NaPoWriMo

Here I am again raising the blog from the dead for NaPoWriMo...a poem a day for the month of April.The horse shit part of this blog may apply more often than not (if it's posted here, it's as green as it gets), but what the heck. Let 'er buck.

Monday, April 21, 2014

18


There is nothing for you to see here
anymore--
just a child playing
at something
she does not understand.
Let me exfoliate the layers
and grind the gilding
to the bone
where you can see
the inverted exoskeleton
embedded with wants
accumulated like gravel
in the scraped-raw knees
of shame.
There are no queens or angels
residing here--
only abandoned children
who will tangle you
in memories
of too many goodbyes
without words,
of too many promises
concealed in the lesions
and the lessons of manipulation,
drawn inward like the vacuum
of a deep black hole
that will swallow you whole
just to taste the the stardust
in its throat.
There is only a magpie here
in a vacant room,
a pilot light extinguished,
a bare bulb from a cord
of faulty wiring
that wishes to
burn down
these crumbling walls,
dermabrasioned paint
that shows too much graffiti
penned in crayon
penned in marker
penned in ink.
From the street you see only
a window lit
intermittent
in the dark,
flickering as if it can assume
the heartbeat of hope,
the pulse of illumination.
But there is nothing here,
save the ghost of a wounded child
who wants to play
at dangerous games.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

17


The salt of tomorrow
comes from the tears of today.


Friday, April 18, 2014

16


histrionic
supersonic
i'll pull you
over the edge
with me
before you hear
the sound
of your own
begging eyes
mercy is for
the lives
lived only
in the light
i'll dance you
over the line
of the broken
clockwork
of what you
chose
to leave behind
before the question
was there to ask
histrionic
supersonic
mnemonic
in the genes
and bred down
in the bones
it's only a tower
of sticks and stones
now show me
you can fly

15


Sitting on the corner
drinking Becker's
Jungle Juice,
and it was the 90s,
but I  knew
I was going to be
Joni M,
and my heart
was gonna
have to bleed,
if I was going
to make it.
I just never figured
that the price
exacted
would be
so dull,
because I remember
all those
dangerous boys
in dangerous cars,
and knowing
they would
never be
dangerous
enough
for a girl
with a prepaid
ticket
to a place
she'd never
settle down.
But all the
authentically
raven-eyed
Romeos
were snared
in bands of gold,
and the girls
like me
write by
alarm clock
lights
and pretend
our longings
are Wurlitzer
hymnals
in dark cafes.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

14

The menstrual moon is red
with the blood
of women's hearts left
on the ground.
Tomorrow
they will rise.

13

I'm not gonna draw
and I'm not gonna fight
which goes against my nature
when you consider the times
I won by all the necessary costs.
And if you count that
I really should be winning now,
because this carries a zero sum
if you measure in external terms.
And I don't even believe in sin,
but if I say I do I will be excused
from measuring the total weight
of my coward avarice
and I can say I've gained
where I have sorely lost.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

12 Cowgirl Way

She says,
"You know that darn
slide belly?
He gets that boy. He says
he'll show him how to shed,
but he don't show that lil wimp
nothin but how to die."

So, I steal a fresh horse
for me and her
and we ride outta this
gawd damn
snakey country.

11

I am the inaudible joyous whisper
from between the sad clown's
painted lips,
the song that becomes
invisible
because it does not
match the bird,
the infinite form
of what you
will not see,
a ghost felt
maybe
in the absence
I will leave
before you know
I'm gone.

10 Unicorns

They smashed their crosses
against the skulls
of the young,
until the horns
fell off,
and they could claim
that it was true
that magic
was long since
dead.

9

No one ever forgot me,
but you can forget me
every other day--
a dandelion in the
cracked concrete
beneath your foot.
But I saw it coming
down the line
when I was just a seed
by the river
windborn on your breath,
and I told myself
this fate
was going to be OK,
because you walk lightly
and when you
remove your boot tread
from my borrowed rib
it gets easy to believe
you're the reason
to be
reintroduced
to light.
And really
when you're on
your knees
it's best to make
a sacrifice
than be a weed
without a
god.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

8 Alchemy of Sobriety

Juniper from gin...
just tell me
where I've been.
If the secrets are
for keeping
I'll practice
how to lie
from the centre
of my eyes
and the bottom
of my heart--
allegories
weaved in art
and removed
from where they
spawned.
Just remind me
of the dawn
and the taste
of stars lost
on the tongue.
I am still a child,
but I am far
from young.
Amnesiac
for springs
that sprung,
and waiting for
the bud
from where the limb
was broke.
Then I will make an
offering
of the sema from
the smoke.

