Jenner - 35This will be the Christmas I remember
stringing popcorn and cranberries for hours
to wrap around the tree
the lightly buttered popcorn, all we could find
musking fresh pine- and a smidge of blood,
won over by the needle. The year of a
mostly empty apartment: the plain
white walls and black metal chair
we use as a TV stand. Telling ourselves
we're not broke; we choose to live like this:
nomads with little to grab
when we get out and go
and one buttered Christmas tree
adorned with blue lights
and beer corks.
Bad Mouth Habitsi.Bad Mouth Habits3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I carry God around in my lip like he's chew,
spitting his name out in poems like potholes,
I make everything a simile
for the hold he has on me.
When it comes to men,
I've the appetite of a Roman housewife,
I take, I taste, I tear,
swallow and then then toss up
for the next course.
I don't kiss anyone so dearly
as the glass pipe bridged between lips
Jameson, you're an Irish Lad,
a young ram of bucking proportions,
I let you rattle around my mouth
til I herd you in
Sometimes there's nothing so sweet
as the jack-hammer of angry words
or the steel trap clamp of silence.
I exercise my oral rights in
Southern Belle - 2I want to sing you songs on the low notesSouthern Belle - 22 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for hours. Comb your hair behind your ear,
gentle and lingering. Slip into your eyes-
anything. You are
a ripple spreading across me. You are refracted light;
slickness of an abalone's back. The soft pearl.
Idle thought of my afternoon- always, always
I imagine. And Bourbon's not so far:
nineteen hours through a day,
then I could see you. Will we ripen
UnlayeringThere are words queuing in lineUnlayering2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for the page, simple words, trite
words, words of circumstance, words
the world could have never gone on
without their repeating; as day and night and fear,
the kind of words you never wanted from me,
void of Eutony, a simple psalm
of sound rhythm, but
they cannot go unspoken any longer:
My heart unfolds like an infinite peel,
an onion pulled fresh from damp earth
that has forgotten it was once fertile.
You wash away packed dirt and tear
roots with your fingernails. The inside
of your thumbs push away at skin, first
the dark layers. You believe there
is something sweet further in, but Lord
only knows why.
God of my mysteries,
You Need A New MusePoets, if your muse smells like eggnog, boiled eggs, fresh eggs,You Need A New Muse1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
or any sort of egg at all: get a new muse. If your muse makes sounds-
chomping or mewing, smacking, or worse, slurping - when she eats
animal crackers: you need a new muse. If she’s that sloppy gal that
downs a pint and hollers, “Freebird” at the bar, you know where I’m going with this:
you need a new muse. And trust me, pudding, when your muse misquotes
Bill Cosby while eating jello, you're going to wish you had gotten yourself
that new muse.
If she begins to insist on beginning debates with “irregardless,”
you won't need a dictionary to tell that you need a new muse. Even brings
to question your rhyme scheme or does not know how to tell you
she set the table in iambic pentameter, seriously, you need
a new muse. If you can’t get her to write you letters, but can’t break her
from sending four-page texts, then it’s time to call in a new muse. If she doesn’t know
Before You HowledI had forgotten for so long why I sang,Before You Howled2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so many, my song turned into tumbled
bedsheets, bodies strewn,
nectar of a kiss overdone.
The lonely hoot low and languished,
I loved, My Love, I loved strong
and solid, the hollow notes,
the lonesome bones.
Crow, she came and whispered in my ear,
said your song is lovely dear,
take a feather from my wing, we beat
somewhat the same.
But the song, it was the same,
beneath the shadow of the bat, as
the love of a man
I nearly slew.
When she would call, month's later
the chiming at my ear, o' my heart
my little heart,
I heard her and she was me,
and I, without us, her little
black wings, my greedy perch, months
I'd call back, filter through the poems
I hear your notes in me.
Some nights she whispered love stories
of a girl, small-handed
across the mountains, a candid song
of love and loss
and loving loss, that which learns
to rumble after. She wrote of you,
far across, the distance
a somber color.
O, I listened to her song an
It's a good thing I don't haveIt's a good thing I don't have readersIt's a good thing I don't have1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
They'd tell me: stop writing poems
about being crazy-
you've clichéd yourself
into a petty corner
of your bending
Does one go about apologizing
for a cyclic mind? I am I am
I cannot unbe – I have become myself
and cannot undo the learning
Ryan's PoemHow many times did you save meRyan's Poem2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The quiver girl,
strung tight and shaking,
self-nursed at the end
of a whiskey bottle;
shuddering off to sleep
a sick bat wrapped up
beneath your bed,
if you were lucky.
Good nights I curled up
against your broad shoulders,
as you palmed a bowl,
taking in air
to request records
and savory things
to eat - and then,
I nested on top of your pillow
as any girlfriend
yet never quite
I was hard on the heart, Darling, wasn't I?
we never speak.
RiftTrains collide through a fist of hot snow. Her eyesRift1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and mine. Soot against the thick storm skin,
flashing metal and scraping bones, the earth
screams something primal. She looks away
and through the peppered sparks of fire
a silence prevails.
Quiet lips say too much. I follow spotted horses
to the meadow, the waterfall is broken, and
I see her mouth make fog. Lumps of coal
are stacked in the distance, making a hut.
