Hello, everyone! It’s March 21, and that means we have just ten days left until April. We’re getting close to NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo now! As you gear up for April, remember that NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo isn’t the only thing going on! April is National Poetry Month, and there are a lot of ways to celebrate. You can sign up…
Tag: writer
the tools of fulfillment (20170320)
when i read that he had died
i was surprised more than anything
not that he had died
but that he had lived
he learned
when he was handed
that death sentence
knowing the next red light
would be the last stop
on the drive
so he threw himself
completely into his life
without the cushion of
random how
left with only when
as the remaining question
not the territory (20170319)
the map is not
the territory
or so they say
but drive a pin
into a point not blue
and everyone there sees
descending from the heavens
like some silver judgment
of divine origin
a javelin as big
as a city block
entering the earth
like a rough boyfriend
with about as much foreplay
opening the ground
breaking the waterlines
and gas mains
demolishing city squares
and family picnics
and political rallies
and games of frisbee golf
and hippies making out
and dog runs (hopefully the dogs
are smart enough to run for it
suck it you hippies)
we would have to redraw the maps
and not leave the dragons in the
corners or at the edges
spread those flames and scales
across the face of the earth
but this is already the case
shade (20170318)
we walk and i place my
hands through you
as if you are a column of smoke
after all, blues skies are just
an effect of
rayleigh scattering
i’m waiting for a hologram
of you that is more
solid, fleshy and yielding
i want to see my fingers
sink into your skin
i want to make shadows on you
memories of the hearth (20170317)
passing by fenced homes
i draw in the smell of fire
five years old again
White Snow Last Night on Open Mic
Today, with spring still peeking shyly around the corner, we have a poem about a little bit of winter hanging on. The is from Frank Hubeny (his site is here). Check out the March 2017 Open Mic Page for a link to his poem and to listen to the other great voices from this month,.
iron heart (20170316)
your name catches in my throat
i try to say it under my breath
but i have no lungs–you’ve withered
those organs with the aversion
of your eyes
make no mistake–i have felt my heart
stop beating, felt the sudden lump
of inert iron sitting lifeless
in my chest, as cold as the furthest
edge of space
a watched pot never boils
but an unwatched pot bursts into flames
my fingerprints are invisible ashes
and i have left them on your
skin like doomed freckles
will you let it go on Open Mic
Pleasant Street posted the words to this poem the other day (you need to follow her site) and it struck a chord with me so I asked her to record it.
You’re lucky, because she said yes, and here it is, on the March 2017 Open Mic Page.
You can appear here, too. Read the details on the page and submit away.
almost quitting time (20170315)
air conditioner hums
makes a melody
in the silence
on the tongue
not bitter so much as
unsatisfyingly bland
aftertaste of being
in an almost empty office
no getting over
that first goodbye
of the day
last rides (20170314)
one of those here-today-gone-tomorrow
carnivals, set up on the green lawn
right next to the rec center
never let anyone tell you carnies
don’t know how to market themselves
small affair, few rides, few games
a couple of food booths
long before everything was deep fried
lucky if they have hot dogs or nachos
with cheese sauce from those industrial-sized
barrels like it had been sucked out
of the earth
one ride makes me realize
i will never go to space
the hammers
twin metal cages on long
pole arms
on either side of a column
thrown together from
some kind of adult erector set
they rotate
spin toward each other
probably so you could wave
at the idiots in the other cage
I didn’t have time to wave or
even look at anyone else
all i felt was g force
quarters flying out of my pockets
bouncing like meteors pinging
and ricocheting off the metal grills
it’s the first ride i’ve
ever just wanted to stop
just
stop
with empty pockets, i stagger out
of the little metal box
and my stomach wants to empty out
and i can’t even look up
at the stars i will never fly to
because the vertigo spins the ground
like an lp around the axis
of my feet
——
for
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
Poetics: Amuse me! Take me for a ride!
Words and Feathers 