THE LACKADAISICAL POET: April 2016

VOICE

Voice

High-pitched tones and clicks

mimics of heartbeat and pulse

Bad copies

echoes of what is heard

Tying together the words

creating necklaces of air

to express myself

Speaking in ink

to be heard far away and forever

Learning to soar

adding melodic gems to my necklaces

making my notes harmonic

Again

I've picked up

my dead tree tattoo gun

polishing the tarnish away

tightening the links

checking the clasps

hoping to fill my paper treasure chest

with things of value

April 30, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image of unknown origin, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

MIGRAINE MORNING

Migraine Morning

I woke with the throbbing behind my eyes

like dirty lights in my rearview mirror

and I knew my plan for the day

was about to be revoked

my license to enjoy light suspended

my freedom arrested

as I'm thrown into a personal drunk tank

handcuffed to a porcelain altar

April 29, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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BAD HABIT

Bad Habit

You're dark and sour

lemon moonlight

that is of no aid

A million cigarette tips

glowing in the black

poison stars in the night

I'll snuff you

stub you flat

out of my life

April 28, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image of unknown origin, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

THE SCOPE OF WORDS

The Scope Of Words

I've lost the fire

dropped the desire

there's only an echo

barely making it

to my delta

no where near

my venus

From alpha

to omega

written by a beta

April 27, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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DEFINITION

Definition

Artist

[ahr-tist]

verb

1. to mix, to stir many elements, to create truth in a dark cave using your soul as a torch.

April 26, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Prompt from Creating Space For Poetry, Making Room For Humanity | Kevin Kantor | TEDxClaremontColleges (14:15 through 15:30).

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THE MONSTER GETS THE BOY

The Monster Gets The Boy

Created

abandoned

lost

lonely

violent

naive

wanting

Male

always male

falling for the girl

who runs in fear

Is it not feminine

to be vicious

to be evil

to be ugly

yet inspire empathy

Is it not masculine

to see beyond the physical

to be sympathetic

and yet be afraid

Human is too myopic

Monster never gets love

April 25, 2016

Partially inspired by National Poetry Writing Month 2016 Day 25 prompt: write a poem that begins with a line from a another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it and "I Went To The Movies Hoping Just Once The Monster Got The Girl" by Ronald Koertge.

Image of unknown origin, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

OVERGROWN

Overgrown

Flowers in the attic

fungus in the basement

succulents in the carpet

creeping vines across the doors

venus fly traps along the windows

belladonna by the bedside

nightshade on the dinner table

Won't you stay

just for a spell

April 24, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image of unknown origin (altered by me with iPhoto), used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

LIBRARY

Library

The smell

that's the first thing

it's the aroma of eternity

and every love and hate within

The visual

every size

the thick and thin of every era

lined up and cross-referenced

The texture

traveling through the ages

by the stroking of different makes

The lives

of all that were, are, and imagined

flipping through my fingers

and I bring it all home

to visit with me

and return it

to visit with you

We time-travel together

companions that will never meet

April 23, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image: The Kansas City Public Library, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

SECARE (CUT)

Secare (cut)

At first it was thought

he was a kind of farmer

reaping what was sown

scythe both tool

and walking stick

Then he became

a sort of sailor

ferrying his cargo

for two coins

barge both tool

and transport

And he morphed

into a Fallen

a soft hand on a shoulder

a whisper in an ear

off he'd fly with you

He's fear

He's mercy

He's vicious

He's gentle

He's cruel

He's...

not personal

April 22, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image of unknown origin, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended. Update 4/24/16 from a friend: "The image is from a Warhammer 40k. It's a sickle wielded by Dark Eldar Mandrakes - beings that have spent so much time in shadow that it has become physically a part of them."

Secare, Latin: to cut, root of Sickle.

HIS NAME WAS PRINCE

His Name Was Prince

I heard of him

and his little red corvette

when I was too young

to ride with Trojans

baby, he was much too fast

He was scandalous

but it was Saturday night

guess that makes it all right

so I danced

I believed him when he sang

"I would die 4 U"

and kept dancing

through purple rain

and thrilled when he told the world

"I wanna be your lover"

and we all pretended we were married

in paisley park

with darling Nikki

wearing diamonds and pearls

sharing kisses and cream

under a blue light

on an continental

international flight

up to

and past

1999

to Erotic City

where I always gett off

Now

his elevator has stopped

the doves cry

the world goes crazy

but he'll still keep us dancing

under a cherry moon

His name was Prince

April 21, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image of unknown origin, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

