the poetry dialogue

NO

2010-03-14T04:03:00.000-07:00

No as in no?

Or no as in maybe?
Or no as in yes, but can't say?

Or is it no as in thank you?
Maybe no as in sorry?
Perhaps no as in please, please don't ask.

No: I don't feel it.
No: You're too fat.
No: Just please leave me alone.

No, you're too old now.
No, you're not needed.
No, but I'll call you some time.

You can't take this path now.
You got here too late.

You've misread the whole situation.

Don't know if you know now,
Nor knew this new notion,
But no, no, just no, no just no...

Seaward

2010-03-04T14:58:00.001-08:00

The captain went seaward

and ain't coming back.

The captain went seaward;

his lover mourned.

The captain went seaward;

his ship was sacked.

The captain when seaward;

he ain't no more.

slowly

2009-07-01T05:54:00.000-07:00

the concussions thump vaguely,
dimly spread through the icy flow.
one after another. there… and again.
there is no wind to speak of.
no current dragging limbs seaward.
only gravity: insistent, pressing.
the sounds grow distant,
the souls vacant,
and the glacier…
it trundles on
wayward
alone
lost.

captivating

2009-05-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

In that place, in the sky to the left and the right,
above the beauty spilling across the void of space
are found words, written or etched or carved or
more forcibly impressed on the fabric of life and
existence, captivating in their simplicity and wisdom
and yet never quite read, never quite known to their
fullest extent of truth and liberating knowledge,
existing only to entice us further, torment us with
the promise never quite given, though always
and eagerly begged on, a wanting deep driven
in the heart of every man and women, at the core
of each love and each fear, daunting and unsatisfied
for the phrase begs, too, for finality, to know itself.

2008-11-06T11:50:00.000-08:00

My life is strewn in a light-filled pond,
and I'm swimming to catch the pieces

Like soft glass it slips round
my fingers,
glistens beauty

Remembering now, as I do, about waterfalls,
the reason they're captivating

Is the way that the light plays on breasts
as we stand beneath them

Slipping into someplace where the skin
catches droplets and collects them on lips

There are Those

2008-10-21T21:17:00.000-07:00

Murdered in the forest eves,
their bodies strewn about
the underbrush thick with nettles.

Snow falls lightly on the graveless,
graven gray surcoats in tatters.

Souls sublimate in the moonlight.

Thus are we--unmarked.

Winter

2008-10-02T09:15:00.000-07:00

One round white face, two/three
Days, ninety. Three months
since summer murdered those
cold tendrils. And now for nine,
resurrected again, she'll ache
down drizzle, ever, ever, ever

reservoir

2008-09-30T04:27:00.000-07:00

I've lost the will to do too much,
my creative reservoir drained slowly
over the months, sun parched
by the summer wasted, waiting...

What remains is mud, burnt,
a fetid stream cloudy with
sediment, or maybe sentiment,
in any case yellow as a mortal wound.

Amid the cracked wastes lie fragments,
abandoned foundations from before
the damn trapped every thought,
until the waters rose to bursting.

That great reserve is now lost,
and the forecast forebodes doom,
thirst: aching, fields: fallow,
and a dry tear unmarked by fate.

Tuesday Morning

2008-08-05T07:23:00.000-07:00

Wending tomorrow, she
will say that green gibbons
are the wave of yesteryear,
a lunar reservoir tip filled
with blue sand and Feng Shui.

Wending tomorrow, she
will say 'no,' will say this
has been long, this shadow
has grazed too near her spine.

Wending tomorrow, she,
sweet, will tilt or apologize, but
she will mince meaning, and
wending tomorrow she
will take that dignitary
floating in the rocks
like a skinny kitten to bed.

A Holiday

2008-07-25T21:52:00.000-07:00

Not yet, not so far.
Left in the cleft betwixt
randy and ruin.
Who left all the shine
and glimmer off the straits?
Run into the stand,
leap through the thorn brush
rasping at the skin left bare.
The cold foot dank
in the stone hollow court,
wind through the mouth
bit low in the dark.
Die there in the meadow,
in the tree shadow wending.
Die in the branch heart,
taught sinews straining.
Die on you feet,
in the salt flat sucking.
Die in the deepness
of the rock spring breath.

Huge difference

2008-06-28T19:39:00.000-07:00

final draft:::

"Summer Day"

Bukowski kicks morbid today,
his shoes sporting spurs. He
craves blue pearls and scribes
history, beckons four favors
from the local taxidermist.

Bukowski spills vodka on my couch,
taps out melody on my coffee cups.
I dampen his rhythm:
ba-domp-domp-dmph.
Plumes sprout from our necks;

we are prepared for the next
utilitarian crustacean to arrive.

-----------------------------------

first draft:::

Bukowski hates me morbid today
for craving love or meaning, either
wither, but which? Ballerina history
hates me today because I am too
stubborn to ask my boss for an advance.
Deer hates stale me, but doesn't know
why - he's too far to understand, and
we never seem to change except that
we both get more stubborn. A constant

Summer is fumigation for mildew, but
it's not very effective. So how long are you
doing this? Where are you moving
when you move? I can help you move boxes.

No!!! You torment me. Prick
my finger, and I cut too far, but I feel
something, at least. I know I feel something, and
I'll never live close again. You'll never touch my box, moving or otherwise.

Evasive, I am not. Evasive both, but not I.

Bukowski is sitting in his living room instead
of my room, because I am not good for his craft.
I dampen his rhythm. Badompdompdmmm. . .

He likes me but doesn't - me. Ballerina sits
on the phone, asleep, waiting for a ring to wake her.
Not quite on silent, but not quite on ring, either.

She wants to love me. Deer is away, silent, like he is. He's probably a sociopath. All deer are.

Let me remind you that I hate this coming holiday.

