irrupt

passion perforce irrupts
like a swat team through the door
like a tsunami rushing toward the shore
and though it drowns you still you want more
and more and more and more and more and more

tincture

under the blood moon

she downs a tincture 

and dances sky clad

entreating the heavens

that shower her 

in moonlight 

to wash her clean 

of the stain

that colors her soul 

and the moon

 

anthropomorphic

I talk to the mirror 

I talk to the chair

I argue with people 

Not even there

The teacup and I 

Are quite friendly, at least

The clock and the candle guy

Work for the Beast

I wander the castle 

And sing with the dresser

My pillows, the priest

And the chaise, my confessor 

It's hard to be lonely 

When completely surrounded 

By anthropomorphic objects

Who confound me

The dining set feeds me

These little green pills 

The hat stand repeatedly 

Tells me I'm ill

So I bury my head right 

Far down in a book

And only come up

When the Beast comes to look

They say when I'm "lucid"

I call him my husband 

But he locked me up here 

I've been told by the dustbin 

popinjay

to know 

that you don't 

know that is

is to be filled 

with doubt

but open to growth 

to nervously fidget and fuss 

searching for meaning 

in the mess

meanwhile 

the popinjay preens

serene in their certainty 

and stuck like a specimen 

trapped in a tray

one way more confusing 

but still, I think,

the better way

nebulous

sun pours down
head tilts
back to bask
eyes closed
as warmth
washes over
in nebulous waves
riding the surf
of daylight

retrodict

at the ending
we are become
detectives in
a dime store crime story

pouring over facts
and fabrications
and false starts
to surmise motives

to retrodict the narrative
that led from there to here
searching for pivotal points
attributing antecedents

but try though we might
we never really know
we study history hoping not to repeat
the lesson we thought we learned before

mansuetude

resolved
at last
to struggle
no more
they float
as the tide turns
and takes them
from shore
out to sea
buoyantly adrift
in the swell
of mansuetude
exhibiting a passivity
that ever eludes me

contrite

forgiveness
slushy and sloshy
like spring snow
messy but portending
a change of season
to warmer days
as long as blame
apportioned somewhat equally
or the party
more wronging than wronged
contrite
and the party
more wronged than wronging
not given to spite
and still
in any case
time like sunshine
brings the thaw

synchronicity

how rare
how precious
those moments
those people
when the universe aligns as if rehearsed
when synchronicity of hearts and minds occurs
and suddenly the world just shines
and suddenly your lives entwine
you both know now your knowing will last forever
you both know now that every future endeavor
will some way lead back to this
will some how extend the bliss
of a friendship
of a kinship
or of a kiss

leonine

though she be but little,
like Hermia, she is fierce
and she stalks the world
with leonine grace
the patriarchal bubble
with claws she'll pierce
undaunted by the system
to "put her in her place"

extenuate

the bruise colored sky weeps
and underneath the broken wing
of a battered umbrella, she waits,
huddled against the institutional grey
and graffiti covered wall for one
who, when he arrives well past due
with no explanation or excuse
to extenuate his inordinate delay,
will blithely smile away her dismay
and leave her all the more frustrated
on a later day when she looks back
and sees the pattern long since begun and
by her, until too late, unremarked upon

bespoke

give me no off the rack 

cookie cutter affection

doled out in factory form

stamped and pressed

on the production line

one size fits all

I'll take the homemade kind

seams misaligned

a love bespoke 

even if it be

imperfect and messy

but tailor made for me

trammel

the taxonomy of normality
the taxonomy of normality
tear off the wrapper the world has made
tear off the wrapper the world has made
the world made of normality has
the taxonomy, tear the wrapper off

the trammels of a conventional life
the trammels of a conventional life
fettering you to an idea of who they wish you were
fettering you to an idea of who they wish you were
you wish an idea of you who were, of a life
fettering the conventional trammels to they

packaged like a doll and destiny determined
packaged like a doll and destiny determined
break the cellophane and breathe
break the cellophane and breathe
breathe, doll, and break a destiny
determined and packaged like the cellophane

the cellophane wrapper of the world
trammels destiny and normality
a packaged taxonomy determined to breathe
the wish of an off doll like a tear
break the fettering life of conventional they
the idea who has made and you were you


___________________________________________

So with today's poem I continue in the whole "playing around with different forms" thing.