THE ENEMY

The Enemy

I don't have the anger for this

it's not mixed in the make-up of me

I don't hate with my skin

"blow me" if you don't like the rejected crayon color

"couple hours dead" of my flesh

My genitalia doesn't make sibling decisions

you're not my sister because we share

the same crotchpot cooking

No one cares who I fuck

including the ones I fuck

and I couldn't care less

what happened to my ancestors

whatever else they may be

they're dead

What I do have inside me

mixed in the make-up of me

is justice

Did someone expect you

to get out of their way

because they didn't like your melatonin

Did someone expect you to think

in a certain way

because of your sex

Who told you

who you had to fuck

because of the birth package

in your pants

Who expected you

to not expect more

because "you have it so much better

than your ancestors"

We're here

We're alive

We're privileged

We're denied

It's not

us against them

it's

us against it

Oh, yes, I have the anger for this

April 20, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image of unknown origin, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

COUNTDOWN

Countdown

Tick Tock

it gets louder every year

time clicking in my joints

Tock Tick

watching my memories slip down

the whirlpool of what time I have left

Tick

hit in the face with the future's arrival

its hands slide over my cheeks

and out of my mind

Tock

running fast to catch up

taking it slow to enjoy

it's all relative

Alarm

no snooze

a stopped clock

is never right again

April 19, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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SHE

She

She never stopped

hasn't stopped

she'll run till her soul collapses

jelly like her liver

She swung her hand

like a broken ceiling fan

the light blinking on and off

with every spin

She'll shoot the words out

of her painted red mouth

a bloody, crampy vagina

crusting and scratchy

like unchanged underwear

She grew middle-aged

while I grew up

now she grows old

and I fall over the hill

She left

I ran

but not far enough

so I'll use the umbilical cord

to my advantage

she'll fall into the noose

she meant for me

She's stopped

April 18, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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Emotophobic Louse

I'll pull blood from my tongue

to hold back the air

before it becomes the knife

you'll turn on me

to cut my throat

and stab my heart

April 17, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image: Cymothoa exigua, a tongue-eating parasite, used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

Emotophobia: the fear of strong negative emotions.

AFFIRMATION

Affirmation

I'll take those walks

right into the fields

of community

There's no sanctuary

I can't carry with me

Makes more than I can absorb

so I'll take the cheap seats

and color them gold

Spread myself like cold cream cheese

on a warm fresh bagel

I'll melt into every cranny

and be deliciously devoured

I'm going to pull yes from the sun

and shine it on everything

April 16, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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JUST A FEW QUESTIONS

Just A Few Questions

Did I say

no?

Did I say

stop?

Did I say

help?

Did I say

anything?

I only remember...

screaming...

Did they ask

yes?

Did they ask

please?

Did they ask

now?

Did they ask

anything?

I only remember...

grunting...

April 15, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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HOME

Home

The rubble of woulda

the concrete of coulda

the steel of shoulda

bound together with

fear

stupidity

laziness

and painted with

mighta been

April 14, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

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SEARCHING FOR POETRY

Searching For Poetry

Out of cubeville early

in the wrong shoes for a jaunt

and I proceed to get

stunningly

stupidly

utterly lost

in the garden of Beantown

Underground is easy

the colors lead the way

and the view

is beyond rainbow

handsome in scrubs

Friday night law review file

tux & tales with full pedobear head

and an electric guitar

"Tonight's the Night"

another handsome in scrubs

(is there a convention?)

Above ground at night

directions

wrong directions

missing is easy in the dark

walkers "don't know"

what street they're walking

(Massholes)

"I'm late! I'm late!"

said this limping rabbit

even if I knew the way

the path is too far

Taking a chance on Orange

to get home

back below ground

baggy pants

skinny jeans

red cowboy boots

and a sad shade of an actor

(I had forgotten the beauty of younger men)

Wrapped in the warmth of home

I discover the City of Lights

has been bombed

(WTF?! Did someone declare war on art & pastry?!)

and the poetry

remained unfound

and silent

but not for long

April 13, 2016

National Poetry Writing Month 2016

Image: "Endowing Vegetables With Too Much Meaning" by Kevin Kantor: image used without permission, with no credit taken, no profit made, and no offense intended.

Based on my trying to get to a poetry slam Kevin Kantor was performing at in Boston, MA, on Friday 13, 2015 (Paris attack).