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

Amber Corrine: 3/4

i don’t think that
odd numbers
ever got a fair shot before
they were separated
and cast adrift—
trapped with a name
that too often
is a synonym for wrong.

maybe i’m too sentimental
or maybe i can’t shake
the instinct to care
too much,
too soon,
but my luck
has always come from
the jagged, sharp
and odd.

in a panic,
i count up by odds.
the numbers on my tongue
now more familiar
than a friend's name.
three, five, seven, nine,
a spell that makes the room
stop spinning,
a chant that keeps my world from
darkening at the edges.

sometimes i wonder
if odd numbers ever
get tired of
having one part
without a match.
i wonder if they
feel lonely like I do,
even with a hand in my own.
i hope they know,
that even though they
can't split evenly
they're whole on their own.

and so am i.

Empty Rant; Empty Tangent (3/4)

"Grab life by the horns", they said.

But I missed. And that's because life doesn't have horns. 

Life isn't wild and variable, though yes, it is uncertain.

It is just as 'normal' and as mundane as most's - 

Not a bull  and it certainly is not ... ... 

The devil's in the detail. 

Well, he may very well be,

But why go looking for the devil?

Are you intending to advocate for him? 

Whatever can speak for itself, will.

God can speak, other people can speak

Victims can speak... 

And therein lies the true problem. 

Not that life is ~fill in the blank to create

whatever metaphor ~ 

Illusion 

Whatever you make it

Beautiful 

Lived only once so seize the day 

Worth living 

...

The problem is that words 

-The only constant -

Is downplayed. 

Its import, its essence 

Is lost on peoples who 

Take it for granted 

Believe that words and actions must correlate*

Believe they can change it to fit whatever context 

They find themselves in with the intention of 

Absolving themselves and/or blaming others. 

What words are 

Is power. 

Is creation. 

Is tangible. 

When people don't keep their promises 

Their words lose weight substance.

Lost of trust comes not just from action 

But inaction. 

First that fall comes from a promise which 

Is followed by more promises and lies and excuses 

And it comes to this: 

A promise isn't a promise unless it's explicit. 

That is a problematic mindset to enslave people to

And it is insidious for on the surface, of course 

One would expect that. An explicit promise is clear. 

However -it is why there exists so many words. 

It may have allowed one to make fewer excuses 

Thus saving mental prowess for creating lies for other 

More 'important' things. 

IE: Don't get your hopes up, we may or may not eat out later. 

Or: Depending on how I feel, we may get to go to your favorite restaurant later. 

But words matter. It's how we establish trust and build relationships. 

If all you have are possibilities, how would waiting for you benefit me 

In the present -and ultimately you, from the present to the future? 

A child becomes resentful or cynical or ambivalent towards fellow human beings

Because they have been conditioned to suppress their hopes and temper their expectations. 

A small thing for you, but missed meaningful opportunities nonetheless. 

Experience is 'the best' teacher but discussing with a child about expectations 

And not making our promises too vague enough to be excusable...subversive concept. 

As in, I would rather you not say anything, especially not prefacing it, thinking it would 

Buffer my disappointment and your responsibility --just admit that you don't respect me as a

Person. Empty words spoken often enough lose their intent. 

Carlos 3/4

Dispatches from the Future : 2018 Retrospect

That was the year the mirrors threw up on us
and likewise the self facing cameras collapsed into deep hibernations
and so it went, that the only way to feel beautiful
was to do things to make ourselves feel beautiful
was to find other people who would stare at you in a way that made you feel beautiful

That was the year the alarm clocks all leapt out the windows in unison
and marched down the streets and sang in a chorus
lead by the twirling baton of the Doomsday Clock
We started waking up when other people started calling our names
and if we were alone
we had to learn to listen to the sounds of our passions
stirring into a board frenzy
ripping apart our newspapers and throw pillows
begging for release into the outside world

That was the year of countless midnights
crawling out of the water
draped in plastic
fishbones windchimes rattling in their hair

The year our heroes and constellations fell like dominoes
and the night was dark dark dark
It was the beginning of an age without stars
and sacred cows
and so it went for a while
that we had no Gods or idols
That was the year so many of us set out
to scale the mountains and become the new beacons

That was the year we started to starve the algorithms
The year we unplugged

Of thousands of maiden voyages with no destination
of kingfishers in constant stampedes across the skies

It wasn't the year we broke the shackles
But it was the year we cataloged them
the year we went into our basements and opened up the boxes
dust, filling our sinuses
the year we went to our knees
to overturn the rocks
to sift through the mud to find them 

Metz 3/4

"Grace"

Desire, in the middle of a crescendo,
misread as
stacks of speakers, cables and pedals;
levers and knobs, electric pick ups
DISTORTION
all designed with my volume in mind

but

it's supposed to be a single note aloft after
covering this -
exposing that -
a soft breeze adjusted with my lips.
He doesn't know how to lift out the note;
To draw deep breath for four counts
and use full lungs to play
Pianissimo in timeless measures;
to breathe through something
that's not based on power;
To sight read the sheet music and understand
when to stop.