July Blindness

2008-06-22T02:02:00.000-07:00

I'm rather out of sorts just now,
bothered, no doubt, by uncertainty.
I cannot see beyond the 30th, June,
as if on that day all things must end.
For as it stands now this just may be.
I've not the purchase to peer o'er
the constricting lip of the world
into the spreading advance of future.

2008-06-11T00:13:00.000-07:00

brambles brushing, brimming
against fleshy fruit, I'm
ready to see what's underneath.

It use to be

2008-06-08T22:52:00.000-07:00

I grew up in an age before modern residential "development".
The house I spent most of my childhood in was built by my parents on a new street at the edge of the city.
At the time around here people bought a lot, drew up plans and built their house the way they wanted it.
When you looked at your land you had to imagine the sea of blackberry brambles cleared away and decide which trees to keep.
On a street like our construction happened piecemeal.
Maybe one house a year would go in.
Even when they extended the street up the hill through what had once been a shortcut to school and a playground of dirt paths this slow pace continued.
In the winter houses under construction became the bombed out battlegrounds of our neighborhood snowball wars.
In the summer we'd sneak down to building sites in the evening to play on the idle earth movers.
All year round we'd scavenge for scrap wood and fresh nails for tree forts in the unattended, half built homes.
It was exciting.
These days big developers buy land by the acre.
They scrape the land bare, down to the red mud and throw up line after line of identical houses.
They name the developments "Oakwood Estates" and other tacky names that stand at odds with the rape of the land.
I pine for the before times.

treadmarks

2008-06-05T21:46:00.001-07:00

thick red written on the mirror,
lipstick, but strawberries
taking over

warm orange encased by shadow,
construction, but sunlight
of the cliff's face

pile of plums kicked off a balcony,
malevolent, but fun
when the rain stops...

there is no purpose
or closure for treadmarks

dirty shakes

2008-06-05T19:16:00.000-07:00

The sky is wrong for this time of year.
I wish someone would do it up nice.
Clear the mess, add some bright lighting...
There's a duck pond in the parking lot,
and those dirty birds don't take no shit.
Not from the cat... or even my truck.
I guess this is my summer break, but
I feel like we've skipped strait to fall.
I need the heater in June? I mean, hell...
The cherry crop's wasted, strawberries late
and four dollars a gallon? Eighty bucks a tank?
'S like prison bars on the city's vague edge.
No where to go, nothin' to do, no job, no friends
and a fine new beginning to life after college.
At least the vicodin's starting to kick in.

Thomas the Cat

2008-05-30T17:19:00.000-07:00

Thomas the cat has six toes.
Thomas has a highfalutin nose.

It doesn't stick up, like you might think--
it sticks down and sniffs the drain of my sink

with whiskers and flicks, he falls down the drain
never to judge my dirty sink again...

Never?

2008-05-22T01:23:00.000-07:00

I would never deign to operate
under such absolute terms.
I always--always understand
that subtle gradations abound.
It's the only thing right.
To deny such would be wrong.
So keep you black and white,
your highfalutin terms.
I'll stay in the muck with
the sex tainted words.

Two Lines

2008-05-18T19:04:00.000-07:00

It is never 'you digress,' but
I digress.

poem from my seat at graduation

2008-05-11T23:24:00.000-07:00

I tied my stole in a knot
to guard against the wind.
We are a sea of black,
tassel, polyester and flowers.
Impatient with the process
I write in my program.
Diploma in hand, cake waiting
for the celebration at home.
Strangely, home remains
for me my parents' house...
But I digress. It is weird,
degree achieved at the end,
I cannot acknowledge the change.
Would that I could remain
I would lay down this certificate
and try again for another,
living secretly on campus,
a legend; a phantom; vampiric
in my lust for academia.

Happy Birthday

2008-05-10T09:26:00.000-07:00

a song

Don't panic
it's just a tattoo
Don't panic
I thought that you
would like it

Something new
to spice the soup
I am still me
And we're still we
We can still be
what we were
but we are not

So panic
It's not just a tattoo
Oh Panic
I just don't love you, anymore

Let's panic
about this tattoo
Let's fight
about this tattoo
Let's end it
because this tattoo
on my back
means what I meant
when I said
Let's end it
We just can't be
--I mean it
we just aren't we, anymore

Don't panic
there'll be other girls
Don't panic
It's not the end of the world
So, baby-no-more,
eat your cake,
drink your drink

and don't panic

----

audio, complete with the sodo train: http://audio.xanga.com/omgmynameisdiane/1d0f52210419/audio.html

the horror

2008-05-10T01:48:00.000-07:00

the tents sank in the drifting billows;
smoke pouring from atop the hill.
a man stood nearby, wavering.
he blinked hard against the fumes.
a single log fumed from the high ground.
he was embarrassed and unsure.
he could not clear the air by hand.
the other campers would soon wake.
would they panic in the blinding drift?

Jose Rizal Bridge

2008-04-18T21:57:00.000-07:00

Stripped of humanity
near the green bridge across the city,
the lights the boxes are blinking
Happy Birthday, Baby!
Baby, look up
Baby, look over the edge
of the green bridge over what was a meadow in it's youth

There are tents there now, by the edge of the freeway
where a man and his proverbial dog, loyal, hide
from the rain, lighting butt after butt
of burnt up cigarette, found
in the Jack in the Box parking lot

Devoid of humanity
the city dogs bark, drowned
out by the city sirens, concubines of disaster
caressing Baby to sleep
Look over, look out over the Sound, big sky

Baby shakes to sleep, warm,
asleep to the man and his cold dog
shivering together to the sounds of city sirens
detecting with noses a moment of urine, warmth
of the last cigarette ember falling asleep, big sleep, cold in the hand
that'll never redeem another dirty dream
that'll never be red of another dirty deed
that'll never inch down on the softness of skin
that'll never faux toss towards man's best friend
that'll never caress Baby again

than what?