7 Tea

the things I cannot tell you
have settled
to the bottom of your cup
with the dregs and leaves

Sunday, April 6, 2014

6 Wishes


I name all the falling stars
for us,
because I have long since
lost
the memory
of their birth.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

5. If the snake got the pachyderm, what's he been planning for me?


Just give me
the coffee
black.
I don't take no
substitute,
but I got a
lot a
weight to lose
lest I choose
to let the viper
take me home.
But me and Tori
got a diet goin,
so just hold
the Special K.
Not that kinda
girl
no way
to dig the Kellog's
GMO.
Just give me
the winter
and keep
the snow.
I got a
death row
to hoe
somewhat organically.
If the snake got the
pachyderm,
what's he been
planning
for me?
Come Foxy,
come Davy,
come waltz
me free.
I know a rose
you just gotta
meet,
and a place
to keep you
warm.

4

This dream is a pebble
I carry between my cheek
and tongue--
a vision for the rains
that never come.

But that's OK.

My hide is thick
and there is sweetness
in this stone yet
still.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

3

Don't expect
to find me
standing
in the line
at the bottom
of the stairs;
I'm too busy
composing prayers
someday
they'll call
the carcinogenic
hoax.
Every word
I've wrote
a weather balloon
on a cloudy
night,
or a flaw exposed
with too much light--
a muse
hidden in the context
of amuse,
recited from the
platform
of Bowie's borrowed
boots.
And when they
take me home
only you will know
to question
if I was ever here
and hiding
                  beneath
                               the
                                     stairs.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

2. Metaphysical Gravity

Love is metaphysical gravity- Richard Buckminster

The old ones tell
of the rocks that roll
unseen
via gravity
we have yet to calculate.
My line in the sand
is the path
I have left behind--
a destination
time is blind
to measure.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

1.

You can't keep praying
for my chastity
when you've
left me waiting
in the heap
with all the other girls
you've already bedded down.

Virgin saviors
have no business here.
There is no room
for the colonial divisions
that separate
the whores
from saints...

So, if you haven't
got it figured yet,
I eat the apple
to the core.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

38 Moon Lodge

 
Some of our mothers will not forgive us
for leaving the Moon Lodge of their wombs.
Do not let the snows of resentment break its purpose.
The Lodge is where we learn of love and letting go,
but the outside world is where we must enter
to learn the practice of holding on to what has been given,
and giving what has been received.
 
 

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

37


I dreamt you said you love me...
not in the way you really said it,
but in the way I dream you will.
And then I realized I was really half awake,
but that didn't make it half real...
just as it is half a lie when you say that love is easy.


Tuesday, June 11, 2013

36

One hundred poems--
emotions stripped of voice
and lost in secret notebooks,
because the gross audacity to share
would bleach the beauty from the words...
and return your inspiration
with something less 
than what you gave.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

35

Even if the light
this little moth is drawn toward
is a thing she must keep a distance from
lest she learn the fate of Icarus...
even  if it is not fully meant for her,
it is the miracle that illuminates her way.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

34


I don't want you to save me.
I have my own scars to earn.
But when the shadows lie still 
and my lone heart burns
with the sound of this one drum
I want you to dance with me--
to bring a tandem rhythm
to fill the silences between the beats
and paint the shared darkness 
with our light.
Then You can sing me the song for liars
when I have accepted salvation 
in the dance 
and my wounds have been stitched
with the threads of joy
you have carried here
like music for the dancing
in a once still night.

Sunday, May 12, 2013

33.


First, you pray for the strength to overcome. Then, you pray for someone or something to save you. Finally, you pray for the strength to let go.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

32 For Give Ness


the leaf forgives the tree
for the sap it withholds
so the bud  may know
the light


Monday, May 6, 2013

31


As I sit beside you
careful not to touch
I inhale the breath
your lungs first warmed
and then released.


