Forced Hot Water

Diplomatic Impunity

2011-07-31T13:53:00.000-07:00

The foreign tourist
non-fluent in English speech,
conveniently.

Cooler Heads Prevailing

2011-07-26T05:22:00.000-07:00

A lovers quarrel
his imprisonment, her guilt
a cake-baked escape.

Heat Wave (haiku)

2011-07-21T13:38:00.000-07:00

Crashing on my shores-
eroding my coasts of skin-
recedes with the moon.

The Seeing Eye (Haiku)

2011-07-21T08:44:00.000-07:00

The elephant's mind
never forgets its poor sight-
or its kind kanine.

A Haiku for the wonderful picture prompt from Bluebell Books...

Short Story Slam Week 6-Children's Literature

Night-Vision

2011-07-21T07:18:00.000-07:00

The bones of maples dance in meditation
to the hum and buzz of the earth turning.
They sway slightly
                           and
                      slowly
brushing the bellies of the atmosphere.
Monuments of molecules
                tremble and shudder
                                      under
the ominous pressure of gravity.

They harness a secret
swirling in their guts-
that if the song falls silent
the universe will have no choice,

but to parish within the rain.

What Do You See In Me?

2011-07-20T07:51:00.001-07:00

I see the fastgossiptalking you
whose sentences crackle like brushfire-
after too many cans of diet coke
and a busy day
full of assholes and errands-
leaving you flustered
and beautiful.

I see the messy-haired you
who falls asleep so easily
and when wakes
in the abyss of night,
barely whispers my name
(a record 22 times)
to see if I am restless too.

I see the detached and frightened you
who builds walls
to cover the trails
of her thoughts and fears-
so that I may climb the vines
that defend them-
to candidly witness
your bewildered glances.

Reading Comprehension

2011-07-20T07:41:00.001-07:00

Leafing through the pages of my life
I found a picture of you
tucked in the binding,
marking a chapter
that I could never seem to finish.

The Contents of a Mother-Son Talk Over Brandy and Cider

2011-07-19T07:52:00.000-07:00

*This and "something said in passing" is my attempt to build a cohesive colletion of poems, under the tentative title of "Geneology", dealing with themes of family, not just my own but in a general sense as well. Your criticism of all my works is greatly appreciated, because I dont believe I am every truely done with any of my writings. Thanks so much enjoy.*

*also posted on dVerse poets pub grand opening!!!!*

Her fingers
were the first to fall in love
with him-
attempting to tame
the wild threads of his hair-
as the two of them held onto
the trembling frame of his motorcycle.
At least that is what I gather
from stories I have heard
in times when they seemed much
happier-
perhaps
still in love with
the way the wind
ripped through the hair on their arms
at, onehundredmilesperhour-
perhaps
still in love with
the pinky-swear grasp they had
on their eternity.

The First Painting

2011-07-19T07:12:00.000-07:00

*submission for jingle poetry's potluck week 44 "painting whispers"*

In the midst of his struggle
to shape fake fruit lying
in a ceramic beige bowl and garnished
with wilting dandelions, that he found
springing from a crack
at the edge of the road the day before
he threw his palette to the floor.

Kneeling down beside the pieces of shattered
white plastic and primary smears
he gripped his brush like a knife
and plunged it into every color.

He dragged this weapon
over his open palm.
He twisted and swirled it viciously
swiping hues of red and blue
thrashing whites and strange purples
over his callouses
until the bristles splayed out
like palmetto leaves
singed in the morning sun.

When he paused to catch his breath
his eyes fell on the small canvas
that used to be his pale flesh
and it was black.
A textureless, infinite darkness
that swallowed all values and dimensions
of the rainbow he had attempted
to entangle in his fingers.

Intelligent Design

2011-07-15T06:25:00.000-07:00

She stands-
in the sitting room.

One eyebrow peaked-
her posture akimboed

and
I am suspended-
in a limbo of
my feng-shui-faux-pas
post-machismo placement

of my old, silly
wall posters.

They simply-
do not go
with her
art-nouveau-asian-inspired
eggplant infused
post-modern upholstered -
color
palette.

A life of language
scrawled on a closed attic door
now reads please come in.

I would like to nominate... brown paper bag girl

http://brownpaperbaggirl.wordpress.com/2011/07/09/on-stormy-days/

Tag: Promising poets poetry cafe

Something Said in Passing

2011-07-14T08:48:00.000-07:00

He was resting heavy in his armchair
and we were watching
the grain of the television,
a laugh track chattering
ambiently.