2008-04-16T00:15:00.000-07:00

Life doesn't get easier,
not the way you'd want
or you'd expect.
Who wants an easy life
anyways? Not me,
I assure you.
No, an easy life is one
devoid of all points
of interest.
I myself wouldn't ask
for a life made easier
than mine,

except...

Maybe it'd be nice
if just one thing
could be easy.
Not easier than something,
just easy by itself,
without irony.
Let something arrive
unasked for
once.
Let it slide into life
with liquid
ease.

Conjunctions (collage poem)

2008-04-07T00:02:00.000-07:00

Filtered water, I miss. You?
Triple threat. I think. That wrong
soft, between yeses,
honest, I have you. Self-control?
Obviously. Oh, choices to make,
me too, but you too, would
my conjunctions have easier
lives, wrong. I am off with my
imaginary head, life is wrong?
Without you, without conjunctions,
yes, oh, I remember! I know, I know
love, but I meant to say, but
to be okay, but for us to--that's
not what I meant in the least, but

The Dust

2008-04-06T02:52:00.000-07:00

Feet dipped slowly
into a cold mountain spring,
washed gently of the
aching accumulation of day.

The water: ancient
flows new from the rock
near freezing and
timid in the filtered light.

Drink of the sun
and carry the dust away.
Tender green shoots
await the gift borne
upon your silver neck.

Local woman longs for shelter after proverbial wind totals her car.

2008-03-28T23:09:00.000-07:00

Colorado smells like burnt sage
cleansing and chasing bad spirits away
Arizona smells like burnt sage
cleansing and chasing, cleansing
Arizona smells like burnt rubber
and hospital rooms and flesh to ash

Colorado smells like fresh sky
filling lungs and giving legs strength
Colorado smells like cold snow
brisk and refreshing, stealing strength
Nevada smells like dust

Nevada smells like hot dust, sick wind, dirt
Nevada smells like meth, decay, dirty money
Nevada smells like nuclear waste, rotting carp

Nevada smells like suffocated babies
Oregon smells like trees
Oregon smells like waterfalls and ice
slipping between books and lectures

Oregon smells like sex and whiskey
Oregon smells like old houses that creak
when toe tips scrape across late nights
Oregon smells like anger and apathy
and the bottom of a pool, drowning

Oregon smells like escape from dust
Oregon smells like, no don't go back
Washington smells like the ocean
salty and warm on the skin

Washington smells like aloe vera
after a blistering sun burn
Washington smells like tears
turned into torrents of giggles
Washington smells like very cheap beer

Washington smells like delinquent nights
sneaking from room to room, all smiles
Washington smells like poetry and wine
Washington smells like Excel documents

Washington smells like laughing children
Washington smells like a time machine
oiled and ready to grant the only wish
Washington smells like cigarettes and soap
clinging to tshirts and jackets and scarves

Washington smells like an abundance of apologies,
unnecessary and ultimately amusing
Washington smells like graciousness
Washington smells like home

Given to loss; a wound in the sky

2008-03-28T22:33:00.000-07:00

The Angel: androgynous, amoral, apathetic, alight
with the dim memory of what once was and will
never come to pass. Thrown from the white walls into

........................................................................................outer darkness?

No; bourn down by the winds of ruin to that place
of desperation, the stage for the epic of man which
sparked his war. Stripped of grandeur and authority,
left to his wanderlust, burt and broken, a shell.

The Fallen: feeble, flaking, frightened, fleeing
a legacy of fated flaws, intrusive memories of smoke
and the dismemberment of brother and sisters
whose love shone to brightly, the Sun in shadow.

Emily, 162 words

2008-03-20T00:12:00.000-07:00

The ashes scatter across the once leavened land. Empty trees hung their harrowed arms beneath an ocean of smoke, drowned small animals and thickened Emily's pale skin. She moaned at the bottom of it, ocean animals swayed into vermin holes around her and she peered orb-eyed at the ozone breaking above her in orange and blue and gray light. Her eyes had glazed over, a monotone affect like *, vivid blue ain't so blue. The alarm sounded, and she broke through, eyes sparked life again and she rose to her feet, galloped toward the slaughterhouse before she could think. Four small children, androgynous, dressed in overalls, ran at her, sapphire gems in hand. Before she could open her thin cracked lips to warn them, the sensors triggered the tiny missiles that pulled them into the quarry. Emily fell to the ground, hit her knees on some sharp black rocks without wincing. Her * silence lingered as she slowly, uncertainly, turned to ash.

*anemic, blanched, cadaverous, colorless, ghastly, gray, leaden, pale, pallid, pasty, sallow, wan, white, depression, downheartedness, dumps, eyes, heaviness of heart, lowness, low spirits, melancholy, peepers, postpartum depression

copter

2008-03-18T01:56:00.000-07:00

Twin copter leaves spiral
slowly to the sidewalk
settling in an uneven seam
across the street from a
grade school leavened by
the sounding vibrations
of joy generated by children
like little mirth furnaces.

This May

2008-02-27T00:37:00.000-08:00

Hoola? Hulah? No. Hula skirt,
scattering wild from her hips.
Fire-fire-fire in waves
spin high in the eve.
Half-coconut bras and
pink neck-rings in bloom
and the stomping and
thunder of drums.
The sand rebounds in
peaks like the sea;
heard, but hidden from sight.

Summer Girl

2008-02-10T14:29:00.000-08:00

Ticky tacky, ticky tacky,
swivel up like river wracky,
hippy left / pippy right,
hoola, hoola hoopy sight.

Homework due Tuesday

2008-02-10T01:07:00.000-08:00

My mind is flush with tacky ideas
for an assignment on documentary poetry.
I think I'm boned.
Zeitgeistally cock blocked.
Dammit all to hell and back.
I hate this crap.
Maybe that's what I'll do...
The haiku defense!
A documentary poem about hating documentary poets!!!