Tuesday, April 30, 2013

30.

The sky is veneered Dutch china...
I'd like to punch my fist
through the perfect porcelain peace
just to have a shard for souvenir.

Monday, April 29, 2013

29.


I didn’t want to write today... didn’t want to revisit what I can not escape… the heavy shadow that lingers longer with each leaning toward the light.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

28.


I have always received
applause more
for how far
I was willing
to go,
than I was ever
really loved.
And so,
I learned to pantomime
the walls --
to keep
the best parts back.
But here
before you now
there is no mask...
there is no stage...
there is only this
bodiless dancer
who dances
the wind
and the water
for you.

27. Karma


Karma is not an answered prayer of vengence for another's lesson to be learned.

It is what we know we stake by how we choose to pray.


26. Breath of a Bird


Let us find a place
to relearn the sound
of the breath
of birds,
as though in the time
before our Anscestors
were shackled
to this illusion--
before the time
the Dreamers learned
to dream their fears.
Let us find them now
singing the songs
the wind makes
of their limbs
and leaves.
Let us listen
and remember
the ways to dream
a bird from the
sound of its own
expectant breath.


Wednesday, April 24, 2013

25.


There is a price we must pay
for every dream that comes true.

You are the dream
                                  and the price.



Tuesday, April 23, 2013

24.


There is space

even between the quarks.


We   touch   nothing   then


but only bond

this particle to that.

If that is truly touching
IwishIcouldtouchyounow.

23. The Lake of the Resting Muses


Draw me a map
to the northern lake
where the Muses take their rest.

Step from the periphery
of shadows to accept
the things
I have come to share.

Let us pretend
there is only
one common dream
between us here.

Build the kind of fire
that brings stories
from the stars.

Know that I know
I cannot keep you
long.

When the Muses wake
they will fetch me water,
and while the dawn is dressing
I will extinguish all
but the memories.

Though the sisters
came as three,
they will leave as four.

I will take the water.

You will take the shore.

I will drown the dream I carried.

There is room for only yours.

She is patience
waiting
in her place
beside your door.

Monday, April 22, 2013

22.


I am scared to be enough for myself
so I ask you to fill me up
as though the breath I carry must be hollow

I cling to prayers
that you will hold me in your hands

You pray I will find the courage
to let you teach me how to fly

Sunday, April 21, 2013

21. I Squander the Light



I squander the light 

the light the artist
must revere
with a voyeuristic
pilgrim's eye,
an eye that seeks out
the copulations
committed by
the shadings
and the tones.

There are petroglyphs
written there
in the juxtaposition
where the 
jagged meridians
of shadow
give way
to crumbling citadels.

But I am scared.
I close my eyes
and pretend I am
as celibate as
the dark centre of
a charcoal stone
abandoned by
the fire.



Saturday, April 20, 2013

20. Gambling


He pulls
a small win
from his pocket
to set beside
last night's
untouched meal--
both excuse
and  wager
I will stay.

I scrape away
the gravy
as congealed
as intimacy
on a long-cold plate,
repeating lies:

'Cause I've never been the betting kind...

never gambled
I can live with this
and still survive without...

never dared to wager
I won't get lost
if I cannot stake it all
and let it ride
on a long shot dream.

19. Spring Calving


steam rising
from a wide
and bawling mouth

first breath taken
in the last of snows

the mother's tongue
that strips
the protective layer
between the infant
and the world

the horse that carries
the cowboy
closer to the stars

18.


My screams are buffered
by a soundwall of birch.
My tongue has learned to mute
what my heart once said with dreams.
The prayers that I have whispered
in the lightning wood
are absconded and revoiced
by your own Muse.
I am the silence between
the distant star extinguished
and its light that has yet
to reach the Earth.

Friday, April 19, 2013

17.

My name
has already grown cold
on your lips.
There will be others
to warm you now.
But mine
was already cold
and common
from the time it was
tattooed to me
on a government piece
of paper.
A name without ceremony.
A name that says nothing
of what the world
has known of me.