these hands hurt
when the knuckles squeeze
together
like old, emaciated hobos
hugging
all bones and angles
but in the clay
they feel nothing
but the clay
Tag: poetry
Open Mic for July, Redux
Hey, you should head over to the open mic page for July RIGHT NOW because I just added two new readings. One about a monster who might just be an angel of mercy, and another a trip down memory lane. You’ll have to go to the page to see them.
And WHILE YOU’RE THERE, feel to leave a comment, and consider making a donation to my crusade to fill up this summer with the voices of poets.
immoveable feast (20160719)
the outside should be hard
the inside soft
like a marshmallow wrapped
in a tortoise shell
once used to foretell the future
something fatty
something greasy
something brittle that will
shatter between my molars
i long to grind it up
powder the marrow
against my teeth
saving the last part
the blood part
for the end
when the eighth month comes
there will be hunger
——
the uncertainty of singing glass (20160718)
light catches it
like morning sun
on a single spiderweb strand
blown glass stretched so thin
it sings every time we breathe
connecting us
more frail than
sun-bleached bird bones
sudden movements
scare you like a nervous cat
so i mirror you
match your speed
and keep this thin tendril
from bending
from shattering
today the trend is all
self-healing polymers
but these inevitable shards–
will they go back together
get stronger
more flexible with mending
or will we just end up
with bloodied fingers
——
the moon and the crickets (20160717)
the moon is cut
perfectly in half
my only companions are the crickets
and they hesitate
when they hear my footsteps
the oracle at delphi (20160716)
bitter black moon
boils shadows and
ships hot red diamonds
worship is an apparatus
a tongue, a whisper
——
for
Elusive Trope
Magnetic Poetry Saturday Challenge
Oracle on the (Virtual) Refrigerator
nice (20160715)
so many dead
so easy to pretend they sleep
they feel no pain
suffer no longer
at the hands
of any reality
or any nightmare wrought
by human hands
but sleep they do not
for the sleeping do not howl
do not ask why
do not fill up the earth
with their bones
the sea with their ashes
what prayers
will reach
which god first
——
response to
The Daily Post
Daily Prompt: Nightmare
and the world as it is
my feet on the roof, off the ground (20160714)
Marc Chagall [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
lemon
night sky floating
decapitated head
sing and i’ll dance right off this roof
and down
your song
doesn’t interest the cat at all
but my love dances too
past earth’s long curve
to me
——
for
Jane Dougherty Writes
Poetry challenge #39: Sleep walking
inferno (20160713)
every time you told a lie
a devil got its wings
black holes ripped open
space and time warped
and somewhere someone
flipped the switch
on the atomic football
or maybe that’s just me
crushed by the weight
of falsity
but the pitchforks
really hurt
revenant (20160712)
i saw a revenant
working at starbucks
of course, he still had
to smile–it’s the law
he looked over the tops
of everyone’s heads
not like he was above
pulling espresso
more like he was dead
and that whatever spirit
that once played guest (or geist)
had fled and left him
with just the smile
and lights out eyes
——
Words and Feathers 