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Mourning

April 26, 2017

Mourning

His body was no longer outside the spark
that had sputtered and flamed,
that had fluttered and beaten
wing,
that, guttered by his limb and skin,
had flickered and flown in him.
She tried to breathe it in.

 

 
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For my own prompt on Real Toads based on the idea of an outsider or outsider art.  Pic is mine, based on a pieta at the Metropolitan Museum, but the poem is not meant to refer to the pieta or to be overtly religious.  (I am just using this drawing, in other words, because I like it.) 

A warning that I may post a lot (if I can) in the next few days to catch up to April quotients.  Ha.  We’ll see, I guess.  k. 

 

At some age

April 25, 2017

At some age

Her eyes tailed him–
he was just so cool and she so
the opposite
that whenever their paths actually crossed,
her gaze was grounded,

till it got to to where he sat down
and she felt blindfolded
not that she was so bound
to the hind parts
of the his anatomy,

but because she so missed
his dart and swish
(the white formica of her own tabletop
a visual white noise)

that she could even seem blocked from
the thrill in
her ache–

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Belated poem for Margaret Bednar’s prompt re peacock on Real Toads.   I am some poems behind for this April and may try playing catch-up if I get a little time.

Turning

April 22, 2017

Turning

You expect green, but, in the mountains,
Spring edges in with head tinted red
and brown carpet slippers, yet

glorious.

After a shower,
even trees dress
for the occasion.

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Poem for Susie Clevenger’s prompt on Real Toads asking for a response to the beautiful lithograph of Mi Young Lee below.  Above pic mine.  All rights reserved to holder. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trace of Crow Snow

April 20, 2017

Trace of Crow Snow

wings finger the snow
like hands pushing up from a bed–
who cares what he said/she said (you/me)
in the face of crow tracks
the bones of flight, nighted,
take-off

oh caw, here’s
my response–oh,
awe–

 

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drafty poem for Fireblossom (Shay’s) prompt on Real Toads to write something relating to crows. Pic is mine, all rights reserved. 

Quotidian

April 19, 2017

Quotidian

I am asked to write about love
as an everyday object,
and I think of our down blanket, which we use all year
in the mountains, though you grow warm about as soon as you take root
while everything human in me seems cut off
from its grounding–I’m talking feet but also
metaphorically–

And I think too (still waxing symbolic) of our lack
of bathing suits, an aspect of the isolated streams
in our mountains, the way that lack allows us
to really feel flow’s
caress and grip;

and okay, it’s a little precious
to talk of love in terms of down blankets and lacks
of bathing suits–even though I could go on at length
about loft and stretch–
because honestly it would probably be a lot more interesting if I’d just move
to the bodies beneath
the down blanket, the lack
of bathing suit–
to the lavender caverns of muscle (yours),
the pales of lugubrious flesh (yes, those would be
mine)
and whatever it is curves as gently
as a feather
when it rests,
what keeps afloat a head (let’s call it
your shoulder),
what blankets a shoulder
(let’s call it
my head),

that what
that touches both our sides
that warms,
that bares–

 

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Very drafty poem for April and Sanaa’s prompt on Real Toads to write of love in the context of an everyday object.  Pic is mine–it wasn’t really drawn for this poem, but I like it!  All rights reserved. 

Getting Over

April 17, 2017

Getting Over

Some look for fences
even in open fields; how else
to find wings?

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drafty poem for April for Isadora Gruye’s prompt on Real Toads to write above obstacles – over, under, through–drawing is mine, all rights reserved.  

Villanelle of Voices Overheard in Payback 2017

April 15, 2017

Villanelle of Voices Overheard in Payback 2017
(obviously, the “we” here does not speak for me.)

Rights for you? A damned disgrace.
So, why not just shut-the-“f” up
as we put you in your place

because we hate your [insert] face–
we leave the blank–you fill it up–
rights for you a damned disgrace.

Oh, maybe we’ll allow you space
to overflow, then wash, our cup,
as we put you in your place–

Your proffered talent?  Total waste!
Don’t tell us that our science sucks–
rights for you are damned.  Disgrace,

to us, but egg on face.
Ho ho, ha ha, it up we yuck
while we put you in your place.

Don’t care if our cum leaves a trace–
at least “true” rape should shut you up.
Rights for you a damned disgrace–
just let us put you in your place.

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For Rommy’s prompt on Real Toads to write in the voice of a villain.  The picture (mine) doesn’t really go with the poem, but I am using it because I find that reading books is about all that gives relief in these depressing days.  Obviously, the “we” voice doesn’t speak for me here.  Hopefully, it doesn’t speak for very many in actuality–

 

All rights reserved.