Wednesday, February 25, 2009

naisaiku challenge-

I got this comment from someone on my 3 ww about this haiku esque poem thingy and thought I would try it. So here goes.

Barbecue and beans
Cole slaw dreams and pretty things
Wiggle in your boots
Wiggle in your boots
Cole slaw dreams and pretty things
Barbecue and beans

Don’t look to the East
Sunskorch burns the eyes of Rome
Read! Paint! Sing new songs!
Don’t look to the East
Sunskorch burns the eyes of Rome
Read! Paint! Sing new songs!

3WW-One More Time

He dances
in the unnatural strobe lights
that change as quickly as his mind
he sweats
it trickles from his forehead
down his neck
onto his chest
it glistens under it's unbuttoned curtain call

He gyrates to the music
feels it deep down
Girls notice him
they like the fact that he's not inhibited
that he dances
that he has fun
His persistent palpitations of hips
his beat-bobbing head
his closed eyes
Attract them and repulse them all at one time

He dances with partners
but mostly alone

The music moves him
to another place
that place where callous calls
money money money honey
don't exist
just the steady boom boom boom
of the room
of the night-of his unlife

He feels no obligations on the floor
just wants more
some more
one more

He knows it will end
it always does
interfering integrity and ill met realities
always greet him at 2 a.m.

He turns and breathes deep
slings the last songs sweat from his face
hears a new beat
sees a new partner
and cozies up to the new confections

Monday, February 23, 2009

on buying a new car

the upholstery is black
the exterior black
the shiny gauges and floor
black black black

my financial outlook for the future
along with higher insurance
a teen driver
and my own accident record

i am conflicted looking at the new car
happy to be in it
impressed by all it does
plugs for the ipod
some get up and go
and neat new features
my used subaru did not have


i am saddened by the 300 less a month
because that is how much insurance
and the beast take away from
going out
eating well
and just the general fund for well being
that was slim anyway

but there it sits
shiny shiny and new
and in need of rubber floormats.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

3 WW-Thank God for Playboy

candid candid camera
snapping photos of unclad women
forcing pulses to double
and glands to salivate

the snap of the image
fireball erupting into the dark
smell of old lit matches
Her nipples hard from the cold of the room
She bites the inside of her mouth hard
to focus on anything but her pale nakedness

The impulse is to grab her robe and run
Out into the night air with nowhere to go
No money
25 cents and a cracker
do you think that's enough
to get her there
to get her anywhere

She lays back taking a break
The arch in her back starting to ache
Her head throbs almost as hard
as the camera man's genitalia

"Only two more Rosie"
he states as he readies for another
orgasmic explosion of film and fire
She steadies herself and bends over
her ass towards the lens
it's a risk that she has to take.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

For You Coach Howard

The bag lay flat and empty upon the floor
It's contents divided to separate parts of the room
Though still united in the group of hands that held them
The words silently floated about
and stabbed
pierced the hearts who heard them

Grips tightened upon gifts
fingers wetwiped back tears
Tears that crescendo into applause
The sad white wave of what had come to pass
No more shuffle feet forward
to give advice
to comfort the sobs
to teach the parry or lunge
College building inebriated smell
invading the thoughts of those sitting upon the floor
Cold creeping up into their tailbones
Cold forcing down upon their bodies

There is "this" man
Wise beyond wise
talented beyond talented
and untapped
ruled by the disease which is killing him
Now the comfort lays in watching
shouting instructions across the room
He is not done

Private lessons ended
a lifetime closing
Closing time

There he sat
Regal and ready
in his wheelchair
a little over four foot tall

That man in his wheelchair
was the tallest man that day.

Monday, February 16, 2009


Easter egg me
covered in itchy itchy bits
hot faced and tired
my ends are split

Need a rest
a pill full of dark
can't find my bed
can't even start

Sitting here pain
in the flats of
clothes on skin
I feel a thirst

I close my eyes
dream of sheets
and the wave washes me
to fields of era and tide

I don't glow
with touches of sun
whiffs of coconut
and baby oil

I melt
with stink of cortisone
burned badly backhands
and beaten brows

I will rise
I will float
at 5 o clock
and drug myself to dreams

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


His tattoo speaks to him
He says it curses him one day
loves him the next
His wife remains silent
inside their cardboard perfection of a home

She looks out windows with a duster in her hand
reprimanded by her brain
for thoughts of the high school boy across the way
her disarray shows at the fringes of her being
her soul unravels in her eyelashes and cuticles
She continues to fluff and pat

He walks by her to the kitchen
the first cup of joe
Ahhhh the drink of the Gods
This black life giving liquid that leaves him
with the urge to validate their relationship and leave her one
semi sweet
peck on the check

She will not miss him
HE will not miss her

Their division smacks of so many other
relationships gone wrong
while girls go wild
It is this new world of loneliness
that harbors in the timeless capsules of youth
looking and searching
never finding
and never seeking
something the Ward and June had

If you can't have stability
at least go out and get you some

The brickness of it all weighs down the world
in a flattened fury of frustration
in the midnight of our evolution we broke
this residue of rabble is our new existence

faces wonder, wander, gaze at rainbows
shut their eyes and more morosely
walk away

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

3 word wednesday

crumpled, rumpled by the dirt in my closet
kicked off the heels of new shoes
I explicitly told the children not to romp in
the heather of old tales untold
they burn in the garden rings and rosies
singing those songs of my life
and I continue to stir the dull macaroni
that bubbles and fissures boiling hot
Illicit little noodles of thought and circumstance
nourishing another day of ants in my pants
I ache for those days of arms wrapped around me
those times when it seemed these superiors cared
when I fished for a compliment and got one
to cook it all up with lemons and capers and eat
the divine fish of my soul
now it is all shots and semen
and my nerve walks no more