I do not enter, the windows are tied to the sky
9am there was a rift in the evermore. They said
the sky belted open, stars wept plasma coffins,
and out of the dew she put one foot,
then the other. In her left hand there was a blue fig.
I could not see the other. The arctic sun set
and a desert sun rose.
Her hair was put back with paperclips, glimmering
in the cold light. I fell into a vat, watching
a thousand four hornets unnest from behind her. I felt high,
but sank deeper until I touched bottom. She pulled at me
Holiday TweetBaked two spiced pumpkin pies,Holiday Tweet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
barely stretching the crusts over
each dish & everyone will know
that I am a poet, not a baker.
Wrote no poems.
ReddistBefore you, there were womenReddist1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with full breasts,
breasts with perk tips and beneath them:
hips wide as my hand spread,
but never love.
Athenas before you,
my eyes only followed the apples;
and then, suddenly:
A wild brook unleashed
and I never knew I was a basin
meant to be filled.
A woman sewn
from the smile of Coyote,
from the same hands that bent time
and created life for a laugh-
the sweetest fruit; be my reddist-
I will love you madder
than a hatter and brasher than a miner.
Wilder for a gypsy.
This, TooI point to the hair on my knuckleThis, Too9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and you say, “yes, this, too, I love.”
It is longer than the year before, curling
a little farther from my body. I say so
and you say, "I know."
I pull it out to two options: am I angry
that you saw my body betraying youth,
that first little slide, and did not tell me?
Or, do I pat your rounding belly and say,
“yes, this, too, I love.”
After a Blue Sundayi.After a Blue Sunday1 year ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
The week slips hard
rolling in upon itself
to pull me under;
hardly a victim, more so:
a participant lacking
I clutch at taupe walls,
boring walls that do much more
a hangover than breaking
The after-break, break:
realizing my solitude
undoes me quicker
than your infidelity;
than her scent on your body
Lies I Tell Us After Hours #1I can't live without youLies I Tell Us After Hours #12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is a lie. I can. You will
die and leave me
all truth of the sentence.
FloodAnd when the tide rolled swiftly inFlood2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we forgot what songs to sing.
I swam for you, I swam for you,
but only saved the horror
of knowing you wanted to drown.
Part of me returned to dry,
the rest is lost at sea.
Southern Belle - 7Out of the Sahara,Southern Belle - 71 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
my eye: the tiger
Gleam, you are a blanched lantern
on the Savannah
I was on the prowl
until you came to my domain
Ivory, I shall hunt
and harvest you
Writhe on my belly
until I am close
Listen, Anasazi laughs
his black spider joke;
I laugh as we begin
Papaya WhipPapaya whip-Papaya Whip1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
ghost of the fruit
milking itself through
cream and froth; the soft
hint of a voice
through the wall, a neighbor
soothing the baby-
the moment sweet
on the tongue, almost
slides down the throat
tender and mild across skin
ripens the tree
Not a dallianceNot a dalliance-Not a dalliance11 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Lissome scintillas blossom,
Become forest fires
I Took To Howling With YouI was shy at first, timid in my dealings,I Took To Howling With You2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I laced the trap against my throat,
sang sparing, tip-toed
around your poems.
The tone, the slow vibrating
from the shoots of my shoulders
to the gleam of polished talons,
it purred around inside me.
Oh the song, Coyote,
the same resigned call, it
paled before you, swallowed down its insides,
I took your little hand in my big hand,
flew out towards Crow, and for a while
My Love, there were poems
and the world was enough.
I took to howling with you,
down from the branches, safe
womb of the tree, I spread
dirt between my toes, sang happy,
sang the song of free,
your wild howl, your musk,
I lost the language for
the pain of bird calling.
Do you remember when we realized
Crow would no longer sing
her crooning songs beside us, trill
through a night among us?
She had gone, no longer writing
poems for coyotes or exlovers,
no longer touching out for a girl
beyond the mountain,
and we were suddenly alone, Love,
you and I, alone to sing, to warble,
Love-ku'dlesLovekus to cuddle to.Love-ku'dles11 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Three little lines
Your body embracing mine
Two halves of one
Ku'ing in the evening
I think of your tiny smile
Cooing near my ear
Sky darkens from peach to plum
Inside I embrace
Blankets or your arm-
one way or another
Waking up in the morning
before a kiss
Hair can wait--
Brushing what is bare
I ku for you submitting--
one ku for a bended knee
one coo for needing
Baby, nobody ku's
the way I ku for you
Remarksi. I like the way you call meRemarks2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and always hang up on the second ring
because you know I get the shakes and the shivers
and sometimes, but not always, my knees fall off
and I have to crouch down to find them.
ii. I keep thinking about you.
and your ten-thousand tans
and your lack-luster smile
gaping open with colloquialisms.
You and the way you say
"you're pretty and thin"
as if one more label will be the gunshot
and I'll finally escape that dream
in which I'm running, but my feet are melting
through the sidewalk and my arms are
casting impossible shadows.
iii. It reminds me of how inarticulate words are sometimes;
how they flit through me every second and yet
I tend not to write them down around you
because, every time, I wake up and
forget why I am.
How your words mean next-to-nothing to me
because you throw them around
like ping-pong balls, and
I prefer to sip them like sweet tea.
iv. You say things like "I love you" and
it reminds me of how I will never be anyone.
How I me