Blog Archives

high tech toilet power


toiletPaperRoll

Toilet Paper Roll

high tech toilet power

pressure converging, principally guided,
goal driven, performance tested,
bacteria-less, cleansing,
toilet of the future.

harness the power.
siphon, release, wash, flush.
mega-pressure nozzles —
overshadow rim holes.

highly efficient, comfortable.
designed for emissions and decour.
environmentally friendly
spatially contiguous to Uranus.

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Hear this on Sound Cloud

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Written for:

Poetics– Bathroom poetry

Claudia schönfeld prompts us to “Write a bathroom poem and post it to your blog.”

Image Credit: Bat-Ami Gordin  © 2013 all rights reserved, credit if you use it, please.

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The Language of Chocolate


Chocolate Drops

Chocolate Drops

The Language of Chocolate

Tear drops of chocolate smeared in my ear —
extraordinary, epicurian embraces
melt my eyeballs, dissolve blissfully,
tasty as they roll in my avaricious pockets,
auditory melting on the granite surfaced table.

I long to covet them with genitalia:
delusionary cure-all, clearly, an exacerbated desire.
Appreciated gourmet of flatulent aroma:
rejuvenate, tone, percolate pock scars — abounding,
left dry, to fight off ants, and terrify hungry bees.

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Written for:

Synesthesia–Sensory Confusion, or…?

Victoria C. Slotto prompts us to “…play around with mixing up those senses. It’s not necessary to write a complete poem in synesthesia, just include an incident in which you invite your readers to taste, or see, or hear, or touch, or smell something that defies the sense you are using.”

Image Credit: Bat-Ami Gordin  © 2013 all rights reserved, credit if you use it, please.

lower body wrap


Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas

Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas

lower body wrap

fabric wrinkles in her hand:
uneven, asymmetric, flexible,
button-less, never scratchy.

effect and causation.
a careful calibration.
dedication, decoration,
operation, improvisation:

drape it.
throw it.
peel it like paste —
a belly-dancer’s veil.

mass consumption.
don’t’ make a presumption.
a classic resumption.
show a little gumption:

show a little tit.
show a little ass.
sprinkle rectus abodominus.
raw leg’s healthy sex appeal.

melt into subduction,
in this place of seduction.
conduction, abduction…
don’t make a big production —
it’s a cheap reproduction.

rich colored background.
soft colored skin.
fabric drenched in softener.
softly tactile.
soft-on-soft.
soft-on-wet.
ahhhh…
wrap it up.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 163

Also posted on:

Open Link Night ~ 91

Image credits: The Horrible Forest by *pesare on deviantart

First Rose


First Rose

First Rose

First Rose

first bud of spring
squint at her glory —
spotless, purified
ready to be deflowed
(dare I)
sacrifice her chastity
so that no neighbor will
sniff, lick, or covet
with pleasure.

soul
sound
soil
grounded love.
harmonious silence.

I cannot dismiss this debut:
a diary of yellowed redolence,
nonchalant simplicity.
people of the white rose.
queen of the red rose.
I am of the yellow rose.
the first, my only, soft, unique
blossomed rose, ready to go.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Just Say What You Don’t Mean: Irony

Photo Credit: Bat-Ami Gordin  © 2013 all rights reserved, credit if you use it, please.

Where Is the Food When Mother Is Not?


Yerka Jacek - Mind Fields Between Heaven and Hell

Yerka Jacek – Mind Fields Between Heaven and Hell

Where Is the Food When Mother Is Not?

Where is the food
when mother is not,
searching — plates and bowls
hit or miss? Open fridge.
Ransack cabinets.

I read a fairy tale,
that food grows ready:
creative cuisine,
not difficult to get:
a hundred people —
a hundred eggs.

Without Mom, a sudden collapses?
Everywhere needs an eye —
Or the glassware might fall:
a place to cry
a place to laugh.

Here’s Mom.
The harvest
we will collect.
Enthusiastic cheers.
The smell goes down the hall.

I shall help.
Always help.
Help in the kitchen.

Yes, Mom is back.
Heat up the pot.
No more stale, old
Piss-water tea.
Take a broom and dustpan.
Sweep up confusion.

