Little Open Avenues

Day 30

In the past, this place was all closed off, tight like The Shambles.

A troubled authority had muddled itself, mixed up permissions and permits,

Kept a sorry status quo, deterring facades from scuttling themselves,

And for a time, things endured. But visitors got lost.

The one-way arteries all ended in walls. Or worse, left people emptied

Out in culverts, evacuated, feeling misled over the whys and whereabouts.

There were bulwark trip hazards. Bars on the pavements.

The sky had fixed visitation rights and the air was rationed,

Only doled out in the darkest alleyways.

These days I'm remodelling. Nothing lasts forever,

And - don't you know? - most of it should not.

These looming overhangs are fucking dust,

If you just kick the tyres. Founded on false truths,

Secret signs that point to Nowhere.

I want to invite the sky in.

I'm planting saplings in little open avenues,

Finding what's solid, dismantling the rest,

Safe street lighting, something like a guided map,

So when people come, they'll know the earth here,

Know the sun on their face. Know clean air to breathe,

And rest assured there will always be a hand to hold.

 

In/Out

Day 29

I can't look through windows;

I'd either be out in the cold,

Or craving sweet escape,

So I just keep my eyes tight shut. 

 

In The Last Two Weeks

 

Day 28

In the last two weeks, have you:

1.    Stared at the bath mat for more than six minutes straight (and been aware the whole time you were doing it)?

2.    Felt genuine gratitude and affection toward a garden bird for choosing your bird table, and for turning up just when you most needed a buddy?

3.    Asked how somebody was and secretly wished they would crumple inconsolably (so that you could, just once, not feel like you're the last lonely runner in a marathon, clawing your way toward a long-deserted finish line)?

4.    Felt yourself contracting into foetal position (as if the whole mass of the universe were expanding exponentially and somehow squeezing you out like toothpaste)?

5.    Imagined yourself in possession of a super power (and been pretty certain it'd be the kind that threatens to obliterate the entire galaxy in an apocalyptic judgement of fury and hellfire)?

6.    Dropped food on the floor and felt like it was the last straw and you're a good person so why can't you just catch a break?

Hic

Day 27

While billowing hooves pestle the glad ground,

And men raise relics to the venerable vault,

There is a border where strange beasts revel,

Here,  grey besieges candy colour,

And branches bend the frightened frame,

To an intimate terra incognita,

Where only the worthy dare look.

 

An Office Romance

Day 26

Stop the bawling,

And the name-calling,

Your fury is snowballing, why,

It's positively appalling!

If you'd calm down just a moment,

You'd see I'm not your opponent,

Allow me, please, to make my atonement,

Point of fact, I'm your biggest proponent.

The grounds for my pencil murder spree,

Is to give you a reason to talk to me,

And I go through them like candy,

To make you angry because,

You're so beautiful when you're cranky.

In response to Paul

Arrival

 

Day 25

The present moment glides alongside me,

                                                            and together,

                    we take a delicious, conscious breath.

Each ocean breath is an arrival,

                    In each arrival, opportunity,

                                                            to begin.

I follow the blame of my soft gaze,

                                                            down,

                    to a quiet, inward awareness.

Awareness, unbid, in abundance.

                    The shadow of my breath is lengthening,

Softening an unusual grief.

I feel the warmth of hands on my blue body,

                                                            They are my own,

                    Curiosity unfurls; a heart of blossom bread.

I am observing my own arrival,

                    Painting a wall with my palms,

Here I allow dismay to slip the shoulder.

Now I trace a line through the whole of my bones,

                    Certain fingertips kiss the earth,

Honouring this arrival, this single purpose.

                    I notice feeling, melting, releasing,

Flexing and melting. Guiding and melting.

                    I inhale easiness, nice and slow.

My foundation is settled by a bracing shake.

                    There is a quiet power in the circle of my breath.

 

Reflections on the Women I have Loved

Day 24

She was cold-blooded.

She was a bone puzzle, put together wrong.

She posed the thorniest problem for would-be predators.

She was warm-blooded, with an arsenal of razor teeth.

She was better designed to move swiftly and easily.

She won mastery in the theatre of your air and water.

She was a low-slung, tank-like bruiser that could not be overturned.

She was a knot of nerves and could not bear weight.

Her mistrust was deep and beaked, with a flat crest thrust back above the neck.

She waved her spiked tail like a living mace.

She cast you adrift on a separate continent.

She was a devil, full of mischief, lodging fossils in the rocks,

Just to bewilder mankind.

 

Sundial

Day 23

Be as a daisy

- That is to say -

Heliotropic;

Do a sun-turn in luminance

But don't pursue a horizon-quitter

Look - 

A whole new day, just for you.

 

Dizzy With It

Day 22

I've got this friend, she's a fraught orchid

With bright ideas, pushing up leaves but

Neglecting what's grown, bending brown

Where the day doesn't look.

