Posted in Poetry

Youth

We used to scream, barbaric yelps until
Our throats were raw, our voices hoarse

As soon as the winter thaw would permit
Kick and stamper like a sadistic horse

Groping for the light of a sliver moon
Until our hands were as heavy as a horse

Around the corner, we peaked at freedom
Like the head of Shasta’s horse

Mothers’ grip, fathers quiped bitter words
Until throats were raw, their voices hoarse

—-

National Poetry month. Day 19. Poem 11. Not going to try to catch up. But I will try to get a few more poems out in the coming days. This is a ghazal.

Posted in Poetry

Attune

The three I love most
Snores, tussles, breathing carries
Listen in the day!

———-
National Poetry Month, 2017. Day 11. 9th Poem. A Haiku.

Posted in Poetry

There’s Gotta Be Another Way

It was the last time we burnt down that bridge
The one we had resurrected so many times before
The rains forced us to take shelter on the ridge
All the past we’d tried to bury was washed ashore

We each tried to phone our gods, no more reception
Warned by the old guards of Harvard and Oxbridge
And the lunatic fringe, since our very inception
It was the last time we burnt down that bridge

We called in the cavalry, in the name of Calvary
Never knowing we were starting the last great war
Some never gave up on phoning the god of Galilee
The one we had resurrected so many times before

Soon there will be no one left to tell it
No matter, history is always redacted and abridged
We tried to whisper, in vain we tried to yell it
The rains forced us to take shelter on the ridge

No one could hear below the echo of rain and gunfire
I’ll keep whispering, Keep keeping, until we are no more
A faith in us that breaks my heart and makes my guts tire
Until all the past we’ve tried to bury is washed ashore

————–
Cascades don’t always rhyme. This one does. Deal with it. And it’s imperfect because I slightly altered the final repetition for effect. This one was inspired by trying to bring together two different writing prompts, in a writer’s group I am in. One was to write about political unrest without resorting to tired rhetoric or propaganda. The other was based on a friend’s dream about collapsing bridges, a storm and a world in which we could talk to gods on cellphones. This is my 8th installment for National poetry month. I am still one day behind. But I am still aiming for 30 new poems in thirty days

Posted in Poetry

To Forgive

I forgive you for hating me
I forgive you for having harder stares
Than my dad when I ate second and third
Helpings of sweet, buttery confections
I forgive you for saying worse,
Much, much worse
Than any underclassman
Who bullied or shamed me
In grade school
I forgive you for forcing me
To go to reparative therapy
Where a charlatan with a BS in Bible
Posed as a shrink
Eager to hear my confessions
Always asking me
To shut the door when I leave
I forgive you
For pushing me down
For never giving me any grace
When I legitimately and gracelessly fell
On my face
Like that night outside of Rumors
When I never should have drove home
I forgive you for living dangerously
For always telling me
That my soul was in danger
Until body, mind and whole self was there
I forgive you for a lifetime
Of sucking the life from me
And cutting all of my lifelines
I forgive you for pushing others away
With the same magnitude, used
To force me to my knees to pray
I forgive you for hating me
Without reason
Naked, weaving
In and out of rhyme,
And I’ll look you in the eye
And tell you to your face
Next time
I catch your eye
And your hard stare
From the corner of the mirror

Posted in Poetry

All Access

This is how
We celebrate life
Open mic
Open veins
Blood spills over on the floor
Maybe saving lives

—–

This is my 5th installment for National Poetry month. I am short one entry. Maybe one of these Sundays, I’ll write two. This is a shadorma. I am going to run out of short forms and be left with all of the long ones. All Access is the name of the open mic I host on Thursday nights. This is what we do.

Posted in Poetry

Zeitgeist

A bitter cacophony, dense
Everything flattlined, gyrates
Hell is just Kleenex, lit!
Matches! Nickleback, or
People quarreling, religious shit!
Talking unfit volumes, with
Xeroxed yesterdays
Zeitgeist

——

April is Natural Poetry Month. I am going to attempt one new poem each day, each in a different style of poetry. This a brief Alphabet Poem.