Air in my lungs, yet I use it to grumble.
*Posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s MeetingTheBar: It’s a Small, Small World … “Your ticket in is 40 words. You need to say what you need in 40 words. Or less. How low can you go? Can you do it in twenty words? ten words?”
Mainlining milk thistle dandelion Zion
Mainlining milk thistle dandelion Zion
Supplementing failing support systems
Supplementing failing support systems
Mainlining Zion, support systems failing
Thistle supplementing dandelion milk
Doubting body’s mechanistic defense
Doubting body’s mechanistic defense
Reevaluating time’s questionable relativity
Reevaluating time’s questionable relativity
Questionable, time’s defense doubting
Reevaluating relativity, body’s mechanistic
Balloon expands to before bursting
Balloon expands to before bursting
To give, how much air is pinched away
To give, how much air is pinched away
How much air, balloon expands to before
Is pinched away, bursting to give
Milk is pinched to give support
Body’s supplementing defense thistle
Systems failing, how questionable time’s
Relativity mainlining mechanistic much
Dandelion bursting before doubting expands
Away balloon air, reevaluating Zion
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s FormForAll Paradelles prompt.
Staring at my hand,
I’m reading not my future
nor my past
but this very moment
unfolding
lines upon my palm;
I see it all
a certain wavy clarity
I see it all in the
lines upon my palms
at this moment
universes are expanding,
contained in my right hand
I see it all
by myself
in this tiny bathroom
I look up in the mirror
and I see fear
in my black silver-
dollar eyes
my friends and I,
we just laugh
we speak without speaking
we’ve established
psilocybin psychic link
I know what you are thinking
and we just laugh and laugh
and laugh
I stare at my Downward Spiral
poster on bedroom wall
I watch it animate
before my eyes
and I see neon halo lights;
when I close my eyes
all is written upon lids
plucking seeds of being
from the lines upon my palm;
I see it all,
a wavy clarity
Inspired by dVerse Poets Pub’s “Poetics on DMT” post.
Go ask Alice
she oughta know
who she is
the very definition of
compendium
of curious and curiouser
pretending to be
someone you aren’t
you ought to be ashamed
you don’t know east
from south
big head
deserves a big hat
mad, mad, mad
what is she doing
with my darling?
dogs will believe
anything
Bander-
snatch
I better
have a look
what do you call
yourself?
wanting to wake up
from this
stream
a river bound
by enchantment
she is not
the wrong one
naughty
throwing tea cups
at the head
of the table
I have no clue
why a raven
is like
a writing desk
I don’t know
perhaps you should
ask Alice
my Scottish accent
is no good
and my
imagination
is worse
you are late
for tea
all together now
don’t go off
and lose
your head
we all are mad
losing touch
with muchness
*Mostly comprised of Alice and Wonderland dialogue. Inspired by dVerse Poets Pub’s “Alice” prompt.
Death, the opposite
of birth;
Death, the closing of
the loop;
Death, a pact made with a
faceless omnipotent,
signed with the blood from
a mother’s aching womb;
Death, a warm hand held
on the most pleasant of spring days,
turned to cold bone,
turned to ash inside an urn;
Death, caress, a kiss from
the sweetest, softest lips;
Death of the reddest rose
with the sharpest of thorns;
Death, an exit
when ends seem to elude;
Death, an answer to a question
we never understood;
insane, expecting different outcomes
try, try, try as we might
Death is the only thing
the living can’t ignore;
Death, an umbilical fuse
lit with newborn lungs
Written for dVerse Poets Pub’s Anaphora poetry prompt.
Any day mo(u)rning I sit,
listen to the sound of static saccharine
steady, rocking myself to sleep
on this old claustrophobic couch
and as I shut myself up inside, I deny
setbacks sink into c(l)ogged machinery
like circulated coins in saggy cushions,
a cold quarter looking for a 1-up,
another chance to play this arcade game
and as I reach deep down inside, I realize
my powdery hands are dry vines (divine)
and I want to pick forbidden fruit,
gather berries from a fuzzy memory
from the capital of these nerve endings
and I architect my demise/revival at the time deep down I know is right
************************************************************************
This poem was penned for dVerse Poets Pub’s Poetics: InterActions poetry prompt, hosted by Brian Miller and Gretchen Leary. I decided to go with Brian’s prompt, which is to basically play Mad Libs. Brain suggested asking someone to offer up 2 nouns, 3 verbs, 3 adjectives and 2 random words, then write a poem including/based on those words. My wife gave me the following words: capital, couch, play, sleep, listen, fuzzy, old, powdery, machinery and sink.
Pretty packaging;
abandoning what’s inside,
kids know how to play
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s Saturday prompt, An Evening of Short Verse, hosted by Fred.
She will forever be stuck in the middle
diffusing bombs tied off with family wires
radiant, she sits, at the center of the blast
always she was made to carry the weight
of all else above self ever since she was little
tongues find themselves tied in sisterly debate
looking for answers within a blurred past
pounds of flesh, weighing each one’s fate
trying to see through the smoke of memory’s fire
she will always be the one chosen to mediate
and she, she will never be satisfied
a tight rope unbalanced between love and hate
feeding the flames just to watch them grow higher
don’t need to meet the spark to know the flames spread fast
one thing for certain, she will never be denied
both must know salted tears turn sickly sweet
arguing over who is the world’s first liar
the candle is burning the light it outlasts
reconcile, and before the clock ticks too late
kneel, make this bed cozy at mother’s feet
A karousel posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s Form For All by David James.
Into the Light by mobius faith
think you found an exit
but outside
is not much brighter
trade bricks & mortal
coil
for splintered sand
ripped plastic
for cracked glass
travel through a door
there is just a second to burn
hand upon handle
perhaps I’ll stay indoors
and weather storm
these four walls
much more confining
(don’t feel like thinking
today)
not much to choose
but which
portrait to fix eyes upon
crush this key
inhale choice
and cast away the ring
*Posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s #poetics prompt, inspired by the photography by Terry S. Amstutz. Check out Terry’s work here.
FM Ghost 