007 Challenge

[Piscator]

Almost every line

Almost every line has a ytpo
perhaps my ifingers are too fat
for I know how to spell difficult
words and evn more annoying
I miss then as I scam the screen
Yet only see them after hiiting send

 

[AmericanTrash]

errors

rarely small errors trip me
last week I wanted the students to decorate
their plant pots so that we could prepare
valentine gifts for whomever they wish

planted coriander
but instead of plant pots I said
pot plants

coteacher and I laughed
with our eyes at my quick correction

 

[JCSTREET]

http://pugetsoundblogs.com/bainbridge-conversation/files/2013/08/RockGarden.jpg


The Swimming Pool Where Roethke Died

There is now a small garden there. Some few stones
partly covered with moss,
placed carefully

as if they were imaginary islands, distributed
in a gravel sea.

In the Zen tradition, the gravel is raked
to represent waves
or the ocean's slow, relentless tide,
lapping against the rock "islands"

or perhaps trying to elaborate
something even more about eternity. I think
it is simply a garden

that was once a pool where a great poet died.

I wonder who cleans up the fir needles
that settle every day on the garden, on the grave.

Nicely done, Tzara, and the photograph is perfectly au point

 

[Piscator]

Almost every line 2

Almost every line
is in third person
authorial voice,
although I’ve never
authored anything
of significance.

 

[todski28]

for such frail jaws intimacy seems to have
they power through blood and bone
like darkness on your wrist
or light glinting off the windshield
as you whisper
the way a woman whispers in a library
the breathless mouth of saliva
wet
barely audible
over the clank and rattle of my heart

in that whisper is a begging cry to be bruised
to be eaten raw
taken out to the edges of knowledge
scribed in sinew
a rough petal of soft skin
acting out an unwritten memoir
as old as humanity
as need deep in the sinuousness of surrender
and acceptance
a forgotten meaning
that cries against my shoulder
involuntary
screaming
that shatters the quiet
and back to the whisper
of libraries

as intimacy fades into a softness
met by harsh breathing
and a return to a place
where meanings are coherent
and your skin against mine is hot

 

[Piscator]

Another line

Another line, this one
drawn in the desert
when crossed
no repercussions
and the killing
continued.

 

[todski28]

2

To honour the dissidents

"Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience. They may be more likely to go to Heaven yet at the same time likelier to make a Hell of earth. This very kindness stings with intolerable insult. To be "cured" against one's will and cured of states which we may not regard as disease is to be put on a level of those who have not yet reached the age of reason or those who never will; to be classed with infants, imbeciles, and domestic animals.” C.S Lewis"

its almost as if
there's another voice next to mine
yelling things to a funky reggae beat
that cant be drowned out completely
and its
convictions are convincing
curating a sense of rhythm we run to
as if the collective conscious is a herd of sheep
bleating out scared of individuation of the herd
of freedoms cruel, harsh, scary reality

stand up and turn around
swinging low
there
right there is something we should cancel
kill it
stamp it out
it offends the voice running contrary to my own
because its moral outrage is justification
to trample all over what ever it is that offends it
and if that happens to be the words of
someone I disagree with
then I'm happy for us to trample them down for their own good

oppress their speech to protect the oppressed
creating a vortex of contradictions

crawling below the fire lines
keeping our heads down
we marvel as someone stands amidst the shrapnel
middle fingers up
screaming the truth
no matter who
or what is considered sacrosanct

 

[Piscator]

Walk the Line

The tickets were a gift.
so, there I was at a
Johnny Cash tribute.
The Man in Black was
several inches shorter
but his voice was good
and the band tight and
the songs brought back
memories and despite
myself, I found I was
singing along with
“I Walk the Line.”

 

[Piscator]

Northbound river and southbound train

 

[JCSTREET]

Walk the Line

The tickets were a gift.
so, there I was at a
Johnny Cash tribute.
The Man in Black was
several inches shorter
but his voice was good
and the band tight and
the songs brought back
memories and despite
myself, I found I was
singing along with
“I Walk the Line.”

That's a neat package, Piscator - well-paced, concise!

