Category: yearend poetry challenge
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Song for Her Majesty the Ex
We were legendary, dear, doubt it never King and queen of fourteen-liners and verse Time moves on, yet in the reflection of that moment Printed in books with our names . . . we were great How was it we lost admiration for each other? Competition? No. Complication. Life Got in our way of living.…
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But is it a Poem?
Do they call it a poem? It’s a poem. Does it look like a poem? It’s a poem. Read it. Relish it. Savor it in your mouth Savor it in your ear and in your heart. Does it feel like something real? More than Real? Does it drug you with its puissance? If you cried…
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An Altar for Julianne
we have no candlesneither an altar in our homeour sacred spaces all lie withinnot so much by choiceas by accidental embarrassmentof riches – a house too fullof banality to house the holy . . . yet how many hours we sendprayers into our hearts, upunto the heavens, out tomanifest the universe . . . tonight,…
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#86: Lost in the Stacks
surrounded by thirty-eight volumes of poetrydiverse as the centuries of art historyI prime my mind, heart, fingers, tonguefor this final lap around the verse-arenaBorges, Natalie Goldberg, and Leonard Cohencheer me on in echoes from beyond;Samuel Taylor Coleridge has broughthis ministry of frost, sailing a Dover thrift edition;Kit Stokes helps me navigate broken musicwhile my fingers…
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New Year
Prophet of Midnighthe was torn asunderat the Solstice, dismembered and disemboweledby seven sisters dancing to Orpheusand the Muses – then sewn back togetherby one-hundred paradisal virginsdawn of that next day . . . but the parts – more than one sacrificewas disarticulated on the altar of their ire –his left arm black, rightmongoloid; left leg…
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81
the internet keeps warning usbut common sense demandswe remain skeptical – and yet . . .strange to think, in light of current events –Russians in Ukraine, Zion in Gaza,the rest of the world posturing in protest . . .somehow the world goneberserk . . . war any moment, evenhere, might break out. perhaps littletremors, perhaps…
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#79: After Lisel Mueller
Tonight I Cry You a Song This Decemberwithin this house no windblows but the heat pump outsidewe have no trees in the yardsave a Japanese maple onlythirty-eight inches high these eight yearssome old story in a poetry bookwith its ancient begettinglays me down to snore . . .but I awaken to nightfor we are night…
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Poem 74
it’s the time of night – morningfour a.m. I would feed heradminister 11 units of insulinand treasure her while she was here she is gone – the insulin passed onto someone whose dog still needsbut here I am, parsing out foodfor our Sparky and the grand-dog tears won’t wash my soul of thisand I haven’t…
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Sax Sells: Challenge Poem #72
Sax in Every Room not enough has been writtenwill ever be written – can wordseven approximate a just figurefor the saxophone? smoothas no other measure of smoothdefinitive of cool in musicsacross the spectrum: blues, jazz, rockclassic, fusion, ska, etc, and futureperhaps we should includea full golden album of saxophoneon the next exploration droneshot into forever,…
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Flour Tonic: Poem #68
I am a grease firesmokey and volatiledo not cast your waternor douse me withthe wrong extinguisherI will blow up in your faceor spread throughout your lifeand consume everythingI can touch with lick of flameor heat or smoke or stenchyour best betwas to smother mebefore you movedbeyond the introduction dmpitchford 12/28/2023
Fringemonkey Scribbles 