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 |  A new book to house this year's (and future years) NationalPoetryMonth's daily poems. |
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I'm writing once again this year. This book is my special event place for thirty special poems. Here for National Poetry Month in 2018, I'm participating but life has not been kind in the last 15 months, so I'm not always in writing mode. |
even numbers are so perfect peaceful like a double bed the quartet of valves that set the tempo of our hearts a compass to never get lost wandering all four directions yet I’ve always felt an odd man out even coupled happily chocolate and vanilla Holmes and Watson and I’d try to declare “look at me” I want to be noticed without you but my desire to pair up squarely drives my oneness miles down the road wherever my tired feet take me here and there, swaying away and then running back to four arms enfolding love as my consolation prize I cannot divide us in two for me, plus you, plus both of us means somehow in time’s expansion there are three in this equation a question of math [2013.22.4…a] Prompt: divided by two |
| I closed all my love songs in the piano their words resonating in black and white I forgot how to define love's charms when dizziness enfolded me in drunken reds they were your favorite roses, like wine we shared at midnight's twelfth bell a sign that the precipice would capture us forever in a bad dream this darkness has lingered too many years like a malignant sleep potion with or without you I am lost, my voice silent, a rusted wheel impeding my pace to accompany you into old age locked to your keychain waiting for the day I might open the piano and sing to refracting colored light locked [2013.21.4...a] Prompt: What it really means to be an adult |
| my heart is for sale, where are the bidders with aces and kings? I have given it, felt it crushed it has been wooed from me, trampled I have walled it behind bricks lovers have become architects and built secret doors inwards and locked it away in other prisons love's heart cannot taste liberty so come kiss me, sweetly if you dare, and then we'll speak of a mutually interesting exchange rate highest bidder [2013.20.4...a] Prompt: then come kiss me |
traveling light, he is not quite there yet, coaxing his curious shadow to hurry up and stop absorbing the scenery like a sponge hung out to dry on a rainy day he splashes though puddles in appropriate boots with thick socks feet swollen from too many kilometers the trains were late, taxis mere ghosts and the next town beckoned sweetly he has no destination but discovery or escaping yesterday's memories a ticket bears a distant date to return to boredom in a sometime place on a more familiar faraway continent in the meantime he's a vagabond a stringless marionette speaking in sign languages, catching cat naps on sunny park benches while ink dries on postcards rarely sent home where boxes can always be unpacked his life taped into dozens of fat photo albums and twelve pots of geraniums that grow spindly on someone else's balcony a traveling man [2013.19.4...a] Prompt: not quite there yet |
one moment, clear as a mountain stream life combines its atoms, its futility and its destiny in a one-act drama no instant replay nor fast-forward available we grow tired and withered, our bones creak our voices break from youth, our eyes tear in morning mist, at sunset, and for a simple word we come into an age of anxiety when the other side beckons, but fearful we resist the call, and weaken our souls to a final melting point, and unresisting death claims what remains of our heart what remains [2013.18.4…a] R.I.P. Marybeth Stewart Prompt: coming of age |
| under a moss-covered willow a shrine to my lost innocence first true love, you stole body and soul when you whispered my name I heard its music for the first time believed your green eyes we touched lips, that unknown kiss was water flooding my roots later, I grew into a man, an explosion rivaling the height of Ravel's Bolero timed by the snare drum crescendo and fourths and fifths gyrating into unison our bodies often imitated love's tempo and practice did hallow its perfection that one summer seared into a prayer where the river ran deep and my loss thereof has kept me thirsty to retain my youth at every fountain river of love [2013.17.4...a] Prompt: virginity, or the loss thereof |
one heart, divided, broken pieced together by love’s fragile paste kisses, velvety chocolate, dark mint freshened breath, giving life I faint too often any more, they say it’s the disease, undiagnosed you are sunlight to guide my shadow’s path your hand caresses my sweaty brow your eyes so sincere, cannot hide sadness behind the deep blue I see you staring heavenwards too often when I pretend to sleep I will have an eternity to share your dreams you are full moonlight calling my soul home sing me a sweet lullaby, to calm my trembling fears one heart I have given you it was broken from the start your fragile love has smoothed the edges and polished it to shine, too late whisper to me our sixteen words of love one last time, before darkness sixteen words [2013.16.4…a] Prompt sweets for the sweet |