Pub, his shoe is lost

2008-01-30T01:44:00.000-08:00

His waist is not dainty like a lovely girl should.
But his eyes sparkle about politics, and
it might be the 1.50 beer, or humility speaking,
but the extrovert reaps disappointment...
too high of expectations, too many errors
in spelling, convictions too much, and jealousy
rises to neck, pink, and her waist is not dainty,
but neither is his, and all lovely girls should not
care. Imagination and questions flood, wish,
and talk of poets are memories, turned flush.

Tales of Winter

2008-01-29T18:41:00.000-08:00

The trees: naked, tall
in the cold, rasping wind
bend slight at the waist
as the story begins.
A bird: timid, cold
flits from branch to branch;
silent words pecked
into the deadwood.
The message is plain.

Day One

2008-01-27T18:23:00.000-08:00

Константѝн: Cheerfully, she opens the door, and pulls NORTON in by his wrist. Здравствулте! Welcome to Россия, where we will drink водочка and bulldoze our inhibitions while we play hours of шахмат! Yes, yes, it is too cold to go outside, so here we are: жизнерадостно over шахмат... Masters! Let me show you around. Meet Фёдор!

Фёдор: Здравствулте! It is wonderful to see you! Your uncle said you were getting tall! Where is your куртка? You must be freezing! Norton shakes his head and smiles.

Константѝн: Фёдор, Фёдор! Leave our friend alone. Pulling NORTON by the wrist, she leads him across the room to sit. Come, friend, sit down here by the fire. Would you like some водочка? I'll find you a glass! NORTON sits silently by the fire, examining the contents of his purse.

Фёдор: Don't let her skimp you. He winks.

Константѝн: What was that, Фёдор? I can here you out there!

Фёдор: Bah! Успокойтесь! NORTON drops his purse near his feet and stares into the fire.

Genocidal Valentine

2008-01-27T04:16:00.000-08:00

a Time Warp Dandies original song:

I’d kill a billion people just to see you smile.

I’d bulldoze a trillion trees, though it might take me a while.

I’d blow up a whole star system if you’d be my girl.

But first things first, I’ll conquer the Earth so we can rule the world…

With our lo---ove

With our love-love-lovey-love

With our lo---ove

With our crazy, bloody love.

I’d hunt down the last white rhino in case you want his horn.

I’d bankrupt a starving nation, though that’s probably the norm.

I’d tear down the Sistine Chapel if I think you need a laugh.

We’ll make a lot of noise with our nuclear toys as we can rule the world…

With our lo---ove

With our love-love-lovey-love

With our lo---ove

With our crazy, bloody love.

I’d firebomb a hundred cities to liven up your night.

I’d strangle a box of kittens, though they won’t put up a fight.

I’d alter your dental records so you can disappear.

Your name’ll die, thanks to a clever lie so we can rule the world…

With our lo---ove

With our love-love-lovey-love

With our lo---ove

With our crazy, bloody love.

So I made you my girl

and we destroyed mankind.

All that’s left are the stars

and the races we may find.

So I built us a ship

and a giant arsenal.

We can search through space

and one by one they’ll fall…

To our lo---ove

To our love-love-lovey-love

To our lo---ove

To our crazy, bloody love.

winter haiku

2008-01-25T01:21:00.000-08:00

Life would be easy
if I could steal medical,
dental and husbands.

Light a Candle for me

2008-01-22T01:37:00.000-08:00

...make it two or three
and let them burn out.
Let them steal the oxygen
from my fluid-filled lungs
and transform the room

with light.

Leaves flake off / " " "

2008-01-18T08:27:00.000-08:00

1:Like leaves flaking off, I am your... what!? No, really! Repeat that?
2:'New Year's Resolution,' the words: enunciated well .

1:I didn't think you made those.
2:I make candles too.

1:Wow... great.
2:I know.

1:Sigh,
2:Oh.

1:
2:

Community

2008-01-16T23:39:00.000-08:00

Community

they fade into one another.

gradients; tonal miscegenation,

pigments squeezed from a tube,

pressed from living flesh,

drawn from the soil,

mixed as blood is mixed

(violence and love)

to be shared and named

and celebrated; reverenced.

aging. fading, flaking, again

restored, repurposed, reborn.

Bruise

2008-01-12T13:41:00.000-08:00

E-legan   t, ve-ry, ve.........   .......ry, v-ery strait teeth,
^^^^^^t-........his    is -how you k   no...w he-'s a politician,
^^^^^^^^^^^-wor...ds    pu-rl into the    au...dien-ces, into the
^^^^^^^^^^^c-ame..ra   , e-xplaining t   hat,...Am-ericans, like
^^^^^^^^^^^a-ny  ot.he   r -human set i   n o...ne p-lace, alone,
^^^^^^^^to-o lon..g..   . -ar searchin    for some-thing lost...
^^^^^^^^^^Bab-ies d....ie    -when not gi.   ven love-, Americans
^^^^^^^^are s-o wr...ap   -ped in me, ...   me, me -ethics, with
^^^^^^^copin-g me..ch   -anisms in......   ... black- and white,
^^^^witho-ut se.ein-   g diversity....   ....... as -a blessing.
^^Bloate-d boo-b-   oo, and app...   ............-...le pie... !
^^Americ-ans, bab-   y, like all hu   ma.......-.............ns,
^^^^^^^^^^^^^crave o-ne anot-h   er, crave community,.........
crave fa-mil-y, th-   ese famil-ies    are bro-.......ken,$$$$$$$
because- they are-    built wrong,    alas, th.-..e poet$$$$$$$$$$
has injec-ted a sta-t   ement of opi   nion th-at is off$$$$$$$$
the topic-, but not- r   eallyWeneed   yes, in- italics,$$$$$$$$
need sma-ler com-mu   nities, univs   l healt-h care,$$$$$$$$$$$
homes for- every1-or a   t least land f   or eve-ryone$$$$$$$$$$
to make a -choice,- men   tal health se   rvces,- food$$$$$$$$$$
AIDs preve-ntion! -Canc   er research..   .. Am-erica$$$$$$$$$$$
is dying, on- top of -the w   orld, a.........   nd ki-lling$$$$
off its enem-ies wit-hout k   no...............   wing -who$$$$$
or why they- are fig-hting ..   ...................   anym-ore$$
than before -they st-arte.......   .............   .......d-. It
takes a more- tactic-............... ............   .... th-an
this... to deci-de.......-.....   ...................   .. wh-at
is OK to sacr-if.........-..   ...................   .....ic-e--