I stared at him sideways for a while
realizing he was
different that night.
Not angry drunk like the night before
When he put his fist through the wall
beside my mother,
but sad drunk. I could see
his thoughts transforming into words.

"You hear that one loud laugh in the audience?"
He slurred. "That one you can hear,
above all the others?
It always sounds just like your mother's."

He was right. I could hear her too,
as startling as a fist
bursting through the wall and as striking
as broken bottle sparkling on the kitchen floor.

Thoughts of a Presumptuous House Cat Laying in the Sun

2011-07-13T11:14:00.000-07:00

Photo property of Jeffrey Lewis

My name is not Marvin
even though that is what you and your sister
decided to call me
after much deliberation,
when I was the last present
on that snowy Christmas morning.
My youthful coat was very handsome then
wasn’t it.
My real name
given to me by my beautiful calico mother
is Fredrick.
I think it’s a much better name
royal
refined
distinguished,
much like myself I might add.
No matter.
I suppose I must make some compromises
in order to find fresh Fancy Feast
placed in the cellar stairway every morning.
And don’t think I didn’t notice
it was the store brand you laid out yesterday.
Don’t get me wrong though
I do enjoy your company.
The contours of your face
make a wonderful pillow
in the dim hours just before dawn.
And you should enjoy my company.
You know you are very lucky to have me.
I could have sold
for nearly one hundred dollars
to that lady across town,
with the expansive back yard and
plush velvet couch
placed in front of the elegant marble fireplace.
Your pull out thingy in the guest room
isn’t all that bad I suppose
it’s perfect for sharpening my claws.
Oh my
look at how brilliantly my paws glisten
in the soft afternoon sun
washing across the carpet.
It’s moments like these
when I realize my existence is
truly magnificent.
I think I will venture outside today
and run around the yard really fast.
Sometimes I am amazed
at how ferocious and agile I can be.
Why just the other day I killed three mice.
They never really had a chance though.
on second thought
the humidity is rather high today
and I do feel slightly under the weather

After The Tempest

2011-07-09T21:43:00.000-07:00

A poem inspired by this picture provided by bluebellbooks recent blog

There was an inscription
on the barrel
of a telescope, that I found
deftly floating out to sea.
It read- "there is
great beauty in discovery,
but the truth is impossible
to perceive."
I returned it
to its brine, beneath me
and tacked, obliquely
toward an island
I formed solely
for the purposes of teaching me
the nuances of my
uncharted degrees.

Criticism Of A Self Portrait

2011-07-08T10:10:00.000-07:00

*This poem is a product of Art-spiration, thanks to the wonderful images of Bonnie from original art studio
and the folks over at one stop poetry , enjoy...

*ALSO SUBMITTED FOR JINGLE POETRY'S POTLUCK WEEK 44 "PAINTING WHISPERS"

A coil of white ink
extends itself
from the slightest tract of
soft-tissue; a pale membrane aquiesces-
a diligent breath diffuses
beneath a gate of ribs.

This cord
of many sinewous strings;
traverses the narrow alley intersecting
my-self
and
a muraled door, opposing me.

Pirouetting
with the feathered atoms
of hydrogen
and oxygen, along its way;
it has become a wire,
now vibrating.

Its' entrance
into the mural;
although surreptitious, is marked
by a point;
a small hole consisting of
infinite dimensions, each one
flaring out from its epicenter;
tremorous arteries
siphoning and examining
small samples of color
from the strange skin of canvas.

As the fiberous vessels
begin to grasp the mural's edges,
its tarnished surface
subtly resembles a mirror,
splintered and fractured,
in which I can detect faint shadows
of my-self; opaque projections
of an old color film.

I am, now-
two murals;
reflecting upon each other
the infinite array of chroma
and the absense of it.

Cosmetology

2011-07-02T10:23:00.000-07:00

A sun awakes to sanitize
a speckled field of grass in sharp
angled flames of silence,
exfoliating the vaporous ghosts of night.

*check out the great poets and poems at poets united*

Accouterments

2011-06-30T08:22:00.000-07:00

The soft flesh under leather skin.

The hard and hiddin pit with in.

The blender and blades setting them free.

Your love of guacamole and me.

*todays twitter poem... follow me @lewisstyle*

Another City

2011-06-29T09:30:00.000-07:00

When I draw back
the weathered cloaks of my being
there should seem revealed ...another city,
                         drifting on water
with bruised and wounded garrisons of spirit-
citizens stationed in vigilence of
the treacheries to their bastions of generation
and in reverie to the holy organic hymns
of eloquent sunlight
                    scattering
                              widely...

