writing live

[Winter_Fare]

Dog wood throws up
A dozen shoots
For every one it loses
So slender greenwood
Even then
As tough as briar roses
And in the January light
I love how red it glows
I'll keep it, I suppose

 

[butters]

#12

when size matters... a tale of two men


here's one man
faced with hostages
grimy with fear
pinched by poverty
drenched in sickness
in need

and as they kneel
supplicants of his aid
he feels his stature grow
his chest expand
a pride that bloats all decency
even as the white gloves
on his hands
remain pristine

then there's the man
when faced by these same sorrows
is forced to his own knees
heavy hand of shame upon his shoulder
stature diminished
eyes wet with acrid tears

his heart burns–determination
to lift up them all
from society's soils
to a sturdy, level standing
with kind hands
strong hands
sure hands thick with muck

*

as for those men in the middle
they get to choose
whether to reach on up
grab a coat-tail
or reach on down
and lend a helping hand

 

[HarryHill]

..
Content Partially Visible

She strode out the front door,
past scurrying shoppers bundled against cold weather,
ground length fur edged coat open,
a dark picture frame for the tall lean girl,
low cut white blouse under pink flesh,
a distant gaze, cheeky satisfied smile,
no hurry, enjoying the dim day and her garb.

She must have seen me,
heater on high, staring through the wind shield,
changed her destination for one just past the car,
but the gaze and smile never changed,
even when I powered the window down, commented,
'nice coat' as she passed,
gone with her thank you.
...

 

[Piscator]

sans nombre 6

Unanswered Questions

Why does a google of immobile
yield the name of an Italian soccer player
and only when I ask for meaning does
“not capable of movement or of being moved”
show up and not "incapable"
and why doesn’t this move me?

And if immortal gods mate
Incestuously as seems their
wont, are their offspring
imimmortal or just mortal
and can two negatives
ever make a positive?

 

[butters]

#13

smudge-footed day retreats
trailing in its wake
long streamers of lace
stained in shades of ash, of mud

bare limbs
gilt-edged with sodium lights
reach up, intent to dip their twigs
in night's descending ink
commit wordless stories
upon the scattered pages
faces of unflinching stars

moonlight's kiss excites the grass
its frosty breath enhances each sharp blade
with promise never to be kept
as, yet, sweet Mother Moon
swims high, aloof
in some distant, gold-ringed pool

 

[Winter_Fare]

#18

I woke up today
More sad than angry
For a change
The wings of my emotions
Clipped
I think of Vaselisa
Mountains of jagged glass
Growing higher
And there's no way back
And there's no way on
But to fake determination
So I do
And here on the other side
My feet are bloody
But I climb the mountain
Every day
For you

 

[Winter_Fare]

#19

Isolation with your family
Is an absurd contradiction
That is all

 

[Winter_Fare]

Drive
It might save you
From saying too much too soon
To her tell it out the window instead
And the moon has your back
For when you drive
Back

 

[Winter_Fare]

#21

Half open eyes
Lamp light
Soft edged tears
Spent
Where did the years go
What we meant
When we said forever
Blurs
Between the thumb and paper
Charcoal
Cut and blended
In our time

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#7 1/21/22

One Night Stand

A weather-diverted plane
to a snow-bound city,
night bright with reflections
yet I couldn’t see your face
next to me on the crowded
city bound shuttle,
Our conversation small talk,
mundane, but your deep voice
intrigued me.

Hotel rooms scarce, you offer
to share and I hesitated
having tried in vain
to find my own, but
oh, the implications in
that honeyed voice.

In the anonymous atmosphere
of international travel I
took a breath.

We had scant minutes
while the bus paused and
in the street light I saw your face.
In that instant I decided, took
your proffered hand
and let you be my guide,
off the bus and through the night.

 

[ChromeCollar]

Aching for you
In the marrow of my bones
Yearning for your voice
Lost in the unknowns

Left in this shadowed
Memory laden hell
Despite the duplicity
Still under your spell

Telling myself lies
The truth hurts too deep
Try to summon a smile
But all I can do is weep

Why did you put us to sleep?
I'm crumpled in a heap
Tears that endlessly seep
My heart you continue to reap

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 8 1/22/22

Hallucinations?

Be grateful for dry places
on this wintry night,
the young man tells himself out loud
and holds his thin coat tight.
Draws deeper into shadows
to find a dryer spot,
he aches with pangs of hunger
for food he has not got.

The door gives way with pressure
and opens just a crack,
he’s in a great proscenium
standing at the back.
Looks up to see the open sky
through charred and broken beams
then rows and rows of empty seats
with torn and splitting seams,

Imagining the way it was
before the fire hit,
with velvet seats and polished floor
and chandeliers lit.
He sits on one abandoned step
and gazes at the stage
where vaudeville and comedy
once were all the rage.

The boy, made weak with hunger
and weary to his core
sees shadowy men and women
on the stage once more.
All night long he laughs and smiles,
appreciates the fun.
The ghosts perform for him alone
an audience of one.

The men and women smile and bow
then seem to fade away.
He shuts his eyes to save the sight
for yet another day.
The roosting starlings in the roof
begin their morning trill.
He rises, stretching painfully
and goes out in the chill.