The cold kitchen
will soon be warm.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 162

Also posted on:

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 98

Quickening of The Chakras


Venus de Milo with Drawers - Salvador Dali, 1936

Venus de Milo with Drawers – Salvador Dali, 1936

Quickening of The Chakras

Dirt removed from body,
in bathing relaxation.
You squeeze out thoughts
with unseen hands.

Light emanates from stomach;
it centers from the groin,
it’s grounded from the toes,
along the spine and running.
Thickness not applicable.
All colors of the rainbow are appropriate.
Shape is satisfying as it
forms in spherical splendor.

It’s a thing of tears.
Heart sounds seem like waves.
It’s a quickening, whence
cells echo in the body,
calmness of a primitive universe.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 157

Also posted on:

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 85


Poetry Pantry #145

Journey With A New Friend


Wilde Beast Bumping Heads

Wilde Beast Bumping Heads

Journey With A New Friend

Each new friend speaks a new language.
Unique histories to share.
So much to say, it’s a traffic stall.

Rare books of knowledge.
Scriptures delineating a process.
Each new friend speaks a new language.

Shared representations?
A journey that is just introduced?
Unique histories to share.

Wilde beast bumping heads
on a prehistoric plain.
So much to say, it’s a traffic stall.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Today’s challenge was to write Chained verse which links together stanzas by carrying a rhyme over from one stanza to the next.

This simply means that you use a rhyme scheme which repeats a rhyme from one stanza in the succeeding stanzas, in this case a pattern of:
a-b-c
d-e-a
f-g-b
h-i-c

Written for:

the imaginary garden with real toads

A Mini-Challenge for Sunday – Chain II

Also posted on:

the art and tree chatter of aquariann

Also written for:

Open Link Night ~ Week 84

Photo Credit:  mikeojohnson photography © 2007

Initiated Kiss


Lovers Kissing by Joseph Lorusso

Initiated Kiss

There was a man
who was The Kiss
after a meal,
but not even dating.

Only one
earnestly fell in love;
a kiss to which
one utters, “WOW!”
blinding everyone’s
point of view.
They must kiss all the time.

Oh.
Behind the ear.
Around the neck.
A little touch
here and there.

Initiation? By whom?
Is this for real?
This kind of kiss,
better than any before.
No one observes those lips.
It’s all a point of view.

Public display of affection —
extremely tight and thrilling.
Let them perform
so long, so hungry.
Private entertainers
competing against
mediocre sustenance.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 155

Also posted on:

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 83

Epideictic Rhetoric


Central Library, Manchester, U.K., by Robin Gosnall

Epideictic Rhetoric

(students and their study habits)

palate superstructure of the day;
vehicle of the visitors;
a gallery to favor Aeneas,
to let Diana eat well,
often to let Bacchus drink.

auricular masses
chewed moral and mental comparisons.
ballistic bedroom crowds
reiterated unrepeatable profanity.

who jumped off the roof
for the sake of
three tragedies,
one satire, five dramas,
and three comedic theatrical events?

eschew the epideictic rhetoric.
ignore the melodies of the epifonèma.
let them speak euphemisms silently
as we give them time to catch up and read.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 154

Also posted on:

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 82

Also posted on:


Introducing E

Not Alone


Charlotte Gainsbourg, AnOther

Charlotte Gainsbourg, AnOther

Not Alone

(The Week Michael Jackson Died)

From the four corners,
people observed
through grieving family eyes.
I was not alone.

Down the blood red carpet,
a golden casket
carried The King
popped
in his final act.

I’d sing to him.
I’d sing with him.
I’d cure him
of his instabilities
and self loathing.
But I’ll never meet him now.
I’ll never get to hold his hand;
to heal the world,
to save each creature
by his side.

I am not alone:
missing him,
his philanthropy ,
his unconditional, total love.

I flash YouTube
one song
after another;
sing them
with unlicensed
Karaoke lyrics.
The pain doesn’t stop.

I remember hours
of burning electricity —
spinning tunes
dancing just like him
or maybe dancing my own
chassé-Marimba-two-step.

I pull out the vinyls
and drop a tear
on every album sleeve.

I return to the world of today:
to neighbors,
to newscasts,
to blogs in Japanese .

Around me —
emotional schemas
of every variety;
and I realize,
I am not alone.

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Hear this on chirbit

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Written for:

Magpie Tales – Mag 153

Also posted on:

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 81