writing live

[Tzara]

Confession (Fan Letter)

How may I tell you both
how your poems
stick me to this place

like I've been sprayed
with superglue? It's why
I write, over and over,
something like love poems
which really mean, please
write something more,
since your vision
of the world helps
me feel more wholly human.

And, yeah, I'd like
to have dinner with you
where we'd sip viognier,
discuss Proust and hold hands.
But it's really mostly words.
And your words

are both beautiful and seductive,
and why I look for them,

even when I don't find them,
every every day.

 

[Winter_Fare]

Propaganda
tickling your insides
Leaving a snail trail
In your logic
Big ideas
And neon signs
Error by design
I fruit you
Fruit your loop
Cock a snoop
At your lies
Meet the wise eyed
Wide eyed
Stare of the dead
Tread softly lest you tread on my dreams
And remember nothing is as it seems

 

[Winter_Fare]

To picture the whole
We look down from space
Know truth
Is neodymium
Fixed polarity
Then with the same eyes
Receive the northern lights
Receive the anodyne of our impermanence
Humbled as old gods
Lost in shifting sands

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

21

Keeping up the Neighbours

​

---

“Let down your hair”
He says and watches
as she pulls a single pin.
Her glossy hair spills,
dark as oil against the pale,
bowed shoulders making him gasp.

Still,
so still they are,
barely a breath,
hardly a tremble.

He takes her there
on the new-made bed,
moaning the sheets to shreds,
beating the bedding into submission
and keeping up the neighbours.

 

[butters]

a concretion of views
indigestible boluses of political ambition
split apart nations
a housing block

where white paint and patio furniture
frame a gawping, ragged hole
blackened in some catastrophic abortion
ejected detritus like broken limbs
shorn of their bodies
rebar the colour of blood
occluded and angled
amidst snow and rain
grey chunks and glittering shards

floral sofa
stripped of its cushions
back–bones exposed by a fractious easterly wind
as sooty-edged shreds flap
and twist

a saucerless bone-china cup
sits perfectly perfect
on a paving stone
waits patiently for the teapot that will never come
and next to it
the brightly hued umbilical
of some missing HDTV

 

[Piscator]

Even without a picture, I see the scene in my mind

 

[butters]

Even without a picture, I see the scene in my mind

thank you, P... couple of words i'd change, though, like 'balcony' for 'patio' (as i was visualising a block of flats maybe 3 or 4 stories high but my brain simply wouldn't find the word at that moment), and 'gaping' or something other for 'gawping', to indicate a catastrophically damaged opening to represent a vulva-shaped hole.
in this case, 'gawping' (to my mind's eye) reminds me more of a staring eye than a vulva and so lacks the proper tie-in with 'abortion' and 'umbilicus'. I also wanted to really show that 'umbilicus' as a twisting of the coloured wires inside a cable (so stripped of its first sheath) as it reminded me of a DNA representation as well as the thick, veiny look of an actual umbilical cord directly after birth and i'm not convinced i managed to convey that. Did you see the twisted spirals of coloured electrical wire, or a whole, brightly coloured single cable?

but live writes, so...

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 22 2/28/22

Neighbours and Lovers

For days after his lover died, Buchenwald-thin and scarred by AIDS, his bedroom light stayed on late into the night, a bright, hard beacon of pain.

Sleepless one night, I crossed the deserted street carrying fresh baking and frightened him by knocking at three in the morning. Used to harassment and abuse he feared the worst but the relief in his grief swollen eyes when he recognized me caused my throat to close.

We sat at the kitchen table where they’d both served gourmet meals, his hands lay like wilted flowers, full of emptiness until I took them, held them in mine.

He talked of the twenty years they had shared, the aching chasm beside him now, and how he had no more tears to cry.

Three years later his lover’s legacy bloomed as persistent flu’ and weight loss until it seemed a strong breeze would topple him. His sister came to nurse him or “to watch me die” he said smiling his yellowing, gentle smile, but he clung to life for five more years.

He left me his collection of Billie Holliday albums.