Beseeching the ceiling for hidden meaning

Squirming the pot like a too-small shoe

Shooting roots, weird eruptions

Grasping at air, forever tangential

Thirsting to travel, finding herself

Ever at the window, frail faces turned

To the lane out of here and the green, green, green

If she ever makes it, she'll steal the show

But I won't be there to shrug and say

To me, you always were the headline

 

Cartography

 

Day 21

Permit me to lay out my mind like a map

And map out the madness in ink

Suffer the ink to bleed into the land

And find me a sea I can sink

Sink 'til I see where the bleeding began

Discover a creek to canoe

Follow the creek to the source of my love

The source of my madness is you

Strange Friends

Day 20

There's someone I'd like you to meet, she said like it was nothing,

And introduced me to my wise,

                                                                kind,

                                                                                and mindful selves.

These days we are estranged; Donna was the life of the party.

Aaaaaaaargh

Day 19

Check the paper, check the tray,

Check the Power On display,

Telling you I'll throw a fit,

Better work you little shit.

What's that cranky noise you made?

Why's my form a weird shade?

Wanted blue but came out red,

Clean the fucking printer head.

Click on file, send to print,

Give me just a little hint,

Silent treatment out of spite,

What the hell's that blinking light?

Piece o' junk, what a sham,

Don't you give me paper jam,

How can you be out of ink?

Jesus Christ I need a drink.

Button mash, lights flash,

Manual is balderdash,

Information overload,

Yet another error code.

Don't tell me to troubleshoot,

How'd you like to meet my boot?

Network error yet again,

Balls to this I'll use a pen.

Lying to Tell the Truth

Day 18

A friend said she was waiting for a hot dog and I thought well aren't we all,

I think it was a metaphor. I asked, "What time's it due?"

Had it far to travel? Where were they to meet?

She said it was spot on, but had already come and gone,

It was just a fleeting romance, short and sweet.

So I spent the long day chewing over where the hell's my hot dog,

Contemplating how a dog might find its way to me,

At this point I'm not picky; I don't even need a bun.

Could my hoped-for hot dog one day become a got dog?

I deserve it surely more than anyone.

I half-suspect my friend of fabrication. It could be that there never was a dog,

A metaphor is like a lie, of that there is no doubt,

If so, the famous hot dog would indeed become a not dog,

A fiction cooked up, dressed and trotted out,

By a sneaky fox,

Like a cat,

In a box.

Nannar with His Beard of Lapis, Gazing at the Euphrates, Pt.1

Day 17 

Nannar wept,

For all that he surveyed,

The silver-veined rivulets,

The argent lagoons,

Pearly pools of lazurite,

Were but reflections of himself.

Cities brought low,

Temples forsaken,

All of Mesopotamia, sullen

In the fiction of Tiamat as chaos monster

Nannar with His Beard of Lapis, Gazing at the Euphrates, Pt.2

Day 17

Why does the moon always stick in his beak,

Rummaging 'round and having a peek,

Probing my head like a nosy old swine,

Get off, get out - that stuff is mine.

Look how he peeps through my window at night,

Turning up stones for a crime to indict,

Prowling the space where my fears abide,

Shedding a light when I'm trying to hide.

Does he imagine I'll welcome him in?

Sublet a room to exhibit my sin?

Has he decided I owe him a debt?

And comes to collect in remorse and regret?

Why does he love to accuse and deride?

Pulling at threads like he pulls at the tide,

How would you feel if you only knew,

Moths would prefer a cremation to you.

What the hell, Moon!? Don't act surprised,

I didn't inveigle you in through my eyes,

You're not so pretty, pimpled and white,

All of the ugly things come out at night.

Take a hike, Moon! Leave me alone!

To harvest the sad, bitter crop you have sown,

Now that you're gone, I miss you a lot,

Come back, old Moon, you're the one friend I got.

Kiss me Elena

Day 16

Kiss me Elena

Crazy container

Weird entertainer

Could not be plainer

I love. Sky hewn of

You, me and moon. Sketch a

Blue dapple tune like a 

Heartbeat cartoon thumping

Beat, beat, beat

Solo suite. Oh this

Night quiet street is my

Heart and you race

Languid bass in the

Bell of this space with the

Slow looping chase of

A lick. Tug a string, put my 

Heart in a sling, make me 

Beggar and king, be my 

All, everything, then

Upswing, with a drop

Catch me half on the hop

And just stop -

Karina Wrote A Poem

Day 15

(off prompt)

There's a nice woman lives here in the complex

I invited her to walk with me

I like the way she talks

How she reminds me of an old British colonel

Sometimes I have her hold me

And make me feel unlike me, even to myself

You might think I'm a whack job

But I'm not disturbed by dark things

I brought candy and toys for a hunt

So I'm happy as a clam

Sometimes I get too happy

and it's hard to calm down

Somewhere in there I took a nap

And prayed for help to the Holy Spirit

The truth about me is an unsolvable dilemma

See, I'm not naturally a person

I know I'm not brave enough

And even with identity theft protection

I often call myself the invisible cousin

Yesterday I drove over a big bolt

Perhaps that's why I choked

Or maybe that's why I feel cursed

But I don't want to miss walking

With my new friend from the complex

I can't feel sadness or despair anymore

You can tell me what you think

You can tell me that my plan to do it would work

Sign Here

Day 14

I'm indifferent to my surname,

It feels a little cheap,

To name one after cutting cloth,

Or stealing wool from sheep.