Writing

2008-01-12T04:59:00.001-08:00

I was feeling something tonight. Restless. Lonely. Lonelier than usual. I went for a drive at midnight. Driving in the dark helps me relax. I have a few regular routes I take, each a lonely stretch of country road wanting for affection. The asphalt was damp; darker than usual but without the rain slick glare. The fleeting shadows of the world streamed past like dark water; like thought. In the distance the city lit the low clouds. They glowed ominously—the sickly color of a bruise. I should buy some vodka.

For emergencies.

“Imbibe in case of disillusion.”

Tomorrow night…

Fruit

2008-01-12T02:42:00.000-08:00

The censors have warned me... that writing about fruit after drinking a great deal of scotch and a tiny bit of wine is ill-advised... and since it seems I'll be in this state for a couple of days, it'll save us time if we smooth-move to a new topic, one less juicy, ripe, sensuous as this one...

Amigos/Amigas

2008-01-12T01:10:00.000-08:00

Left in the winter.

Splitting like fruit, over-ripe.

Drawn off with the storm waters.

Astray, astray, the searchers astray.

Warm my hand in your pocket? I will.

And so,

As if,

To say:

“…”

"If I asked you to marry me in five months, what would you say?" ; "U--Yes." ; He panics.

2008-01-05T13:08:00.000-08:00

sloppily dedicated to the stupid moon of bed tales

Delirous drink, I
Ran without thought
And sipped the well
Not to spicy / chili, hot
Kaleidoscope venture

&

Dreams that night
Ripped righteous
Antidotes into
Naught, like road-
Kill kangaroos

&

Dippity, fourteen
Rare stars, friends,
Amigos drift above
Naughty night slumber
Knowing these drinks

the coast

2008-01-05T02:52:00.000-08:00

About three I parked the car and walked to the safety rail. The earth fell away before me, gnawed away by the crashing waves. I stared into the tumult. The water was black, the sky gray and my breath a wispy white. The sound of the sea grinding at the land filled my ears. I sat in the dust in a daze. I thought and gazed and drank of the scene until I forgot what these tears were about. My face stung from the wind. About four it started to rain. About five a landslide swept me into the ocean.

Lyrical

2008-01-01T23:52:00.000-08:00

Lined like a lyrical flip flop, or something, she blinks, twice. Empty between toes, and this old woman is singing about end times, but she is sparkling while. Her lyrics, about boxes, swinging, I'm not allowed to mention. The question about her hands will have to wait. The train is her pet, on time. Water slooshes on by like ice regurgitating its lunches. Do you not get tired here? Snow flags wave like lyrical flip flops, or something, she waves, like a flag. Songs about end times make me migraine. Buzz killer. Songs about forever times do the same thing.

[S'pose, we could keep having one word be the prompt, regardless of authors choice of poetry / prose.]

...

2007-12-25T00:21:00.000-08:00

“I’m great,” I told her when she asked. I’ll tell her again tomorrow. She smiled, nodded and turned her back, my lips pulled back in a grimace. “How are you?” I asked from the hospital bed. Her lyrical voice filled the room.

“Same as usual—maybe better than that. It’s always nice to visit you…” She took her seat nearest the door and adjusted her floral print skirt. The silence in the room hung like a noose from a withered tree branch. “Any news?” she finally asked.

“I think I’ll be home soon.”

“I love you.”

“I know. Me too.”

[back to poetry?]

(2)

2007-11-25T01:05:00.000-08:00

Jennifer or Jen for short (never Jenny) drank from her Nalgene and stood listening to the water slip across the sand. The Nalgene bottle smelled like mold. Equally unpleasant was the cold damp air. Jen pulled her jacket tight and yanked at the zipper. She noted that the moon was full and close to the horizon, making it seem huge. She shivered and searched her jacket pockets for her gloves. They were in her right pocket. As she put them on, her pistol fell out of her other pocket. She dug a hole with her foot and pushed it in.

["A lie told often enough becomes the truth." --Lenin]

Got the Time?

2007-11-22T01:40:00.000-08:00

James never knew the time. He gripped his wrist nervously. As a child he had worn a Power Rangers watch. He hadn’t bought it, just found it on the ground walking home from school one day. It kept the time and served its purpose well into middle school. He didn’t even like the Power Rangers. He wore it ironically more than anything else. Eventually the watch was lost in the wash, obliterated in the drier. He never wore a watch again. They made his wrist sweat. He didn’t like them. So he was late, or early, or off the ball.

[Prompt: Where did Jenny hide the gun when the fog descended?]

Short, Short Story #1

2007-11-21T22:38:00.000-08:00

The children were playing loudly in their room. Donna smirked, adjusted her apron, and snickered to complete her expression. Extending her right forefinger, she plunged it into the center of the warm pie. She wiggled it around. She added her middle finger and scooped out a big chunk, stuffing it into her mouth, giggling, half moaning a surprised ‘mmph’ as crumbs fell to the ground at her feet. “Shit,” she swallowed the pie chunk without really chewing and reached for a towel hanging off the stove. A loud crash stuttered down the hall! “Moooooooooom!” the youngest one cried. Donna sighed.

[Prompt (instead of a question, though it can be a question): "Oh! Do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch." --Jane Austen

... so now you write a short, short story inspired by this quote, or even using the quote or a portion of it, siting the source, of course, and not using greater or fewer than 100 words in your actual prose. Should have a beginning, a middle, and an end... roughly. Can also be just description... really, you can't go wrong with whatever you do.Title and new prompt for me don't go towards the word count. Okay! Go!]

