30 Poems in 30 Days

[eagleyez]

3-1

disposa
side saddles
a sandstorm-
cacti
wire
at dusk
ali ali
oxen
free
a mirage
of clothing

colors fade
deserts arrid and
wind dryer than
heater
vent
midnights

drip drip
wrinkle
hangers up
mothers
of necessity

appaloosa
sidles
up
to thistles
as the lavender blankets
slide from green
to a colorless grayer
shadow nightfall

onions
cut,
olive oil
sizzles
as she
sleeps for
five and calls it
hours

knowing
not
the serrated
endeavor
of twisters
and
a pungent
plume
of waiting dogs-

the appetite
of cheeses
like
a sundial
slowly sinks.

 

[wildsweetone]

1:22

.
.

Tarnished Brass

She hid all the secrets
created and kept,
sealed in the casket
that held her soul.
Blocked the thoughts
and scrubbed her hands,
washed the blood
in mistaken belief
the memories would dissipate.
She managed it mostly,
to ignore the twinges
that tangled her mind,
the knife that twisted
reality, but the nails
rusted on the casket lid
and the secrets flew free
to tarnish the brass
on my door.
.
.

 

[champagne1982]

1-22

moaning moon

resigned to this routine
of heaviness and wound
tight cramping

messy bits of life
that pure and plain need
dealt with

comfort found in warm
hands flat out over moon
tide achiness

 

[Man Ray]

1 - 22

gazing at beauty
upwards I stare in rapture
dreaming of heaven

​

 

[sandspike]

sometimes in summer.... 1-23

.............I set and wonder
why we really need seasons at all
coming to the conclusion
they are just really illusions
we can't overcome.....
our brains are too small

You can't have Christmas
without the snow or you need
autmunm for the leaves to blow....
what the hell is wrong with green

tweleve months of summer lined with
beach blondies and amber hazes
waves crash in stereo as
carolina skies pass by
into brilliant sunsets enjoyed by lovers

I expect no more than
what I wish for
I just want it 24/7 365

 

[Angeline]

Yes 1-23

Sun creaks when it rises,
just like me. I imagine the knees
of its rays must unfold weary,
and it doesn't feel like smiling
anymore than I do. Probably
wants to curse the pines
for the need in their hungry branches,
the tired clumps of snow that spot
the tail of winter and even that
hangs limp as remorse. Jesus
H Christ another day kicks in,
coffee perks and your eyes open:

Hello love.

Yes. I remember now
that yes is still alive
in the thaw of my vocabulary,
and yes there is a reason
I want to be alive today.

 

[Selena_Kitt]

1:23 Cotton Candy

Living saccharine lies,
you spin your sugar
in thick, fluffy strands,
sticky sweet and clinging.
I don’t cotton
to your candy, but
I can’t get you off my fingers,
permanent red stains,
like I’ve been eating kool-aid,
bitter crystals,
right from the package.

 

[eagleyez]

3-2

His last name
Blazened
On a red and white shirt
The last one to ascribe
To the Ellis Island man-

Famine ships creak
Under the weight of handwritten
Uniform scripts
He wears it proudly
150 years later-

They are all gone
Like watchbobs
Rusted and mustachioed, stuck on noon or midnight
Sponsors across the continent.

Uncle ants in modest
Apartments on the avenues
Westward through Golden Gate Park
Railmen
Log spinnners
They all had the sad night sweats
Of the Drink and too many kids

Grazing like goats
On time
And Histories

Now the last
Mick to hit the beaches
Of Ocean avenue

The old man hung up on me
The great white dissapointment
"you stand at the precpice,
your choice, your on your own."

I rise with the son
gnawed at by lessons learned-
Never shall I abandon you,
Young man, nor do I dry a wishbone
On sills of the enamel windowframes
That reveal memory,

Herstory altogether bibliographed
I wont do it and the promise chalked
On certificates altogether
Smeared by these tears,

Lace my high boots,
Keep the bedding shadowed
by Palm Sunday-
The myth and the tale
The pilgrim is one, and only one.

 

[4degrees]

1-23

stooping to a new low
back crack break down
street stupid made up
deformity of conformity
two wrongs and more still
multiplying like fucking rabbits
a recessive wrong, making
right out of thin air
is no kind of amend
sorry is beyond weak
but it seems to be
a trend.

 

[beetrootjesuit]

1-3

Ooooh but love is fun
care to dance?

Cheek to cheek
thigh to thigh
turn that hip
it’s eye to eye
then lip to lip
now don’t be shy

you won’t slip
I won’t trip
lose our grip
shall we dip?

Ain’t no Last Tango
Forget the oysters, baby
‘cause nothing rhymes with Salsa.

 

[MissBri]

 

[darkmaas]

1-6

Mizzi Zimmermann at the National Gallery

“There’s a naked lady
in the next gallery
I want you to see …

... think she’s pretty?”

“She looks like you.”

“Flatterer.”

“Red hair like yours.”

“When I was a kid
I used to stare at her
for hours.
She looked like me
but without clothes
holding her belly.
Ripe.
She seemed so brave.
People
walking by
and looking
didn’t bother her a bit.
I barely noticed
death’s head
and the darkness
swirling ‘round.
Just her red hair.”

Hope 1

 

[Liar]

1-23

Today's "poem" are song lyrics in progress. Too cheezy to stand alone, but what the hell.



A preacher came to tell a thousand words
It was the strangest story ever heard
It left us stumbling and mumbling words from it
Cause what the hell is truth worth, when you've got wit?

There goes a girl made of a million lies
Her pretty lips tell what she memorized
And she will fool you, if only for a while
Cause what the hell is love worth, when you've got style?