| to wait for a bus, like a sheep wrestling with the pack before hurdling a river, overflowing after the first snow melt falling off skis where I don’t balance well anyway the sensation of falling from a dream nightmares, tipsy drunk and that dreaded migraine turning me into a deaf, dumb and blind man, dressed in poverty’s rags, not having that bank account filled with silk cushions nothing to calm the pain of boring day-to-day routine weighing like our dying planet on frail shoulders never capable of lifting a laughing child hate bears its bloodthirsty fangs convincing the weak to scream louder than those true peace-and-love souls who look towards the stars, not war’s decline hate [2013 15 4 a] Prompt: something you hate to do |
he is alone and forgotten perched high upon the waves guarding, recounting, the watchtower holds up humanity with beacons unnoticed in the constant storms like words written in good books ignored and misinterpreted -- how have we learned not to follow the north star but merely bask in its reflection? light dimming [2013.14.4...a] Prompt: braces |
as the seasons change, they wander paths lined in broken hearts and search complacent gray moderation coming in handy tubes like acrylic paint barely a prophecy outlines form black and white with shades in between always requiring chiseled detail each sky begins like a virgin page, whiter than devotion, intent tenderly added until voilà! brush strokes caress and cajole shaping doubt into praise-worthy words great trees shadow ruddy earth goddesses and reach azure sages on flying clouds mountains cleave to create heavens simple cottages shelter each worthy seeker chasing destiny when color begins fading and paper withers like weathered wind chimes cry out leaves will fall rejuvenate uninspired mortals, pave glens for cozy Friday afternoon trysts love abounds and each hour is timeless, rare as the prime number thirteen it is not luck [2013.13.4…b] Prompt: not a Friday [the thirteenth] |
one: unthinkable pranks for fools’ folly the neighborhood painted in green and blue stripes two: punishment: scour the walls with bleach children don’t have allergies leaving them breathless three: the trinity, favorite number, ideal, mascot favorite line: why hast thou forsaken me? four: bask in electric, indoor sunlight, pretending to relax five: cocktail shakers filled with fifths of everything, cheers six: your stones have broken my soul, why didn’t you use sticks and leave me to rot unattended in a dingy hospital room seven: then I would have flown to heaven, someplace better eight: your secrets kept until your conscience finally broke nine: I imagine you old, decrepit, prey to Alzheimer’s and ungentle nursing attendants who don’t respond to “nein” ten: for me, we had no favorite moments together maybe the day I was born held an hour of meaning for you eleven: divide Pi by itself and hope to discover how the galaxies of stars link with eternity twelve: plant a forest of pink and white magnolias, for a few weeks of yearly beauty the list [2013.12.4…a] Prompt: a dime a dozen |
| dressed to the nines, is my reflection real to anyone else? the eleventh hour strikes, full moonlight finally flatters, I feel like a million lengthened into a one-of-a-kind shadow finally a perfect weight watchers result under a million stars, we tango languidly two of a kind, we are not at sixes and sevens with our four left feet two peas in the mirror's pod all rolled up in one -- I retire from this magic limelight and return home for three cheers, gazing again at my overstuffed countenance nein, mein liebschen, together we will live our life on cloud nine and for once in a blue moon we laugh aloud at our triple sized figure the mirror [2013.11.4...a] Prompt: eleventy-five - a real number? |
navigating through an uneventful life much too much work, not enough play and far too many hours with Morpheus virtually alone, I admit timidly from the ordinary humdrum few events merit my recall except the dentist, the baker an occasional sales representative willing to chat about my strange accent instead of sell funeral plots the latest Dan Brown thrills while Paulo Coelho inspires but their details don't spark conversations three months later much less a decade or so and you ask me to pinpoint a favorite group of years chosen from a lifetime of tedium spent just surviving? tedium [2013.10.4...b] Prompt: a favorite decade |
negatives, black reversed with white happen before rainbows blossom I can’t imagine chemical reactions creating sunlight and cloudless skies I wonder if my heart looks less fragile its muscle captured by imagery no, it is not suffering, I feel your love like distant moonlight illuminating my need though loneliness is my cancer your smile a miraculous cure happening not as often as once upon a time when I wasn’t so old and did not caress ideas of a colorless life no, two full moons hide behind my eyes and if you ask, I’ll share their shadows on this nine-by-ninth day without you I’ll buy white ink and black paper and reverse the order of the universe spinning around your absence unweaving colors [2013.8.4…c] Prompt: NEIN |