Suggestion Box

2007-11-15T08:18:00.001-08:00

I'm Bored. Let's play something else.
???

Two Ripe Peaches

2007-11-14T20:32:00.000-08:00

sat in summer heat
with little umbrellas
and big margaritas,
shootin' the shit
and defying the sun.

They thought they were smart, but
as it goes and it goes
the sun burnt 'em
and bruised 'em 'til mush,
to make his dinner guests peach margaritas.

Struggle

2007-11-14T20:06:00.000-08:00

Night ate Day,
swallowed it whole.
Night shat Day,
twelve hours old.
"What the fuck?"
Day cried aloud.
"Eat my dick!"
Night turned around.
A sissy slap fight
therein ensued.
The sky orange-red
they mottled and bruised.
"Choke on it, bitch!"
The fight Day had won.
"This isn't over!"
Night ran from the sun.

Monsoon lips

2007-11-13T19:07:00.000-08:00

counted time on my fingers
measured it in teaspoons
bold, its frail lines fell

off of each fingertip, and I
ate each word with lime
warbles like sunken teeth, I

forgot that melancholy tune
who'd time & time, times many
pushed me to the oubliette...

Who's Askin?

2007-11-12T17:05:00.000-08:00

soccer, suck 'er, call the doctor
eat the trimmings, say my name
nothing safer, nothing lost
save the loser, save the boss
the game ran long
the game ran short
I died six times
she gave a snort
all to bring the summer back
for everything I find I lack

Priorities.

2007-11-12T16:45:00.000-08:00

Coming soon! the most economically important
animal. You love horses? Here, take them.
Trailers, trailers, first time horse blues &
blue-blooded race horses still brings millions
of pony riders & horse drivers to write
about politics & world affairs.

America on a wavelength of 520–570 nm with
information about a specific horse's
health, plus trail riding & all discussion about
Gulf meetings' general interest; specifics are listed:
history and breeds for sustainable building design
and construction, the earth, an alphabetical listing
of what the Pentagon can do despite
the suffering behind a common question:
Function? Aggregates of answers that
no longer use the green pioneers
of pro soccer. In the shadow
there is news regarding tribalism & disease.

You love horses? Here, take them.

My Organic Pants

2007-11-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

They fell apart in the wash.
I should have seen it coming,
made from recycled pinatas,
and heaps of Indian clay.
I only wore them once.
I should do the math
and find out the fraction,
minuscule though it may be,
of the Earth I saved
when I bought organic.
I expect it to be tiny.

Various goat farm hobbyists; Linux

2007-11-11T01:46:00.000-08:00

Your tongue: You taste
Like porn clips and censorship,
Demonic chickens and the
Composite of muscles. It is
The biological role in reproduction;
Southwest Asia and Eastern Europe
Exclude self diagnostic methods
That will make you leave your lover.
Fiber breeds minor and very
Organic--capable of various
Sex; editors recommend Sex.
Dairy Goats and Pygmy Goats
Velvety; Use for the open & free.

Aching world of blather

2007-11-11T01:33:00.000-08:00

Ever flowing stream;
in the eaves of winter.
A coherent thought lost,
drowning in the wake.
Like a stinking brock
I stare, numb, dumb
at a loss for words
which spill not right
from the tips of my
tongue or my pen.

hubris

2007-11-07T00:44:00.000-08:00

Hubris like honey
or methamphetamines
or maybe, maybe money
bricks a brock
on the street corner
and baby, you Fine.

the bravest cactus

2007-11-05T20:08:00.000-08:00

Against every urging,
every warning,
every behest,
the bravest cactus
shook loose every spine.
His smooth green flesh
was laid bare to the desert.
He sighed.
The wind swept new
against his now naked skin,
lulling him to sleep.
He was devoured in the dark,
by he knew not what
for such is the folly of hubris
among cacti.

Honor

2007-11-05T18:45:00.000-08:00

She uses spells
differently,

examines practices
in other cultures:
honesty,
integrity,
Virtue of the Week,
the Day, and
words produce:

gorgeous golden temperaments.
our nation's bravest Marines.

Bizarre.

headstones

2007-11-05T17:57:00.000-08:00

river-smooth pebbles arrayed afore
the sweet simple something so soon.
like headstones they honor him or her
or whoever should find them in need
and, praying--praying to god or man
such wishes are granted forsooth.
suffer not such saviors to be scattered,
nor should you gather them thus.
the power, the power is in the hope
and only the hope of discovery.

Pome 1 of 8

2007-11-05T11:38:00.000-08:00

Courtesan, friend:
choose a warning symbol,
bathe in acid rain, or
take up machete juggling,
because a riverside-scorpion
is taking satellite photos
and selling used headstones
by Pennsylvania Way.

Ampersand Alphabet

2007-11-03T21:32:00.000-07:00

angry & bashful & careless & dizzy & exquisite & funny & garrulous & hairy & impotent & jubilant & kitschy & ludicrous & magnificent & nubile & opulent & petty & quiet & reliable & sexy & terrible & ugly & vague & witless & xenophobic & young & zany.

apple & bunny & courtesan & dame & elephant & fowl & gorilla & hutch & Icarus & jarhead & kettle & llama & marigold & nymph & organ & parsnip & quiche & register & symbol & tragedy & uncle & vagabond & wicca & xenomorph & Yankee & zebra.

Blanket Book

2007-11-02T22:46:00.000-07:00

He scolds me, yet
I do not know why!
In soft tones, I explained
my truth: the aching 'neath
terrible dreams! and now
I walk the streets smelling
of blood & cigarettes:
fresh binding.