The above is paradelle which is a parody of the villanelle... ya know, rather than me explaining - here's a link to the wikipedia entry: Paradelle
 

 

homiletic

heavy weight
of a wet wool blanket
are words settling upon me
clammy and claustrophobic
the homiletic refrain
of my brain
repeating again
and again
the things I should be doing
the things I should have done
unceasingly stewing
over things not yet begun
or rehashing
all the past
a skipping record
of lyrebird calls
bellowing at me
from inside my skull

famish

we are, all of us, famishing
even the glutton some way starves
for one thing or for another
affection, attention or love

for security or power
we are, all of us, famishing
for family or for friendship
for youth or health or wealth now lost

sated in some way, still we want
though the lucky recognize that
we are, all of us, famishing
and they see it for what it is

part of the human condition
always striving, always hungry
it is how we progress...so
we are, all of us, famishing

____________________________________

Hey there - realized it's been a while since I really played with different poetic forms, so I'm going to try and do that a bit more frequently and when I do, let you know what kind of poem it is. The above is a quatern. 16 lines broken up into 4 quatrains of eight syllables per line. The first line is the refrain. In the second stanza, the refrain appears in the second line; in the third stanza, the third line; in the fourth stanza, the fourth (and final) line.

adapt

sweat with a grimy sheen
like an oil slick on ocean
beads upon a forehead
struggling to adapt
to do more
than just react
to the faces and places
racing past in a crescendo
a bullet train blur
too mercurial to memorize
on the road to paradise
but knowing this will
be on the final
on the final day
and you will be
grasping at straws
explaining yourself
in hems and haws
saying because because
you grew to now from was

intrepid

Nothing's ever lost, just misplaced.
Steps retraced and a little searching
can lead you back or spur you on
your most whole self to become.
So gather up your joy and pluck,
like half forgotten socks
dropped behind the laundry basket,
and stuff them in your satchel
jaunty, thrown over shoulder.
Decision made, start undaunted.
The adventurer intrepid out to discover
brave new worlds far off the map;
to dance with dragons or mermaids kiss.
Be triumphant and glory win,
go storm the castle, but remember this:
home awaits and love and bed
when heavy the crown upon your head.

demiurge

The writer with furrowed brow 

Spurred on by some ineffable force

The pen to paper set

And from it flows a world unknown 

Unconstrained from time and place 

A river of ink released by a demiurge 

Unlocked from ego and id 

To build like drafter's architecture 

Page by page a new land 

Heretofore just imagined

stanch

could I
I would
somedays
most certain
stanch the news
with some tourniquet
rendered from pictures
of kittens and gifs of pandas
playing in snow like eager puppies
but still reality intrudes and sure naught
can stop the juggernaut of woe and so
we must let the blood freely flow
press the wound as best we can
hoping help arrives before
death's shock begins

reprehensible

history writ by those who win
whether by means just and fair
or reprehensible beyond compare
so we must read with eyes open wide
exceeding the page, the ink, the word
to find truth nuanced and lines blurred
no hero ever lived that did no wrong
the tyrant's bard sang praises in his song
a story may have more than one side
without it meaning anyone has lied
the lesson not without but within

placate

both feel justified
the referee to deride
for half measures
meant to placate
both sides but
leave neither satisfied
sometimes that's just
the nature of compromise

cohort

in shimmering armor
one by one they march
mandibles quivering
row by row moving
with one purpose
trusty cohort in
the queen's command
to conquer all or die
pawns with purpose
and so are we

officinal

friendship
like poultice
laid over the lashes
that love leaves
when hope it dashes
officinal balm
of hugs
and of laughter
gently reminding
there was a before
and there will be an after
best kind of love
may not be
at least for me
the fire of passion
but platonic ideal
which lasts longer and
in better fashion

mutatis mutandis

success subjective
to priority and objective
make your own metric
to gain yourself perspective
adjust your modis operandi
a bit of luck and this
happiness depends on
accepting circumstance
mutatis mutandis

gainsay

knots tied
words twisting like moldy ropes
wrapped round noose-like
as feet pedal against air
so it is for my thoughts
as I gainsay wisdom won
and again begin to swing
in my rhetoric

vapid

sort through
small talk vapid
to find the gems
of what makes
them them
awaiting spark
to set aflame
like opal fire
heart again

bindle stiff

remember running away
teddy ready, snack and juice box
in baby blanket wrapped
then tied all to a stick
a bindle stiff I had become
out the door I marched
indignant at imagined slights
unwilling to fight I fled
to ride the rails instead
across the world to roam
around the block
around the block
around the block
again, again, again
I passed my home
adventuring so bravely and so bold
(I could not stray much farther
so my mother had no fear
for I wouldn't cross the street
without her hand to hold)

intoxicate

i drink deeply and hold my breath
to carry your aura with me a while
close my eyes and breathe in
the memory of / the scent of you
hint of mint and sun dappled grove
rich like fir trees after rain
and the peat smoke of whiskey
and how that scintillating smell
beguiled and bewildered
you could always intoxicate me
with nary a touch nor word
and still you could if you would

sacerdotal

i builded you a shrine
upon the shining hill
of memories blurred photographs
of hasty notes and ticket scraps
no monk in sacerdotal garb
could tend it better than have i
this monument to fallen love
testament to time gone by

accentuate

the new year begins
and I try to find the will
to keep Baloo's words in mind
the sing-song serenade of a Disneyfied bear
bouncing in my brain again and again and again
accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative
half the goal I may attain
but though I may lessen the darker side
I would not eradicate it entire
light without shade is blinding
help, hope and danger make the fire

fete

the bitter chill
cannot cool
the warmth
of an apple
cider smile
on a friend
or a date
at the winter fete