| my life is a punch line no one understands I am chief of clowns feathered and painted sad I am no warrior, except to spin words in strange conversations with clouds, fountains and statues their answers garbled in archaic tongues laughter surrounds me I listen carefully, like Buddha respectful and distant chained to a pedestal I fear falling, heights attract me like roller-coasters where waiting for hours rewards three thrilling minutes I do this for days on end hysterical, alive explaining nothing [2013.8.4...b] Prompt: wait, wait, don't tell me |
after a small while, I will die leaving behind the pain of mobility perhaps Proust, Shakespeare and Rachmaninoff will tell me what I did understand or didn't catch, the tempi of their worlds always seemed akin to my heart's power of adoring love came and went, often brought me alive like a bright summer day and then Van Gogh's Starry Night burned sunlight trances into my solitude drink was no option, I was scared of addiction's blister to try anything else revived by painting poetry from blood flowing like a friendship pact between teens they too may wait there, I hope, a favorite aunt my grandmother others who never had the time to return pieces of my soul, I have missed them so many people, so much beauty surrounding my fear to generate new vibrant, dance-like lives said the lady gazing into crystal predictions [2013.7.4...a] Prompt: heaven |
| they fell one by one, all of them wind, erosion, chainsaws, fire contamination left the most death light years of half-lives of shit new generations of children cleaned up plains and mountains building huts of knotted leftovers places for warmth from cruel winds the elements still exploded in anger and children so fragile and ignorant still slaved to men not their fathers too busy repopulating and hoarding blue seas birthed fish once again but the forests, ah, such sadness… starting over [2013.6.4…b] Prompt: Pick up sticks |
| one part Cointreau, a second part Absinthe two parts magic, a fifth of finest dreams his seams split, two silver buttons sewn tight three cups grenadine with fine Chablis raisins his raison d'être was love, burning at both ends under any influence, tipped by footlights center stage, ongoing monologue with his ego while he emptied a myriad of spiked glasses a kiss in the first scene, another to salute the curtain the fourth act duel brings turmoil and a poignant death a Don Juan eclipsing love with the pursuit of lust artificial means hinder unexpected declarations hidden in his diary, a bloody knife, two torn hearts, his whispered exit, their resounding applause nothing matters but the magnitude of the limelight and shadows lurking in every corner afterwards solace solved his riddle for the ideal mixture three parts champagne, one of curaçao, fresh lime a fifth of finest dreams [2013.5.4...a] Prompt: a fifth of bourbon, or whatever that means |
when our children die needlessly, an unsought war weeds surviving the cracks never see their spring blooms on city sidewalk crossfire their souls locked deep in closets imagination earthbound cast away from coloring books tales of righteous zealots praying gods of treachery roses adorn their small caskets lives emptied by unending tears the young, the innocent, the weak will they ever learn to forgive can they forgive? [2013.4.4...a] Prompt: Force |
| here they tell me stories of your last sweet weeks weakening the monumental soul that was our beacon we fear the stale breath of this new solitude like Don Quichote battles windmills of lost love I can't say farewell, the words are like mice nesting in my agenda, afraid of being caught in paper addresses, life-long footnotes and poems sketched about strength, hope and generosity and your street number bursts in my head four-two-six treads upon my torn open heart I am drowning in silence I do not know how to break and you deserved every Shakespearean Sonnet a hundred thousand words I never learned to recite when you cannot refuse your last breath, whisper these prayers of joyous release, of unending peace and always remember that love is a sentiment so much greater than fear, so embrace the angel with sturdy oars, take his boat beyond the waters of your life, but knot the rope at your resting place so we can each float towards the buoy of memories you crafted for us from your earthbound angel wings you have been our Dulcinea, a princess in liberty’s palace and this solitude is our new prayer, a longing to continue for we are sisters and cousins, together we blow wishes into your soul, to blossom your love into a hundred roses unexpected parentheses [2013.3.4...a] For Marybeth Stewart April 3: Numerology |
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