The sounds of a brave heart.beat.
measuring the time
it takes to file
the venerable volumes of cultivated institution
piled in careless vaults,
towers teetering in the midst of their streets
                          and between their lamps-
winding along the
                   creeks
                  of
              yellow
               energy
                lining the limits
                             of the
                               city
                              and
                        dividing
                       the
                       empty
                      outer
                 pastures
                into
             secret
        passages
       of
exile-
quietly
propagating
a philosophy of shadows and dust
forming walls of corrugation to surround
my palace of copper and triumph.

Spontaneous Combustion

2011-06-29T09:26:00.000-07:00

A wave of crystal white wine
fell
abruptly to kiss the dance
floor,
and swim within a
serrated sea of glass.

A pile
of satin lapels,
coat tails
and slacks coiled itself
lightly around
the cummerbund and
cufflinks-

quickly, a discreet
cello melody
drifted uneasily into
a bewildered silence.

A breathless and
blinking crowd
of relatives
and revelers
surveyed the smoldering scene

wondering

if this
necessarily affected
the legitimacy of the vows-
and the openness
of the bar.

Check out some great poems and writers at Dverse poets pub

Reincarnation

2011-06-29T09:23:00.000-07:00

There is a memory deep
within the years of my heart
of when we walked down to the lake.

You in your blue sun hat
and a matching summer dress-
that played with the waves
around your ankles.

You imagined yourself
as a blue jay-
while I sat quietly
by the picnic table
singing a soft song
to the sky you so admired.

I am a bird! you screamed
your fragile arm-span bursting open
and then you swooped down
through the branches
with fiery excitement at your wing-tips!

A life-time later
and that is the only dream
I have ever remembered.

Her Wild Side

2011-06-29T09:20:00.001-07:00

In patient cages
she waits; a raging soul.
Swallowing an air of uncertainty,
she watches a world darker
than her pupils
poke and prod the sinews
of her pride-
comfortable in its sense
of security, lurking between
those loose bars.

*check out this and more great poets and poems at poets united*

Memorandum/ From: God/ To: Adam and Eve/ Subject: Directions For Breathing

2011-06-29T09:19:00.002-07:00

Open your mouth,
parting at the lips.
Now exhale, slowly
draining everything from within.
Don’t force it,
this process should be woven
with every fiber of your being
Just before you begin to feel
a twitch in your lower back,
let your ribs explode,
lifting the soft tissue of your lungs.
Don’t try to control it,
let it all unfold
At this point imagine
yourself being dragged
over a waterfall
or slipping through
the thunder clouds.
In this moment
let the entire universe
you have collected in your chest
burst through your throat
with the speed of a splintering scream.
It will usually only manifest
in the form of a deep sigh.

*check out other great poets and poems at Gooseberry Gardens*

The Jaws of Life

2011-06-29T09:19:00.000-07:00

I dont know how-
but I know deep and dark
secret sides of you,
the kind that drop off
into abysses and treacherous
caverns.
I think an ocean of sadness
must have carved them out of you,
leaving the salt to settle
in your wounds.
I dont blame you
for being swallowed
by the sea
because I too, have fallen
into those deep and dark sides of you.

*Check out more great poems at Poets United*

The Winnowing

2011-06-29T09:17:00.000-07:00

God harvested his pastures today
and I snickered at the thought
of my salvation being tossed into
and sifted by such a fickle
New England breeze.

Vernal Equinox

2011-06-29T09:16:00.000-07:00

There is an unusual warmth tonight
lingering above the town
For a while I drove mainstreet
with my windows down and
sat in the chairs at the coffee shop
I was real cool and regular
like my iced tea people
watched the sun
and its effects on our skin
Now I am walking with the late crowd
cascading through deadened
sentences and flirtations
with shot glasses and lips
We are all happy and warm
grabbing the night with a full sprint
delighted to see the last days
of our cold and lonely winters

People Say We Kiss Like Bonnie and Clyde

2011-06-29T09:13:00.000-07:00

Urgent and violent
like red lights and sirens
with a hesitation
sickly reminiscent of mortality
because-

we know

this is our last-chance-to-do-something-
beautiful,

before the bullets bring us down
and the dust settles-

before you
hand me that shotgun
to light your cigarette-
to burn this place
to the ground.