 

[Winter_Fare]

Seed pearls
Small tokens
Of the creator's
Affection
Soul bound to pleasure

There are none
In the fossil record
None

But the long bones
Telling half a story
Would speak
For all of us

Without even
A heart at all

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 23 3/2/22

Harbingers

One day, time unspecified,
the air changes. We hear them
in the distance, calling
and we stop mid-action,
raking the dead grass awake,
looking for our car
in the desert of a parking lot
or just breathing in spring,
and look up.


It takes a while
of squinting search,
then there they are.
Embossed on the blue,
a fine line pressing forward,
drawn by generations.
Calling, calling, constant clamour
of encouragement.
Wings weary from the red-eye flight
yet enlivened by the scent
of familiar wetlands waiting.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Message in a Bottle

Bottles holding hope
floating just out of reach
tantalize on the tide
of mixed emotions/
We'll never know
what we wanted to say
and the wind carries away
the screams of
frustration.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 24 3/7/22

Romancing the Punt

She lies on her back in the flat, shallow boat.
He watches the pulse at the base of her throat.
His pole lying idle, content just to drift
He’s standing above her, his own pulse is swift.

Carefully he moves but the punt starts to tip.
Frightened that a capsize would end their courtship
He kneels down beside her, takes out a small box,
she knows what is coming, he’s so orthodox.

Before he proposes she sits up and says.
“you know I’d be crazy if I didn’t say yes”
A passionate kiss that tips over the punt
and applause from the crowd on the waterfront.

 

[butters]

in a world without books
the sun will still shine
the rains fall
the winds
blow
and the sickness
that burn to write
to fathom the world through words
will sleep
a lion at noontide
to wake again all hunger
claws shredding our insides

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

# 25 3/9/22

Genevieve

Oh, I remember those heady days,
fresh young blades up from Oxford
or Cambridge driving me, reckless,
through spring-green country lanes
with a girl and a wicker hamper
full of food to be consumed later.

My origin is France, love is in my
very chassis so the perfection was not lost.
Time overtook my 1904 open style
and I lay, neglected in a hedge for years.
Rust ate my chrome and the elements
dulled my paint, my leather seats rotted,
field mice made their home
in my dashboard.

It was a lonely time,
until a passing stroller found me
languishing there and pulled me
from obscurity. I was reborn,
cobbled from other decrepit Darracqs,
christened “Annie” and was ready to rally.

My fame wasn’t halted there,
I starred in a film as “Genevieve”
and, as all stars are
I was buffed, primped and coddled.

Still I shine when called to race
but my true fame came
from comedy in the end.
Just call me Genevieve.

 

[Winter_Fare]

I decided to write her a letter
That I knew she would never read
I said prayers for her to get better
Bought clothes she would never need
The grandmother I lost piece by piece
To Alzheimer's and PTSD
Was a hero a poet I'll never cease
To remember her kindness to me
But thirteen years last month she left
In such a horrific way
That even now I'm still bereft
I can barely find words to say
I left part of myself in her house that night
And I watched it die with her
What's left has a hole in its heart tonight
It hurts too much to bear.
Maybe someday I'll hear her laugh again
If there's something beyond the sky
Sometimes when I look at my children
I can almost believe the lie

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

#26 3/10/22

Salvation

Released onto softness
for the first time
they were tentative,
fearful of the alien softness
underfoot.

Silently observing,
heads turning this way,
that way but slowly,
as if unbelieving of
what they see, feel, hear.

They are sad refugees
from torture with drooping combs,
pallid beaks and eyes with no life left.
A life spent in a wire cell too small
hasn’t stopped them from tearing out
feathers in frustration.

We step away,
watch them huddle
as their courage grows,
then small, nervous steps
let them realize the truth,
they’re free.

Now, when we collect the plentiful eggs
bright eyes watch
from under high, red combs
and the pimpled pink flesh has disappeared
under glossy new feathers.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

(stopped counting)

Neighbourhood Watch

I watch her tweak
her spotless curtains, see her
lurking there. The tiniest disturbance
of our quiet street brings her
ghostly shape to the veiled window;
a children’s game, a passing car, or barking dog.