 

[Piscator]

Wet’suwet’en

There’s a line that’s not a line yet
natural gas waiting to be shipped
a world getting warmer every day
First People who’ve been
on the land forever.

 

[Piscator]

That's a neat package, Piscator - well-paced, concise!

Thanks JC

 

[todski28]

3

The honour amongst thieves
breaks apart when double standards
are the only standards brought to bare
when a dog has more loyalty
and compassion
than humans

it’s funny how we lie through our teeth
a dagger in each hand
to cut down those that won’t believe as we do

morality is a shield used by the weak
or is it the principals of the strong that
can uphold morality for the weak

often we forget in our civilised little bubbles
that violence is the supreme authority
from which all rights are derived

 

[todski28]

I've spilt drinks from the sadness
of you leaving
alone
in the dark whispering things I couldn't dare say during the day
as if night was the place to crawl through the why of

of

it all
grasping for words
as if they're tangible things that can spring fourth
as if it's colour in your cheeks

and I wonder if this feeling flows both ways
fried melancholy tastes like the fire of hard spirits
and burns bright embers

my hands remember your curves as if they were
holding...
tingle with pins and needles
as if you're electricity and I'm a conducting rod for ache

we could be together if you wanted to
in this place of soiled earth
the stench of rotten vegetation
and I dream of calling you
when I've had a few

reminders of times so blinded
by a bass beat backdrop
soft collisions
the puckered flesh parts and you
consume...

this loss
a flame in the wandering black
blinding
involuntary
tears

and I seem to prefer the stumble in the dark
than stay in the light
swilling on pity like fine wine

 

[todski28]

5 (I know my times way past, but Im going to get this done somehow)

Scenes From A Laundromat


the asphalt shimmers...
melting chunks of tar stick to the feet of the passers-by
air-conditioning is the hot air blasted from the tumble driers

even sitting causes beads of sweat to pool up on the skin and trickle
down

a rivulet of working class
of too poor to afford the luxuries of being home
when the sun is scorching rocks to ash
where you can fry an egg on your bonnet

clouds look more like smoke
as they dissolve into plumes of nothing

he walks in
shirt open
white hairless chest
reeking of unwashed flesh
and blood, one hand bandaged
knuckles on the other
fresh scars from broken teeth and climbing the rung of status
in an honour culture of the underclass

she follows behind as he struts the place eyeballing
daring those to meet his gaze
begging to fight
to drag his status from pathetic
to pathetic but above you
an clash of shattered teeth
alcohol and predictions of hospital visits

she's all trash
honey blonde and hot as hell
the kind of women men have killed for
died for
a prize to hold
and in another life maybe a trophy wife for the millionaire
a soccer mum with her soccer dad
maybe even a socialite elitist
that swings either way
the one that infatuates men and women
curves hotter than the day
and she grabs his dick in full view
so the onlookers know that she is owned
and daring them to try take her...

 

[todski28]

devouring lyrica to combat the ataxia
attacking my limbs since you walked out

there was a time when the hummingbirds in your hair
would flutter at my heart
breaking open my love affair with everywhere
the collision of travesties and my own needs
were like embers, like fire, like an oxy-acetylene torch
turned up to melt metal

I only felt human when you were there as if
my shadow side had consumed my humanity
that the demons in me were soul mates

it's a good day for a walk outside
because no one can see both sides of the equations
only the one presented by each case
shining on them the most
charitable excuses and now

desecration is the bleeding gums
of my broken smile
the tang of metal making me gag
on the apologies that you deserve
but will never hear

 

[todski28]

a scarlet letter sealed
with the scents of your neck
lingerie torn asunder
the dark violence of bodies
clashing
and it's wet heat
a metal cut-off sawblade churning through
as water pours over to stop friction from setting it all on fire

nail marks on my chest
teeth marks on my shoulder
a stain of desire spreading like red wine on white carpet
as if the indelible ink of you will forever remain
etched in my psyche
and your curves have been chiselled
in the granite of my bones
a subverted version of the ten commandments
dripping in lust
and a deep bass that throbs a heart beat
below the surface of consciousness
where beasts play
I always knew I was too busy
to notice how much you open
when I dive into the cusp of trying to kiss you
that hesitation before we have to abandon
the pretence

and we're fast cars thrumming
an eagle in descent
a skydiver holding off on opening their parachute
for the thrill of the freefall
as if head on collisions are sexy
and I want to meet the ground at terminal velocity
my heart ready to explode in my chest
your screams
are sex unhinged
and I can't push my flesh any further
but I will
because I want to die a death
that makes me realise what it is my life is for

endorphins taste of insanities kiss
and we're addicted to
each others darkness

 