And everybody wants to be adored
Network prime is a divine reward
Just look alive, no matter how you feel
Who cares if you're a trademark, and faking real?

 

[annaswirls]

1-24 all of his shirts are town

all of his shirts are torn

when you see him
at the burger king
picking up pennies as he mops the
grime of the day
do not make presumptions,
you do not know this man

his son sends him signals
by dropping copper in his path
and one by one all of the women
he knew from the time of halter tops
and swimming holes are losing their memory
their minds, their control
they rearrange furniture and trip over ghosts
as he pushes the bucket over the ridge
between kitchen and front counter
grey water sloshes onto the floor

but this is easy
you just push the mop
soak it up
drop pennies into your pocket

and in our minds transcript
we interchange pronouns
switching from inner dialogue to
conversations replayed where this time
you say the right thing and he doesn't storm off
with your keys.

you never know who pushes the mop
it could be you
could be me
it could be the name that scrolls down the big screen
up and coming until the blacklist
tripped him down,
penniless

 

[champagne1982]

1-23

Istanbul

ancient minarets
that ululate from black
loudspeakers hidden
inside the imam's
tower as roads
of commerce still
with even infidels
taking pause to send
silent messages
to heaven in case
death finds them
waiting just outside
the Grand Bazaar's
eastern gate
at the west
side of the charnel
pit that's older
than the tiles lining
Sophia's golden domes

 

[wildsweetone]

1:23

.
.
.


Remember to Spit out the Pips

Between Sunday roasts
and Friday fish and chip
nights were days immersed
in watermelon fields
where knives sliced skin
and scooped pink flesh
that fed the hot and hungry
and founded weekly groceries
for a family of five.
.
.
.

 

[Man Ray]

1 - 23

somnolent ennui
silent under snow blanket
yearning for her sun

​

 

[Guest]

1 -23

Sour Cutty Sark
sweaty, bay rum and lime

Lost scents, imprints
a look back
not a welcome one

No fondness in repressed
memories

Sometimes we forget
without regret
and we are better off that way

 

[Angeline]

Of Pride and Stars 1-24

It’s all contrived patting. Precious
preening, self gulping mirror gush,
drowned congratulation, nod, nudge,
sly pun that threads intention
just so through needling preen,
and what profited Polonius for all
his pompous platitude: a smirk
harvested in the grave? A child
exploited, unraveled raving
stark in a bitter garden?

It profits a man nothing
to give his whole soul for press
and propriety. I speak to stars,
crouch small under sky to plead
with the Pleiades:

Alcyone, Asterope, Electra, Celaeno:
Hear me.

They open vaporous blue mouths and laugh.​

 

[sandspike]

the real question 1-24

I've caught myself wondering
just how this life really goes
when are they coming round again
all the worry and the woes

you're a poet so tell me
who in the hell really knows
just privilege information
come on step on a few toes

do ups and downs equal out
is more than a mouthful lost
am I handsome in this light
tell me what's it gonna cost

do I circle the wagons
or do I charge straight ahead
should we continue the bullshit
or should we make love instead

 

[annaswirls]

1-25

The puppy is attacking my bra on the floor
Freud would say something of this, or perhaps
Pavlov. These two men of science reduced to
casual name drops, simmered down to adjectives
like gravy in a pan.

We stir in the starch, thicken it up and pour it on,
this box store intellect for the populus

 

[champagne1982]

1-24

A Ghost Of An Idea

Here I hang on the lip of overused
metaphor, ready to let go and fall
into the vacuum. My fingers hurt
while I dangle over this void.

Realization creeps along the line
where bad boys tread; the ragged
edge of chance. Dangerous married
to uncalculated, how can I let go?

I know experience is much broader
than what is found here at the edge.
I should have stepped back to map
the path over the razor's edge of risk.

Too late to write a parachute
ballooned with painted imagery,
softening the inevitable landing
on the uninspired desert I haunt.

 

[darkmaas]

1-7

Gravitational Erotics

Because the globe is round
it is thicker in the middle.
Newton teaches us
that gravity
must be stronger
in southern climes
and this explains
why things are slower
where the sun burns hotter.
That sexy southern drawl
is of course
the result of years
of working the tongue
against the sullen pull
of mother earth.

This being Literotica
I hope that one may
still speak
of cunnilingus
without fear
of banishment
to "clean thread"
purgatory.

Gravitational science
would be advanced
if one could plot
the amorous effect
of more "athletic" tongues
as one moves south
of the Mason-Dixon line.

It is a big word
cunnilingus
and I suspect that
before the southern Beau
can even spit out
all its syllables
that fast talkin' Yankee
will have licked
the platter clean
and headed back for seconds.

::

 

[beetrootjesuit]

1-4

Gravitational Erotics
Further Study

Thank you
Dr. Darkmaas
for shedding light
on this massive topic.

I have recently
been in conversation
with a poet
from the Antipodes.
I asked about the
difficulties she faced
when all the screens
were upside down
and did it cause strain
to read a sonnet in this fashion.
She claimed
that we were the ones
who had it upside down!

She is wrong of course.
The top of my screen is up
and bottom down
and a quick experiment
with a simple
pendulum
assured me that
I have not muddled
up and down.

But I got to wondering
(in light of the doctor's thesis)
about the effect of gravity
pulling upwards
south of the equator
Could this explain
why women
out of sight of
the polar star
seem more "pneumatic"?
And does the effect
of blood
dragged skyward
give the Australian male
a randy nature
quite out of keeping
with his British ancestry?

 

[MissBri]