...

“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)

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?

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

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

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

Two Ripe Peaches

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

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

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?

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.

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

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

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

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

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

the bravest cactus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Connoisseur

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;

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

Forced

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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:

Transeunce

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?

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

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

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

Trips and Falls

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.

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

Ivory

Her teeth glow like dull ivory
in the dim night wash,
flashing with each small
smile: taunting, inviting.
They glimmer and beckon
and I answer in kind
drawn into the wine
red lips from across the
darkness. Ivory teeth and
alabaster skin and black
silk hair and honied voice
and our shadows joined
one to another in rapture.

Pome for Year TWO.

I am not mirth...
I AM ANGST ANGST ANGST.
I am not birth, but
a bottle of black paint.
I am not creation, but
I am carving my calves
into hearts and mermaids
to sell at the fair...
bone, not quite ivory,

what have I done!?

The Night Died When...

The light brand pierced the soft black vale
which bled orange and pink and blue.
The bright fire drove deep into the sky breast
as the nightingale despairing cooed.
The newborn woke, alone and afraid,
to the light dancing on the wall.
And the soft warm voice of a woman lost
whispered mirth from a dream to all.

Grown Up

The last time I felt grown up was
Summer 1991: We caught a garden
snake... I let the snake loose
(on accident!) and it died behind
mom's water bed. We painted flies'
wings until they couldn't--fly.
We sat up all night on piles
of inflated inner tubes watching
MTV; we were the shit. We made
fantastic mustard sandwiches...
and I rapped Twinkle Twinkle
Little Star until I died laughing, and
you taught me to spell 'ghost.'

Wriggles

The worm wriggles in the mud,
resilient, resistant, resigned.
The bird hops quick, expectant,
and scissors the worm in half.
Still wriggling, the worm half dangles
from the bright yellow bird beak blade.
The second worm half squirms blindly,
digging for safety with its head,
blind to the fate of a newborn brother
soon swallowed and born upon wing.

Exposed

Covered in green yarn
from top to toe,
he threw himself on my floor.
He begged me, muffled and moaning,
to pull the string wrapped 'round
his mummy body. LOVE ME! his wriggles
pleaded. After fifteen or twenty
minutes of pulling the thread,
he lay on the floor, nearly naked
and sweating hard, LOVE ME! and I
couldn't.

Tiptop

The tiptop tree swayed to and fro,
I clutching to the highest bough,
Found all the world wide open near
But far below; I clung in fear
To the tiptop branch and smooth gray bark,
The jewel green leaves wet and dark,
tickled my exposed and waiting skin
As I watch the tiptop world begin.