[AmericanTrash]

Basket

under three soft blankets
we've woven a hedge
legs and arms and her long
hair wound around us
as if airplanes had never
been invented and as if
morning might last if only
we didn't break the air with
words

so we just breathed
slow deep homages to sleep
which made of our bodies
shelter and storm
at once fruit and basket

 

[JCSTREET]

under three soft blankets
we've woven a hedge
legs and arms and her long
hair wound around us
as if airplanes had never
been invented and as if
morning might last if only
we didn't break the air with
words

so we just breathed
slow deep homages to sleep
which made of our bodies
shelter and storm
at once fruit and basket

gorgeously warm, gentle, evocative

makes me want to paint my toenails

 

[todski28]

under three soft blankets
we've woven a hedge
legs and arms and her long
hair wound around us
as if airplanes had never
been invented and as if
morning might last if only
we didn't break the air with
words

so we just breathed
slow deep homages to sleep
which made of our bodies
shelter and storm
at once fruit and basket

This write keeps confusing me, I’m seeing 3 variations of the narrative and one of the probably shouldn’t be there :/

 

[AmericanTrash]

Confusion

the weave can be one color
two or even a range
depending

on the drape
and the light

 

[AmericanTrash]

for such frail jaws

THAT is a strong start. Frail jaws makes me wonder what do frail jaws do? What can they not do? In connection with intimacy, jaws is a powerful card. An ace. If I were you, I would explore this further.

 

[AmericanTrash]

Four Square

Quilt is becoming obsolete
every way.

Explain it to an eight year old
if you can:

"Long ago clothes were expensive
so people cut them up. Well
actually women cut them up and
sewed all the squares salvaged
together and sometimes were clever

enough to make "Dutch girls" or chains or
hang on the covered porch against rain
on the underground railroad to indicate
train or no train."

Alien. Unfathomable as cassette tapes.
Yet this where, this abstract where
patchworks me like a high school yearbook
where almost all of the pictures say
press play. I'm not in those pictures,
suddenly Alice, walking in unannounced,
but able to read enough so

press and clap and make a mess of it
fingers in the spokes then press play
again. Fingers pressing thread through
again. Again. A span. A yard. A length
becomes a treasure gathered from the work
worn cloth preserved. Thank you.

 

[AmericanTrash]

Homecoming

Black slacks black shirt some special kind
can't remember. Sky something pants maybe?
flared a little and muscles like a man though
still a senior--a transplant-- maybe

cactus on a riverbed. Still he planned
beautifully. 8th grade is kindest numerically.
Eighth is more concise by plain deception.
Spelling eighth invites unnecessary chaperones
middlesome but silent.

Black slacks black shirt Arizona boyman almost 18
sophomore me slowdance and the critical cluster
torturous sopranos in school choir wonder where
did this bookish sophomore score a feather haired
blonde boy? This girl who only talked

possible robots? Where was he from? Mars? Moon?
Practically. He came from 1980s Arizona.
Flash photo stabs night sky too soon for mischief.

First love swells ripe perfume but must be Tupperwared
eventually.

That was me. I called on quarters from the high school
pay phone. Flat as paper you answered. Flat as paper
the cheerleader, after. Flat as paper

smooth under dice or any other ballroom floor for your
distraction. How can one love one who loves what one hates?

Debate is too frought with fallacy. Trust I would have
brought the fellow sightwords.
Some princes think they're fight words.

The short of it is I'll be there at noon. Pink's a standard,
still perhaps too soon.

 

[AmericanTrash]

Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh

So much art you have.

The better to bring you with.

Such sweet fruit you have.

The better to see your teeth.

Such loud speakers you have.

The better to blow you with.

Such wise lips you have.

The better to eat you with.