Each Day

2007-11-02T22:31:00.000-07:00

I did it first Monday,
and each day that followed,
not that I had such a plan.
It was simply the result
of built up inertia
and post hoc justification.
So day after day
I find myself trapped
by a choice but barely made.
And yet that's just fine.
I cannot complain.
I've envied such affectations.

B.S.

2007-11-01T23:00:00.000-07:00

cheery in theory
his cans are a mess
I'm sure if you asked him
he would confess
that he hates all his Legos
he hates all his toys
and each apple you buy him
is just a decoy

Underwear

2007-11-01T22:57:00.000-07:00

The underwear weren't his.
Nor were they mine.
The dog brought them home
like a right cheery find.
This was the latests,
though not likely the last,
in a long line of gifts
starting years in the past.

2007-11-01T22:55:00.000-07:00

Ululāre, ululāre.
I don't care;
I'll pull down
your underwear.

2007-11-01T22:42:00.000-07:00

Oft maligned,
Refused trial,
Oft confused,
Turned aside,
Under sold,
Never right,
Dissent remembered.

Quick to fight,
Ululation,
Indiscriminate,
Sacrifice,
Loggerheads,
Indignation,
Nightly poems,
Goodly tidings.

Pistol in Hand

2007-11-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

carbonated soy milk
dance
tube of dread wax
dance hippy
bullet-proof corduroys
dance hippy dance
filthy poultice
dance hippy dance hippy
Lockenstock™ sandals
dance hippy dance hippy dance

orotund quisling

Salt Spray

2007-11-01T22:01:00.000-07:00

The salt spray seemed nicer in the spring; in the warm.
Now it chafes and freezes beneath a dark sky.
The wind buffets and blows hard against us all
as the waves are driven into the rocks below.
A shadow is cast o'er the whole of the world
muting the color, hardening hearts...
But briefly, so briefly the light breaks through
and the leaves dance like fire.

'z' --d 'an' --d bl--ks

2007-11-01T00:53:00.000-07:00

zugzw--g: a situation,
in chess, of fucking up
that asshole's shit.
zen--a: where we keep
our women.
z--der: a fish that
dislikes salt.
zoom--ia: -- obsession
with --imals.

A Dork

2007-10-31T22:02:00.000-07:00

A dork.
Such a dork.
An insufferable little brat.
You think you're funny.
Well, so do I,
but that doesn't make it right.
A dweeb.
Such a dweeb.
I'll best you in this game.
Truth be told,
I'm so damn old
that I envy you for that same.

2007-10-31T21:26:00.000-07:00

Repair
in cell block
one.
The roof
is leaking
lye.
This hurts
a little
much.
Twenty
years of this
drip
drip
drip.
But there
will be a
way.
But there
will be an
out.
The hole
in the floor
ouch!
Though a
stumbling
spot
now, will
be a great
place
to crawl
through later...

Affliction

2007-10-31T18:26:00.000-07:00

The affliction brought out the worst
in the boy; in the man.
He careened through life listless
borne upon the nagging pain.
The ruin wrought of those too near
scattered, ash-like, upon the wind.
He was blind to his disease;
blind to their suffering.
None could repair the damage,
nor even convey warning.
He knew not what he carried
for the pain eclipsed thought.

Boring, Vain Poem

2007-10-31T00:26:00.000-07:00

Janice floats, and
her words steer.
Janice aches because society in venom.
Janice has a voice like Piglet.
Janice loves a woman; they went to the next state over
and married when it was legal.
Janice is little.
Janice thought I was vain; I am.
Janice inspires me.
Janice,
Janice,
Janice writes dull poetry
that aches and craves and spills
into the water like it were her blood,
when it isn't.
Janice is good at writing her dull poetry.
Better than I am at writing my vain poetry
that lacks the pity party and
has had a few too many drinks.
Janice is heavy on my mind
in these days where I figure out
what the hell I'm going to do
about this poetry affliction.
Janice could stand ten foot tall
if her words were blocks.
They'd be sturdy to stand upon.
Janice has black hair, night black, so
black it beams.
Janice has short black hair, and
conjunctions that hang like turbulence, and
that's where I got that annoying habit.
Janice has brown eyes, kind, and
annoyed.
Janice once made me read a poem aloud, because
it made me laugh when no one else did.
Janice wanted me to be better.
Janice was impressed with my handwritten, illustrated chapbook.
Janice knew that I was, am, still vain enough
to care that she was impressed with my handwritten, illustrated chapbook.
Janice will reach nirvana before me.

The Voyage

2007-10-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

The thimble ship bobs betwixt
the high and briny waves.
The tiny fleas traverse the seas--
vasty, fierce and dark.
The captain jumps amidst the rigs
and calls out to his boys.
"Fear not the deep, nor truest sleep!
"The far shore meets my eyes!"
The tiny mates work fro and to
to steer their shiny barge.
And by Godspeed, they may indeed
live to bite again.

Fracture

2007-10-30T00:02:00.000-07:00

She's nervous for falling
just so, just so
like a thimble
or coin in the pocket.

Connoisseur

2007-10-27T17:13:00.000-07:00

I don't know what I am.
A connoisseur? surely not.
I'm indiscriminant; well no.
I'm discriminating, but
not excessively so.
I find beauty--wonder,
wherever I look
and relish each moment
for its flavor.
Some turn up their noses,
refuse to partake,
and lose part of life
in the process.

A human;

2007-10-26T20:10:00.000-07:00

a baby born of human parents;
a worrisome creature;
a playful beast;
a lover of breasts;
a connoisseur of land.

Forced

2007-10-24T23:26:00.000-07:00

Forced upon, foisted;
unlooked for, unbidden;
it reshaped the world,
the earth and sea hidden;
it burned with a fire,
reeking of ruin,
and grew through the clouds,
a high, evil mountain.

Forever

2007-10-24T21:59:00.000-07:00

My words are small.
'Forever' is not
my word. We do until
we don't and no amount
of carpe diem or cogito
can change this.
Flowflowflow,
it's forced.

My words are XXS.

