Thanks for playing along at home!

1 month down and some new poems in your pocket. Here's to lookin' forward to the rest of 2018, folks.

Nicole, 4/4

The sun rises

The sun sets

Another day gone

Heads down

And when we wake up, there’s a new page on the calendar

Blink again

And another journey around the sun has us one year older

But we stay still

Not moving

Alive but barely living

Waiting for another year to pass

Waiting for something to come along

Always waiting for something else

Something that will give the passing time meaning

So that when we look back

We will see that it wasn’t all for nothing

That we did something good

That all those days and weeks and months and years that flashed before our eyes

Won’t be forgotten once we are

But we are still waiting

Always waiting

One More Day!

Whether you got 1 or 4 or 200 poems done this month, I think you got off on the right foot as far as kick starting your creative flow in 2018 goes. You got a little more than 24 more hours left to meet our benchmark! You can do it!

Niall 4/4

PaperTigers

Listening only to the timbre
And lull of the glottal stops
The nasal fissures
That provide a limited context
I thought was an argument
Until both men started laughing
And I walked on

Walked on to the cavern
By the old church that seemed
Out of place
In the undulating background
Of bars and cheap tricks
The swinging doors
Disintegrated in the
Disinterred night

The lady sat there
Legs folded as though
Cocking a snook
At the notion of modesty
She had an acid bath laugh
And spat like a sailor
But when she stopped talking for a second
A chasm of self-pity seemed to reach for her
And she would kickstart
And motor on through it
Like a speed boat
With a broken engine
On the precipice of a waterfall

There are no buildings out here
Just red neon crosses
Count your blessings or
Forget your losses
The metal rusts just like bones
That turn to dust
While hot white light drips
Into your open dire eyes
And the ground cracks
As though it is melting ice
All arrows point forward
But weren't you turned around?

Amber Corrine: 4/4

I think in another life,
I passed on through water.
Because the sea has cried out to me
since I was old enough to listen.

My mother was frightened
the first time I pressed my lips
to Lake Michigan.
I was surprised when I didn’t taste
salt in her kiss.

When I introduced myself to the sea,
She stole breath from my lungs.
Jellyfish stings like butterfly kisses
Hello hello--
You’ve finally made it.
Hello.

I used to leap into waves
with my father.
The only time he crashed
into something
other than porcelain.
Laugh ringing out,
instead of rage.
Smile disappearing
under sea-spray,
One hand an anchor on my elbow
the only time he didn't let go.

I wake with seabrine on my tongue.
Taste her salt in the water
that spills from my eyes.
Feel her ebb and flow
beneath my skin
as I try to catch my breath.

She calls me,
begging me to come home.
Ankles in frozen shallows,
I reach for her.
Maybe in this life,
she will let me walk away.

Don't know where I was going with this >.> (4/4)

The street was particularly clear
Tonight. It left me feeling inexplicably
Nervous.
There was no reason. I should’ve been
Happy there was no traffic as usual
Especially as I was in a hurry
My thoughts were filled with all the things I need to do
As soon as my mind cleared
It was too late.
I swerved the car hard to the left.
Brakes squealed.
Tires screeched.
Miraculously, we were both unharmed
I was particularly anxious
Because it was not my car
Any damage incurred, the repairs would
Have to come out of pocket.
Shaking my head,
Knowing I should consider her first
My eyes wandered the street
Inexplicable
Occurrences happened in stories
Not my story. Not to me
Not.My.Story
She appeared in front of my car.
I couldn’t recall any details.
I was staring right at her
I only knew it was a she
Nothing else.
Realizing she (shortened) the distance between us
I snapped out of it -
Threw it in reverse
And sped away.
I lived to fight another day
And there was no damage to the car.
I didn’t tell anyone this tale
Mostly because I would be admitting
To reckless driving.
I’m not responsible for what didn’t happen. 

Pj Metz 4/4

You can tell your story

You can tell us about the soft ride to work
A podcast or a song or a morning dj
The coffee that brewed black turned tan and kept you alert through lunch
The days tasks that are forgotten by next week.

You can tell us, "Oh you know, work" and we'll say,
"I hear that." and glass will plink and someone will sigh.
You can tear your napkin and wad up the wet parts and roll tiny pieces into tinier balls.
You can pick at a label until you're drinking ang__ o__h__d and stuffing it back in the empty bottle when you're done.

You can write it down. "Today I didn't eat right. The were donuts at the office. And one was strawberry. Dear diary you know how I feel about strawberry donuts.
"Today I didn't run far enough. I dunno, is it worth it? Dear diary please tonight Please respond."