I wish I had a cool name,

Like Dangerfield or Hood,

Perhaps I'd be more daring,

If I had a name that good.

On second thoughts I'll keep it,

I like my autograph,

And after all, there are some names,

That really make me laugh.

The Forth Moob of Juniper

Day 13

Hallow's prevening and wellcomb to the News at Once.

Stop that you're screwing at, mind your yodelling,

Fasten up the back-fat and buttress all them grebes,

What we're all been wailing for has, at last, come fourth,

Yes! That moob of Juniper, what we all know and love,

Galileo's chickaboo; she that orbles removely;

She that spangles sexy like so many bubbly suds,

Has, down the pike, thrust herself forth like a whack.

Yes, she's on her while! Brushing a gut!

Like a flapper! Soon she'll be slowing right up

With balls on - So - Handle to your hanks!

Oh, do you feel those shimbers in the hull of your plimsolls?

Hear the bright wattle of pomp a-riding in your ears?

See the hump of sweet moppets, faces furled out to the sky,

Like hot knickers on a wishing line,

Slurbing grovelly at the atmoscheer?

Meagre to see - Here - Calypso! - Among her many glordies.

Soon she'll dismound the sparks and suddle right up

Like an afternoon snood.

And then what will Old Nan say?

 

Lament for Victory

Day 12

 

Oh Maharbal, gladdened by such conquest,

Breathless, riding 'cross Falernian plains,

What doubt bites these poor tormented fetlocks,

As bewilders this Eternal City,

Here where triumph harkens but destruction,

Your sweet mercurial captain doomed to fail.

A Kitchen Incident

Day 11

You

Let's take a census and audit what happens when I think of myself. Did you see, in that line, how I halved myself like an orange? You can plainly see the problem. I mean, things were simple with the peel on. I might have only written down the pop of zesty colour, with these many timid citizens never even realised. Peeping through each other's letterboxes. Huddled tight, impatient to peel apart. See, now, how the pip of me has fallen out like an eye, intent. Or maybe I'm the juice, running out and away like a river, losing myself in the ocean. I once thought us immiscible. Oil and water. Together alone. But perhaps we're more like milk and blood, clotting in each other like casual dynamite. Are you there?

 

I

For crying out loud. While you reflect on a fruity schism, I'm only left wondering, cleft as I am, who's holding the damn knife? 

Once Upon a Pinnacle

Day 10

 

I knew a gypsy girl who was jealous of the sky

She was strung to a balloon but tethered to the earth

And always aching from the wrench of it

She impressed on me a great many marvels, though

The stars held little sway in the bell of my heart

I'd nod and wonder at the chalky tremor of her

I became as a bowerbird, gathering eagerly

All the spectrum of my meagre talent, installing

Small, bright assortments at her feet

I wonder if she knew the way I clawed red

At pocketknife attachments, thinking one might

Pierce the skin of her - or my - disorder

What became of my stargazer? Did she achieve

A celestial ascension, resonating

Ultraviolet, on a plane not known to me?

Or did she brook a blue plummet, resigned

To the earth in all its mundanity

With the moon just a moth-bit bulb

I knew a gypsy girl, plump and purple

Like the juicy bruise of a cloud

Where I was but a shadow cast upon the ground

I was listening to Gypsy by Suzanne Vega

 

Jim

Day 9

When leaving the house, I do so twice,

First, fifty feet (though cubits are nice),

And then I must return to be,

A fleeting prison detainee.

What do you suppose I do it for?

To check the gas, warrant the door?

To rattle a switch back and forth?

(Precisely twenty times, of course).

You'd surely not be too far wrong,

To think these habits all belong,

For when I once again emerge,

My head bent so against the dirge,

I'm mad! A whirling dervish, see!

My legs a wild cacophony!

I'm right on time to not be late,

By virtue of my livid gait.

To toil, ironically assigned,

The greatest works of fertile minds,

A wealth of feeling all to hand,

To know but never understand,

For when obliged to share a dream,

It falls out hot and full of steam,

I must enquire as to the why,

My colleagues all avoid my eye.

No matter, that's not why I'm here,

Not to gossip or endear,

For when midday is mine to keep,

The toilet cubicle I creep.

And there, I gorge indulgently,

Upon my darkest fantasy,

My damnedest mother there, and me,

To murder her most violently.