29/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

this is my first desk,

         my first office,

         the first space I've ever had,

     to myself

its quirks,
in order of annoyance:

the air vent,

never quite right,
        quite hot, on occasion,
        quite cold, most of the time

the whirring from fans,
used to cool, but make my head shake
                                           shake it out,
                          makeshift sound barrier,
                                                   drown out
kind of
                         
the mouse cord, too short,
with an extension that beeped
                       that blundered
     mouse, busted?
           extender busted?
who knows

hidden away, in a,
and I quote "cave,"
         away in a corner,
like a misfit,
        misdirected,
                      corner pocket,
                                        bat cave.

In other words,
      this place,
      this space
 the first place,
      first office,
      first desk
I've ever had to myself.

I loved it.

27/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

This 

  may or may not be relevant,

but...

I wear your sweater.

Its reanimation

   through repurposed wool.

Do you come to life on those days?

When your blue threads hit sunshine

   and apple blossoms, 

do you remember?

You like birds, I think,

   and cornflakes with sugar,

flowers, macaroni...

Its hard to remember. 

To me,

   you are photographs, journal entries, 

other people's fond memories... 

and this sweater.

You're tied to me,

   woven yarn, dye, family.

This may,

   or may not be relevant.

25/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

Stop,

   breath,

       there's plenty of time,

it expands

    or contracts 

to your frame of mind.

Slow it up,

speed it down,

take in the view,

sheesh... Just look around.

Believe, 

  for once,

the faster you go,

the less you do,

don't hurry,

there's plenty of time,

Stop.

24/30. - National Poetry Month 2014

#1

Red wagon weather-worn

Trike, long parked pink handlebar

There's a storm brewing

#2

Chit chat squirrel tease 

relies on meow cat food

the sky perfect calm

#3

Pudding snack lunch pail 

Lullaby rocking chair sway

This is the way home

23/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

The timeclock on this gig

expired long before she left,

rats in the wall tiles,

tires popped by force,

the mud and smoke and wine piss

stuck in nostrils

days, months, 

years after she waved adios

Is that what PTSD stinks like?

rotten corpses and rottener souls?

Breaking f'ing news,

shouted the powers that be,

a wind storm, a circus train,

bones in the creek,

Blizzard warnings? Don't heed them,

Crime tape, 2 a.m.? Rush to the scene.

Danger be damned.

Its for the people, by the people,

while from the people she ran.

Fire on the mountain,

rumors in the mill,

beep beep, shakes awake,

the alarm clock has five hours still.

21/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

she carried a 

robot hand in her pack,

a weapon against 

the whir of the world,

a plastic cast to 

weild when things got weird,

she carried a

robot hand in ber pack.

18/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

today.

another whoosh of colors and buzz,

a shake of a snowglobe,

a timer's half twist,

a tick mark on an ever-expanding list

days end.

like bare feet on a shag,

a sensation of unexpected comfort,

a palette fulfilled,

rest, to do it again

17/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

The poet taught
words,
    within words,
        within words,
and the language of commas and line breaks.

Wisdom from ancient,
     recent,
forgotten, and forboding culture.

The poet caused their collission.

She writes --
    boundaries, be damned.

He wiggles letters,
    juxtaposes phrasing,
guffaws at the sound.

The poet spoke
language
    with letters,
         within letters,
and free verse breaks silence,
    forever, and ever.

16/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

radio fizz out

cow crossing with alien ship

this is how to leave New Mexico

12/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

2 years gone.

FLASH! BAM! Zzzzip!

Just like that, 

  sometime between 25 and 30

it begins...

ZOOM!

Where you live,

   who you love,

the clothes drying over chairs

In a BEEP,

  a DASH,

a FLASH, BAM, Zzzzzip

they are different,

or not.

You are different,

   or not.

ZING!

Spend them well.

WHOOSH! WAVE! 

Note the pages.

2 more gone,

FLASH, BAM, Zzzzzip

11/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

red wine,

  sordid fantasy, hailed by pop-culure,

and kittens crowded sleepily 'round

a rare peaceful moment, 

    sweetened by knowledge

 that I won't repeat it tomorrow

10/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

abandoned roadside,
   swept to the gutter,
garb, turned to garbage,
sole separate from soul

drive-by questions
   without time to truly note,
manufacturer
    or model,
size
    or condition,

who are these
   barefoot bodies
settled on sacrifice?

or,
   is there despair?

trashed by choice,
   tragedy,
   or jest

street-side shoes,
    laced,
for their last wear


 

6/30 - National Poetry Month

a crow squacks, early morning,
   a waking dream voice,
"Is anyone there?"
three kittens curled round,
un-alarmed

take note,
all is well

blind-altered sunlight, mid-day
  coffee on hand,
"Is anyone there?"
repose comes slowly
when awoken by such sounds

keep track,
something may be amiss

moonrise, eight p.m.
   electric porch light fizz,
"Is anyone there?"
three kittens curled round,
un-alarmed

take note,
all is well.

5/30 - National Poetry Month

I was writing this in my head on Saturday, but laid down at midnight and realized I never wrote it out.

She used to sit and stare,
behind those eyes, what she saw,
I can't say

It never occurred to me
at the time
what plagued her
was palpable,
   unacceptable,
      curable

OCD habits pertaining to sugar,
cereal, and tissues --
I thought were just preferables

and the staring,
  oh the staring,
      and the griping,
just...
   bearable

Knowing now
what I never knew,
that I could have known her,
   met her,
      really seen her
if only someone had known,
   what to do.

4/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

Whisperings,
once I used to be paranoid
of the voices,
not in my head,
but all around
quiet, but so freakin' loud

What if so-and-so thinks I"m a
what-and-what, or if
he-or-she says I'm a
good-God-can-it-be,
then I realized,
I'm none of those things,
so what does it matter
what you-over-there thinks?

A lesson, you see,
you learn
as you go
is
it
is
quite simple

just be,
what you know.

3/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

Racing cats, more like kittens

Growl

Hiss

No more fun

Baby poem, circa grade three

Type

Scrawl

Now we're done

2/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

Whatchu talkin' 'bout Willis?

is running in my brain

even though,

I can't recall ever seeing it until

that poor boy was... 

Well... 

You know... 

Dead.

Not a boy,

but a man,

remembered for...

Whatchu talkin' 'bout Willis?

What will it be for you,

me,

us,

we.

Whatchu talkin' 'bout?

1/30 - National Poetry Month 2014

television-deprived,
too much always,
go, do, be,
never through

or is that
alive?

fish,
saltine-crusted,
malted milk ball,
mustard

eat,
to sustain life

daisy-cluttered meadow,
shallow sea,
painted frames,
look

or,
go see.


April 1, 2014