You can do that. It's ok.

You can wake up and watch the sun's rays melt crayon wax all over your windshield and your eyes will cut between the cloud with its gray pink and the sun reaching up a visyana to the milky way and you might say

Maybe today.

Carlos 4/4

That was a world where everyone's Death lived with them

Some of our deaths were birds of prey

Owl, eagle, falcon, vulture

Or, if you were lucky, something tropical or a bird of paradise

with plumage the color of fireworks 

Rarer still were the songbirds 

chickadee, sparrow, blue bird 

Less like an alarm clock 

more like an appendage 

the birds were with us everywhere we went

and so we made space for them to perch

In the office, at the breakfast table, on the subway

It wasn't a world ever numb to Death

Imagine a crowd of strangers, 

dull grey condors and buzzards perched on each shoulder

and among them, one parrot with bright red and blue 

feathers bright like oil on water

bright like a holiday

Imagine the long walk home through the rice paddies

the sudden startling flock of magpies 

a hundred at once all flying homeward

which is to say away and upward

Imagine a quiet bus ride

the city, a monotonous forest of grey and tan

the rain, a television static 

maybe you'd forget about your bird for a moment

and then you hear it

the blessed whistling of a rare songbird 

something beautiful and easy to wound

What would you whisper to your bird, then? 

What of you would you train it to carry on its last flight

away and upward? 

Last Week!

Last week! Don't worry about comin' in late or dumping 2~3 poems at a time! Get 'em in there!

Nicole 3/4

There are empty places in my mind and soul

Spaces where you used to be 

And there are times that without warning,

Your memory fills those spaces again 

But I gently push you aside

Trying to make room for something new

And yet, the harder I try to forget 

The more often you slip into my thoughts 

Even in my dreams I can't escape

You follow me there, as if you've always been

And maybe always will be 

And even though I want you gone

I dread the day you are no longer there 

I dread the day I can no longer remember the sound of your voice, the feel of your breath, the smell of your skin 

Because the only thing worse than having you on my mind, 

Filling those empty spaces 

Is not remembering you at all 

Niall 3/4

At Beijing I is

Airport security
Ain’t no thing
Except when it extends
30 kilometers
To Tiananmen Square

The forbidden city
Draws more than just tourists to its
Majestic halls and walkways
The Great Leap Forward range
This is our new model Ming
Pale faced tourist spot lurker
He can go from 0-90 hsph in 60seconds
(That’s hate speech per hour)
When you refuse to join him
For an overpriced coffee in his cousins store
Lying Irish trash he called me
Get the fuck out my country he said
His English was good

Great Wall tour
Starts in a minibus
With an old, white man and
His Philippine wife
“Morning, I’m Australian.”
It’s 6:40 am
Is this how we’re greeting each other now?
“Morning I’m Irish”
It feels unwieldy in my mouth
Why am I thinking of whiskey and coffee?
Blah blah travel blah weather
Blah blah pollution blah politics blah
Blah so I just keep calling you Irish man?
What?
I’m still in the Great minibus of China
“Morning I’m Irish.. Niall I mean”
“I’m Bruce.”
No shit..

At that wall I dropped Bruce like a hot dumpling
Traded him in for a German named Rolf
Retired neurosurgeon
Sleek design
Slightly dicky engine
Traveling for 8 months alone
without airplanes even
Cargo ships, trains, coaches
Maybe the odd minibus
His v8 broke
At tower 20
Leaving me alone
To meet only 6 more people
On the old section
It really is great

Back at the
Chinese box courtyard hotel
My docile Austrian, Thomas
Has been switched out
For excessively young
Excessively talkative
Birmingham lass, Sophie
She knows everything in that
Early 20s way
She tells me she hasn’t eaten western food in 5 months
Between mouthfuls of chocolate bread
She lies in bed
Mouth breathing
until the security forces step in to save me
The Chinese police arrive
And she is made change room
Because male and female
Can not coexist in a room unmarried
(Not even in a hostel mixed dorm)
I didn’t even call them

Tiantandongmen
I could pay more
And enter the temple of heaven
But the sight of
Four old ladies
In ladybird red
Walking and laughing
Singing along to La Traviata
Free in the sun
And another group of old people
Old enough to have forgotten more horror than I have experienced
Singing joyously together
Is enough
The light from above
Touches us all
Each face golden
There is peace
In every dance step
Every glance
Every stone and branch
And as I leave
Enraptured
I think
I must tell others to come
Just don’t use the public toilets