She’s peering now, nose-probe readied,
as two lovers spar in jest. She cranes to spy
as they stagger, laughing, out of sight.
A quick rearrangement of her hiding place
until duty calls again.

We’ve never met, this nosy bitch and I,
but every time I look she’s there
and I’m at my window often.
I like to know who’s on my street,
who belongs and who is out of place
and there she always is, minding others lives
as if she has the right.

The slam of a door,
Mr.Hastead is off to the boozer
for another drunken night,
and, right on cue,
her curtain gives a disapproving shiver.

 

[Winter_Fare]

Rain

Falling raindrops played the river
We were swaying like the willow
Though the pulse was unfamiliar
Neither waltz nor common time
The music ever teases me
You know we must be water
To be this close to breaking
Though we were never whole

 

[Winter_Fare]

Numbers

It's
not what she thought it would
Be getting older she
Thought she would find herself
Rising into the part
Filling out corners and
Reaching her dreams but they
Float away faster than
She can grow worst of all
They don't even look back.

The
Body is weaker the
Will has been vulcanised
Subject to wearing out
Burning on asphalt it's
Bound to endure it is
Pressed into service to
Keep her progressing in
Spite of her suffering
Waking up at all hours

Age
Is just a number but
Interest accrues and the
Debt must be paid baton
Passed wisdom atrophied
God forbid fungible
Ashes to ashes and
Egg on her face no more
Aces to play nothing
Left to trade but carbon

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Childhood

I remember my sister’s tiny
china tea set that I achingly coveted
and the huge teddy bear
who’s growl was more of a moo
which spooked the delivering
mailman as he nervously handed it over.

We had a wonderful wheeled toy,
a child-sized version of a railway
handcar. The four of us took turns to
hurtle around the neighborhood
Such tear-away conduct caused
scowls of disapproval and we were
steered towards books, puzzles
and other less boisterous endeavors.

Later would disappear
from morning to dusk
on gearless bikes to play
in hayfields or steal fruit
from unguarded orchards. Today
children are not so lucky,
not so care-free, my generation
saw the end of the age of innocence.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Roadside Memorials

---

​

Appearing overnight
mushroom-remembrances,
crosses, sometimes rough,
with flowers,
fresh and plastic.
Left to fade or blow away
in the slipstream
of passing trucks.

Watered by spilled blood
and the tears of those
left behind to grieve.

Past years' crop still stands
here and there sadder
even than when new,
forlorn in their neglect
and scattered flower remnants
faded names
Jason,
Shelley,
Dan,
all torn by metal
too fast, too soon, too late

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Revolting Gays (a rondeau )

The victors smiled behind ice-packs
The mighty lesbian counterattacks
Came suddenly with punches thrown
Reports of deaths were overblown
The media embroiders facts.

They marched and chanted “we pay tax!”
And “government, get off our backs!”
A rowdier bunch we’ve never known
The victors smiled

“We want Prop. eight to get the ax
And then we gays can all relax
And we want vows to call our own
No church should be a gay-free zone
We want progress just like the blacks.”
The victors smiled.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Black-eyed Susan

Every day, what to do to that everyday face
it's not like the rest you can temptingly hide
in glitter and gold, red velvet, or filigree lace

Tinting the deadest red with a brushful of cyanide
bend, don't break, lashes, with these artist's tools
my true color applied, welcome to the darker side

Wink, wink, come hither all you love-starved fools
closer and closer, invade my most personal space
drink my tears, swallow my sight, drown in my pools

 

[KingofBadVibes]

Laying in the warmth
Of a moonlit sun,
Feeling your soft rays.

Burning with your heat
Pressed against my chest
I let myself go

Melting in your light
As it envelops
The length of my desire

 

[Winter_Fare]

I see that free is going to be
The line that cuts you off from me

I'm not like you I don't know why
I don't know what it is to die

See pixels flashing prophecies
Of our appointed destinies

The children caught in that machine
And everything they could have been

Keep me awake my daughter snores
Open your mind but lock your doors

Shoot all you want all you hold dear
Only the fool is free from fear