He's not watching the conductor and
     What a shame 
The conductor's not watching me.

Niall 2/4

But wont we die  

Relax and watch the point of no return slip by 

That ship in the night 

Sailing across the dappled black 

Surface of the sea 

Small faces in the port holes 

Looking out at the sinking sands 

Of what we call earth 

As the ship slips under the salty, shimmering 

Mass  

The band plays on and on and on 

The violin sounds like a cawing crow 

With the bow  

Skimming the strings  

In the fading glow 

Of the waxing moon 

The moon that controls the tides that now 

Know they have you 

Held close to a bosom 

As old as that old man 

And his sea 

Deeper into the ocean  

The hulking prow of the great steel tub 

Silently glides by 

The crepuscular, indifferent creatures 

Rising for a taste of that sweet umami  

 they can chase around the warmer currents 

Closer to the surface 

And perchance avoid the lolloping 

Tongues of them bigger fish 

In the small pond 

The ones that want 

To take advantage of the preponderance  

Of food 

Until there ain't no food left 

You know the ones 

Though the ship keeps sinking 

There seems to be no depths that can be plumbed  

And half of the passengers 

Are screaming at anything they can 

For resolution to the situation 

They have found themselves in 

But the tin can walls and cut price 

Cutlery cant respond 

To their calls for revolution 

So they shout at each other 

Until a boy's head explodes in bloody viscera 

And his busted and pulped brains 

Get on the meringues and blue cheese puffs 

Which are gulped down by the placid passengers 

Busy watching Toy Story 3 

On the broken televisual screens 

They haven't got a care or concern 

Except one mustachioed man  

With an undone tuxedo 

And a small piss stain on his pants 

Who says "is that Laura Derne? 

I think that's Laura Derne" 

But it's not Laura Derne 

The thin, soy milk drinkers 

Have formed a bloodthirsty band 

Of raiders 

Made up of Geography teachers 

And woke market traders 

And their hideout is in the galley 

Where they have been gathering 

Supplies and bartering on the black market 

With the carpet salesmen 

And fans of retro game  

'space invaders' 

And their leader 

A man in tweed with the look of a guy 

That just found a pristine saxophone reed 

Has been known to give special 

Consideration to the league of nations  

That has formed amongst the engine room 

Workers and chambermaids 

Who are all from the same country 

A rudimentary military  

Fighting under the flag of a 

Gravy stained table cloth  

Now occupy the north of the ark 

Though as it sinks into the dark 

No one is quite sure where that is 

Least of all the commanders or colonels  

Ostensibly in charge 

Regardless they forge ahead with 

A strategy to gain power 

In a coup d'etat  

With nomme de guerre ready 

They advance unsteadily,  

With a raison d'etre 

And creme brulee  

With their cafe au lait 

Past the eau de toilette 

They come vis a vis with a heretofore unknown quantity 

The captain 

In the heady hours since sinking 

The passengers and crew weren't thinking 

About who had piloted this doomed vessel 

Into the opaque depths 

That left them beset on all sides 

By buckling metal 

And sagging soufflés 

But here he is 

Romanov belly, 

Habsburg jaw 

Caligula mind 

He strides towards the rebelling plebs 

And docile slobs 

With purpose in his missteps  

And demands that hands are shaken 

While being broken 

And tied behind backs buckled 

By the weight of ignorance 

Suddenly, in the room 

'The meaning of this is what?' 

He announces rhetorically 

To everyone  

With his legs crossed as though 

Needing to wee 

Or trying to hide his boatswain's pipe 

The gathered masses lower their heads 

The band finally ceases to play 

After five hours of orchestral covers of the songs of Drake 

The captain sits 

Seated on a crate 

And makes ready to philosophize and deliberate 

On the current situation 

And impending fate 

He looks steadily into wavering eyes 

And gazes in particular at those of a child 

He coughs once, 

He seems to smile 

Everyone waits on tenterhooks 

Everyone from the waiters to the cooks 

The accountants in their suits 

To the skateboarders and models of shoes 

And finally he raises his voice 

In a baritone fit to soothe  

He gives everyone their final choice 

"We're all going to die you see, 

So if you have money 

Give it here and you can come 

Die in luxury with me" 

I wish I could say there is silence and hesitation 

One moment of contemplation 

But immediately there is a scramble 

Fits of violation 

Balled fists and torn clothes 

And children trampled as rows and rows 

Of people clamber 

For the precious few 

Places at the captain's table 

Disregarded are the weak and disabled 

in favor of the ruthless few 

And on goes the bloody feud 

As the ship fatally sinks  

out of view