982]

2-1-18

Thank God I'm Sentient

hackles raised against the anger
sensed and misinterpreted
stir the mind to release
andrenaline

stuttering heart and cold sweat
the hallmarks of emotion
as pale flesh rapidly cools
with each sloppy palpitation
in a body gone soft

imagined screams echo along
fantastic escape routes
woven through a landscape
of calculated trajectories

footsteps stumble along the path
until common sense asserts itself
and intellect wins over instinct

 

[Liar]

5-4

Laina spun a star well tale

At first we don't notice
anything but indigo
turning black. Then,
tiny eyes blink back.

We, tiptoed, shoulders
leaned on stone, hair
dangling over the edge,
hold our breaths
and pray no pebble slips,
or else the mirror ripples
to a million pieces.

Do you think she will
show herself down there
this time?

Ssh. Maybe. She's shy.

Will she sing?

You never know.

She never did, nor
did I come there for ghosts.

But for a silent hour, leaned
on rock, stealing glances
at gold red hair dangling
over the edge of myth.

Laina spun a star well tale
and I listened, not to words,
but to her exhale speaking.

 

[Guest]

4-4 Lucky (again)

Woman, I think you'll be the death of me.
Hands going for my fly
4 and 5 times a day

and now 6!

If other men could be so lucky

True, true, true
but honey I'm tired
really I am this time

r-e-a-l-l-y

Bump noses, kiss lips
un--------------zips

She doesn't listen. One tracked-minded
she is. Horny pregnant wifey
bites hip bones, gnaws
O-gawd! Tongue in navel.

I see you are not tired any more

(again)

 

[Tzara]

4-23

Lune

Scratch of claw on bark.
I look up.
Blackness looking down.

 

[champagne1982]

2-1-19

I'm Sorry

annoyance is often couched in harsh terms
and will sit high and uncomfortable
until offered the soft pillow
of apology and the plumping
of discretion

misunderstandings grow from a garden
that withers untilled and dry
until rain falls, softening
the earth enough that grass
crowds out the weeds
of discord

take the proffered hand
bring the cushion of tolerance
outside and smell the lush
lawn grown from seeds
of patience

 

[Guest]

4-5 Lake Pontchartrain, a Painting

Handcrafted, mitered corners,
sanded fine and stained to cherry;
old carpenter's perfection.

AJ Landry
His brush stroke signature.
Grandfather

Nose to the frame, smelling
dust and old oil paint:
King Blue, Prussian, Cold Gray.

If I wish hard enough,
dream, fall in, let Titanium White
turn to canvas sails.

I can almost taste the storm clouds,
the lake, the rain. Hear him
cursing the weather, laughing
It's OK, we'll eat pancakes.

No we won't, this is only a painting
and we never leave the dock.

 

[Liar]

5-5

Erik

the one thing
more important
to Erik
than being
in the know
of the world

is letting
the world be
in the know
of

that no thing
is as important
to Erik
as being
in the know
of the world

 

[Guest]

4-6 Shithead

She eats
low-fat, no-fat everything,
measures, weighs it all and counts calories.
The walking she's done could get her
from Vancouver USA to Vancouver B.C.

He brings
home potato chips, Snicker bars;
he farts and slobs down Kentucky fried chicken.
He calls her fat ass pig, thinks he's doing
her favors with his two minute "in-n-out"

I'd like
to squeeze his head, give her an ounce
of empathy, but all I'd get is 190 pounds of shit.
She already puts up with his, bears it and grins.

 

[Minervous]

.

.....

 

[Liar]

5-6

laying it down for Lucas

no, you can't have every toy
in the store and no, you can't
stay up and watch splatter
and no, that's your sister's
cookie and no, that's my leg,
not a bullseye for kicks, and
if you eat all the candy now
you'll have none for later, and
if you poke the cat with forks,
she will poke you with claws,
and no, you can't have every
toy and all the cake and every
second shot blazing full of our
adoring attention

but here's an ear
that will listen, and open arms
for when you really mean it,
for when you know that filling
up your room with every toy,
will leave no more room
for the little boy

 

[champagne1982]

2-1-20

Sleuth Reynard

For a long while I wondered about little things,
like the names of male foxes and another word
for a family of bears. Why worry? It's good
to ask and seek an answer. Do you know?