Was

2007-10-24T20:30:00.000-07:00

I was a god.
I was the devil.
I was afraid.
I wasn't sure.
I was a king.
I was a kinsmen.
I was a pauper
I wasn't pure.
I was prideful.
I was strange.
I was a monster.
I wasn't safe.
I was there.
right there.
just in there
forever more.

Beauty in Two Syllables

2007-10-23T22:21:00.000-07:00

In part, embark on quests! She said, I know!
Impart me, bang! with knowledge grand to show.
Her name was soft, in part, like water's edge
it lapped as foam, imparted sweet farewells.
Her bosom swells! like novels sold for dimes.
The plane does come, and she departs for Spain!
In part, she wants the sands to keep her here;
the now, the tide, the moon have tied her fear.

Will

2007-10-23T18:28:00.000-07:00

that will, troubled, ever near
that want, sated, never clear
that one wisdom held in heart
that might one day still impart
that which willing soon arrives
there once preserved many lives
one will, one world, one design
one mind, one soul, ill defined

Dreadful...

2007-10-23T00:22:00.000-07:00

Mak nae toom ruse.
Without understanding,
my two feet've been lost
to my large appetite.
Oh, what will be the cost?
Spoken without one sight;
I'm left without landing.
Mak nae toom ruse!

Adept

2007-10-20T13:05:00.000-07:00

She called so adept in deception,
cloaked as she was in adorability
and invited me to party at grandma's.
Like a fool, like a fool, I believed!
Dressing and showering and driving,
I found myself outside the door,
but where were the guests?
Where was the pony ride?
Why don't I see any gifts?
'Twas a ruse, such a ruse!
And I've not an excuse,
to be tricked by my three year old niece!

Nuclear

2007-10-19T23:53:00.000-07:00

It is necessary that her name is said aloud,
in full, with a grin and admiration.
She, so freely, is what I was before
the need to "get by" won... I can feel
myself fading, flowing, eyes drifting shut
as my pen and my paints and my pain are
sucked from me, and I become more and more
balanced, responsible, respectful, socially
adept in the arts of dinner parties and
tiny conversations along with strong
statements about politics and the weather
when I DON'T GIVE A DAMN. I didn't choose
this massacre that we are living. I didn't
choose to temper my emotions in this way.
I am as strong and as capable as those
fucked up old men. I am daunting at best.
I am animated, alive, I am craving... she
beat me to it all! and made others forget
what I was, and I wonder what she will be
in three more years. It will not be like me.
Unicorns are adept in the art of living forever.

Brilliant

2007-10-19T17:30:00.000-07:00

The brilliant sun has gone now,
Lost behind high-deep clouds
And forgotten as the rain beats,
heavily, frigidly, on and on.

The brilliant memory fades fast
Behind eyes closed in thought,
Eclipsed by the bright new flavor
Of a red cinnamon disk.

Brilliant Pome:

2007-10-19T17:17:00.001-07:00

Transeunce

2007-10-19T16:47:00.000-07:00

The internet hasn't heard of it.
I asked twice.
The Scrabble dictionary was also bust.
Too many letters.
I asked a friend and he thought it was soup
I doubt that's the case.
Google and Websters and Yahoo all think
I meant something else.
Bastards; they all let me down.
I hate that.

The internet is supposed to know.
Google is supposed to find it.
Scrabble might tell me the value,
Websters is supposed to define it.
But they all drew a blank today.
Maybe it's not even English?

2007-10-19T13:14:00.000-07:00

Dear, Brad,

Construction paper
pulled together
by a golden brad--
blustered weather
at her head and foot--

She held the kite strings
with both hands
and blink-blinked
as the kite flew-crashed
into the wet morning grass.

Brad, dear, you are fishing for compliments.
I will, put aside my irritation and oblige, but
this may have bitter side effects. It's just
the nature of things... don't fear.

You are:
reliable, hospitable, creative,
clever, intelligent,
too cool for the cool kids,
careful, lucky enough
to have the parts that
equate transeunce.

I am:
grumpy when I wake up.
Grumpier when I wake up
to a list of my attributes.
Grumpier still
when the reasoning
is that someone was tired,
when we are supposed
to be carefully writing,
so tiredness shouldn't
be a reason.

New rule: nothing to do
with human sex or love
unless it also has to do
with a donkey or goat.
We're making the rules
up as we go, right? I impose.

Love, Diane

Diane

2007-10-19T01:35:00.000-07:00

It’s a cruel trick to play.
I’m not sure what I’ll say;
I’m a little afraid, I confess.
What might I let slip?
Were you just fishing?
For compliments?
For a boost to your ego?
I’m sure I could oblige,
If that’s all you need.
You are, after all,
Everything a man could want.

Smart-sassy-beautiful-funny-sexy-alive,
Gifted-witty-challenging-generous-kind,
Warm-knowing-mysterious-impulsive-sweet,
Amazing-amazing-amazing-to-me.

Is there more I might say?
Yes-yes, of course there is.
But is there more you were asking?
I’d have to know first.
This is not the first poem about you
I’ve written, not likely the last.
But this is the game,
And that’s how it goes.
But now I leave it to you,
Turn about’s fair play.
“Brad” is your word,
What will you say?

Word Masterbation

2007-10-18T22:11:00.000-07:00

Doubt
about
a boat...
Taboo
taToo
toots
stool!
Stole
tiles,
idles,
dials...
I said
I slid!
Slide
dines...
--Diane

Trips and Falls

2007-10-17T22:13:00.000-07:00

He trips all over himself,
fumbles about and nervously
clears his frog throat.
He tries to explain
the world in his mind,
the hope and the light,
the fear and the doubt,
but all falls, trips,
down the stairs of
her thought, dismissed,
tossed out like refuse.

2007-10-17T21:29:00.000-07:00

Red & running
All around
Parks & pack mules,
The trollop trips
Up and under;
Reason's road
Erupts!