Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Tricks of Life’s Trades (a Poem for Day Twenty-Seven of PAD)

The prompt for day twenty-seven is to write a poem about looking back. 

Photo by Colin Brough
It's How I Remember You

Tricks of Life’s Trades

I’d give something for one 
more day to run that cordless circular
saw at sunset in your backyard shed,
slice juicy watermelon
in the middle of a drought,
sing about leaving on a jet plane
while tripping barefoot
over smooth, rounded river
stones, wave goodbye
to your tea pot and sorrowful
ivory keys that unlocked
my heart with a jerk, spilling
vibrations down me like shivers.
I’d give something to touch
your face through those scratches
engraved in the tired
rear window that last time
my tires rolled down
your driveway— that last time
I looked back.
Just tell me what to give.


Monday, April 27, 2015

Nothing but a Green-Eyed Buffoon (a Poem for Day Twenty-Six of PAD)

I am copying and pasting the prompt for day twenty-six:

For today’s prompt, take a word or two invented by William Shakespeare, make it the title of your poem, and write your poem. Click here for a link to some words coined by Shakespeare, who was baptized on this date in 1564. If the link doesn’t work, here are a few: advertising, bloodstained, critic, dwindle, eyeball, hobnob, luggage, radiance, and zany. He invented more than 1,700!
Photo by Ehsan Namavar
You've Become Inanimate to Me

Nothing but a Green-Eyed Buffoon

You arouse blushing from raw and rippled 
elbows of the dauntless. Your stingy bed-
room encounters attract the lowliest
of courtships. Melancholic bags you cart
around make you rant like a remorseless
bandit. You steal kisses from countless full
maidens just so the other lads can’t have
them. Advertising undress and bumps has
always been your fashion—you’ve been bookish
and well-favored. Now you’re just laughable
and cold-blooded. You’ve turned my discontent
green eyes to blue and blank, but you’re still a
buffoon. And that is no longer the question.


Saturday, April 25, 2015

In Search of Your New World (a Poem for Day Twenty-Five of PAD)

The prompt for day twenty-five is across the sea.

Photo by Makio Kusahara
There's Life in You Somewhere

In Search of Your New World

There’s nothing fake
about your shipwreck.
All the history books say
somewhere out there, you still
live on an island,
the heart of the sea. You cast
away my love for hers, but still
you aren’t satisfied. You stack
palm fronds with coconut
husks, hoping to stay afloat
when you set out again
on a ride you can boast
about because standing
on solid ground
wasn’t thrilling enough
for you.
But I’d take your island
any day
and trade it
for this howling sea.


The Principle of Moments (a Poem for Day Twenty-Four of PAD)

The prompt for day twenty-four is moment. Too tired. Must sleep. 

Photo by Craig Hauger
Our Momentum Is at a Standstill

The Principle of Moments

Physical quantity, distance, 
form empty space
unraveling you
Yet uncounted sunsets, proof
of matter in moment-
                        um, connect us,
shared indecision, giving in
to the nature of physics,
timeless repetition.


Thursday, April 23, 2015

She Is History (a Poem for Day Twenty-Three of PAD)

The prompt for day twenty-three is to write a historic poem. I personalized my poem because I'm feeling a little blue tonight.

Photo by Mateusz Stachowski
I Light a Candle for You

She Is History

She had history.
She was unwanted,
and then wanted, before
she could even speak.
She slurped milk
from crystal, lived
in Paris, nursed
her abandoned heart
with a mausoleum of light-
bulbs she planted
to lead her to the other side.
She had history—
two years of swapping
fluids and tissue
with strangers
wasn’t strange at all to her.
She had a job to do:
to live. But the swap
was an even exchange.
He died. She died.
And now,
she is history.

(in memoriam)


Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Anti-Nature (a Poem for Day Twenty-Two of PAD)

The prompt for day twenty-two is nature. 

Photo by Mateusz Stachowski
You Look in Everything for Yourself


You are hand-
            crafted just like the world
                        you carry on
to dominate.

Guard your eyes, 
wear a mask, sit with your stand-
            offishness, weed
your garden. Fumigate the wild
inside. Make yourself the hero
of your artificial world,
to the way you used to be.


Tuesday, April 21, 2015

On the Move (a Poem for Day Twenty-One of PAD)

The prompts for day twenty-one, a "Two for Tuesday," are to write a “what you are” poem or to write a “what you are not” poem.

Photo by Ben Johnson
Alone Doesn't Mean Lonely

On the Move

I am energy pulses, strobing
to the beat of teenage feet.
I am a fleck of floating
dust, a smudge under
the thumb of someone
I no longer see.
I hesitate my life away—
or at least I used to. I tap
every day, pounding out
rhythms to the tides within
my wobbly shores. I find
myself, then run again,
for those parts
I lost along the trail.
I am the breadcrumb
dropped from someone’s
snack, kicked around
by joy seekers, but satisfied
with where I land.


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