 

[Winter_Fare]

#22

Crusader
Riffing on Hitler
Wanking over Franco
Flexing army style
Take care of the children
Read them the good book
Smile
Don't look
Till the sea comes in
Mother just wait
Til the sea comes in
If wishes were horses
Then Lennon would ride
But he died
There are no good guys

 

[Winter_Fare]

#23

I fuck myself
To feel good
And so does
The man
With the big long gun

 

[oneblueye]

hey...

dragons, dragons--!!
one after another and another.
chasing across the sky
skimming cross-wise winds--,
of discontent and discord.
Flying transparent bags of bones.
memories awakening the nightmares we used,
to exist on--, to feed on--, to perpetuate.
there is no mystery here, I know who you are.
I fear no dragons I know,
I fear no winds that blow.

 

[HarryHill]

I lost control somewhere and it came out disjointed I’m trying to hash them together seamlessly but it may just end up another random thought that got semi written. It may end up in my trash bin in the poetry hangout if I can make it work the way I want it too

..
Losing control is sometimes the best answer to poetic questions.
...

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 9 1/24/22

Uncles and Aunts

We had uncles and aunts a-plenty.
Generous and loving, they indulged us
gleefully. Couples, often with no children
of their own or spinster aunts all doting on
this surrogate family.


School holidays meant a stay
with one or other of our countless,
uncomplaining relatives. The lucky
went to Cornwall or London, others
up the road for more of the same.

Eccentricity was the norm.
Spindly, brittle Aunt Barbara,
a librarian who collected Grimm’s
storybooks and cats both of which
frightened us. Uncle John made
string puppets and told us vivid stories
regurgitated in our dreams.
Uncle Charles lived in Wales,
quoted Dylan at the table instead
of grace and cheated at Scrabble.
We loved them all unconditionally.
as templates, guides or
as a warning of hyper-benevolence.

We children absorbed the love
and gifts like greedy little sponges.
Christmas and birthdays were
shameless indulgences with
thoughtful gestures from uncles
and aunts, often broken
and forlorn before bedtime.



​

 

[butters]

#14

eyes closed
shoulder snug beneath duvet
lips curled, content
your departing kiss

not quite ready to do day
thoughts drifted from dreams
of goats and steep stairs
to painting and how
i'd make good use of the light
(no need to cut wood
no imperative chores)
cat-pawing at notions
of a red-shingled roof
on a pale-yellow house
shaping windows and door frames
log planters filled full of roses in bloom
a sloping green yard

time wasting away

so up and pee
check the fire, pour coffee
outside in sunshine
sort animal feeds
and breakfast for for ma'am
(oatmeal, don't forget the knob of butter
and get out her honey)
and then–oh, the error

of pushing a button
to turn on the computer
reading news bites and emails
like a paperless broadsheet
and a need to reply
to my s-in-law's mail
(her cancer's progressing
how she's now torn her knee)
so a long response sent
and a check-in at Lit

more than half the day spent
not a paintbrush is wet

 

[Winter_Fare]

#24

Petrichor

Cinnamon smells like Christmas
Fairy liquid my grandmother's house
Orange juice was my first flat
Febreeze is postnatal depression
Vanilla candle is an old flame
But the city after rain
Smells like home

 

[cascadiabound]

26 1/24/22

Magenta and orange streaked sky
Stunning colors steal my breath
En-bayed water liquid gold
Silhouetted ferry traverses
Swirling silver grey currents
Falling temperature forms fog
Spilling from cedar tops
Blanketing the waters
Pink tinged sky smudges grey
Little lights dot the shore
Salish sea nightfall

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 10 1/25/22

Who are your heroes in real life?

Today it is the fighters
of fire, wild and deadly.

Long hours in heavy gear
that only a fool would choose
if given the option.

Each one watchful for the
wind kindled flare-up,
the lightening strike, the fallen
comrade and each has his
– or her – appointed task.

Front line, face to face
with the unpredictable enemy
that dies only to leap up,
twice as threatening.

Aerial, sometimes flying blind
through thick clouds
of shrouding smoke to drop ammunition,
water or red streams of Fosscheck,
often before the enemy’s march
to retard its progress; hopefully
subdue it all together.

Behind enemy lines
a small army seems to be bent
on subterfuge, starting fires
against all common sense
but these are raiders building backfires
designed to deprive the enemy.

These are my heroes in real life.
fighting to save farm, home,
smallholding, business, whole towns
without the loss of life.

 

[cascadiabound]

27. 1/25/2022

5 o'clock summer sun presides over
Receding winter's day tide
Two hours past noon
White noise of messy surf
Growling waves rising, form a half mile out
Close waves rear into a kicking chorus line
White froth glints and falls back
Polished cobbles grey black green
Seastack silhouette
Washed in the falling tide
January north coast beach

 

[Winter_Fare]

#25

I was left alone
Making sense of shifting sands
It was just a dream

You became my rock
Fixing my horizons but
It was just a dream

Then unchained I rose
Above these illusions but
It was just a dream

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 11 1/26/22

Mike

He grows his own stash,
maybe sells a gram or two,
“justa cover expenses”
He calls it Skunkweed
“on account it smells
like you just flattened
one o’ them critters.”

He’s grey and grizzled, always
with a three day old beard, neither
here nor there, but he is an avid
reader. consuming books as if
they’re food for the starving.

Never married but loves
the ladies. Always inscrutably
polite, he’s a flirt, never
missing the chance for cheek.
To establish a blush is a triumph,
chalking one up for
the team.

 

[cascadiabound]

28 1/26/22

The isolation breaks us
Breaks the old and infirm
Shortens lives
Stresses staff
Thirty days of protection
Thirty days of isolation
Apartment confinement
Confined apart
Breaks my heart