on my back
looking up
at the sky
words in darkness
letters like smudges
left by fingers
dipped in light
constellations
form a crude calligraphy
of gang names and memorials
in angelic script
Poem 20160219b
after all the noise
she empties the blender cup
–smooth chocolate milkshake
—-
RonovanWrites
RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge 84
Milk&Smooth
Poem 20160219
smiling a fake smile
the zoo monkey considers
who to target next
// alternate benevolent version
smiling serenely
the zoo monkey contemplates
imparting dharma
—-
Poem 20160218
the path, old unused
overrun with brush–still i
choose this unfulfilled promise
my steps a rhythm
a beat like the human heart
a new view of old vistas
—-
The Secret Keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #24
(5) Words: | WALK | OLD | PROMISE | VIEW | BEAT |
Poem 20160217
a piece of me, a fractured piece of me
and a piece of you, just as jagged
they try to fit to together
–teeth of mismatched gears–
where motion should be smooth
instead the sound of snapping glass bones
screams of angels with cinder wings
bits and pieces falling wetly to the floor
the machinery stops so we mop up the blood
and try again
each time there is less and less of me left
each time there is less and less of you left
this is why we break
unevenly matched where there should be symmetry
but when the gears meet at last–we transcend
Poem 20160216
these are the ways we fall asleep–
intertwined
next to each other
face to face
hand in hand
side by side
back to back
under a blanket
under the sky
under a tree
under the stars
under a curse
in a car after lunch
in a car during a drive in movie
in a bed
in a cot
during a conversation
during a tv show
behind the woman paying by check at target
behind the wheel of a car
this is the way we wake up–
sudden and alone
Poem 20160215b
these days
it seems like every day is a sunday
slow to get started
without the hope of a friday
without the promise of a saturday
without even the grim potential of a monday morning
and there are only so many times
you can attempt the crossword puzzle
only so many times you can erase
–you were so careful, using pencil
—-you heard that true confidence was
using a pen to fill out a crossword
——you don’t have that kind of confidence
only so many times you can linger
over breakfast
–oh god, what about a poached egg
—-does anyone really like them
——you could never make them without breaking them
sunday every day sunday stretching on
Poem 20160215
my words disappear as i type
them like some kind of magic
trick like when i was a
kid and had disappearing
ink that you could squirt and the
color would evaporate
only now it’s words on
the screen little black
marks that wink out of existence
almost as soon as i type
them and what happens
when my voice fades away
as soon as i speak
but then that
already
Poem 20160214b
with hands like seasons
you move into the fibers of me
a penelope at her loom
weaving a destiny in me by day
and tearing out my warp, my weft at night
or some expert harpist plucking
out the songs in me
silence vibration silence vibration
i change each time
your hands move through me
seasons roll in circles
within circles upon me
and around me
the stars wheel
and i am remade
Poem 20160214
i want to be a cartographer
when i grow up
although only a grown up ought to say
that he wants to chart every curve
every hill
every slope
of you
the map is not the territory they say
but i refuse to create an unusable guide
–something destined for a dusty
grave beneath a book
on some mouldering shelf–
without first hand knowledge
of the topography of your body
i suppose a grown up would not
say such a thing
–just so
then let me remain caught between
this youthful lust
and an old man’s cautious wisdom
and let us go exploring
Words and Feathers 