Emotional Dentures

Washington’s 

were made of lead and ivory

human and animal teeth

opposed to popular belief

none were wood 

which rots

i don’t want worms 

even in my artificial feels

for an extra perk

i brush between meals

and only wear mine to work

Salad Days

from salad days and nights

to paunchy steak potatoes wine

to salads once again

until they put the coins on mine

cucumbers and carrots for my eyes

brussels sprouts for skin

stairs and hills for heart and ass and thighs

throw the junk food in the bin

you have to choose your food and fights

there are those you will not win

until they knock out all my lights

i’ll chew and take it on the chin

Movie Crush

one minute we were flying

cool autumn air stroking

our naked bodies side by side

over the forests of my childhood to

a safe secret glen where we made

excited love laughing in the leaves

the next i was waking stinking

sweat beaded on my forehead

from warm summer sun leaking

through broken blinds

in my cramped apartment i ate

stale cereal watching television and

that movie you are so funny in

True Wealth

below this inspiration light as air

the undercurrent of an anxious threat

contending with the joy of artifice

material existence would forget

the souls that cry for something deeper still 

in any hour or minute they can spare

delve deep in search of riches to fulfill

those bright desires whose value is most rare

to those who sleep awake in work and toil

cast off your sloth and dig into the soil

Bargaining

this water inside springs 

splashes past rippling implications 

mirrored atmospheric perturbations 

an awe awakening wake

moving moments memory

cold currents plunging

attempts made by halting hands

somewhere deals made

some when decided

some wish made

low skies low demands

where the offer still stands

Fast Dog, Lazy Fox

red claret nostrum swam his head

luxated timing worn with time

fine jackleg finery vague remains

the quick clip of fastidiousness betrayed

golden lit harp string 

echoes in the rain 

plucked offering heartbeat 

twang bow split twain

and again split 

between bleating old 

and zealous new 

still hind hounds will bite at heels 

roll over play dead or tame

alpha teeth on alpha neck 

alphabetical blame 

Year One

It’s officially been one year since I began this blog. The anniversary snuck up on me, which is why this post is coming two days later instead of on the day itself. 

My objective in creating this blog was to further my writing practice and improve by setting aside time every day to create one original work of poetry. I set the following rules for myself:

1. I was not allowed to use a poem, or part of a poem, I had previously written. It all had to be newly composed in the same day and posted before midnight.

2. Once the poem was posted, I was not allowed to change it or add to it except to correct errors of spelling, grammar, or the most basic formatting (font size and type) for ease of readability. This was to keep myself from obsessing, and to not be overly precious with each individual poem.

3. I was not allowed to take a day off from writing unless there were extenuating circumstances.

There were a few times when I missed a day over the year (maybe 4 or 5), but I always made up for it by publishing an extra poem or two. By the end of the year there were 400 posts, with well over 365 of them being poems.

So What Now?

I haven’t been writing for anyone but myself. Posting the poems to this blog was just a way to keep myself honest. And honestly, I don’t have very many readers. For those of you who’ve stuck around, I hope you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read, and that you will keep coming back. You have my deep and heartfelt thanks.

Starting August 27th, I’m going to continue writing and posting a poem a day. The same rules I set for myself at the outset will still apply. There are days I don’t want to write, and the resulting poems sometimes suffer for it, but it’s always ultimately worthwhile for what I learn in the writing.

In addition to a poem a day, for at least the next year, I am also going to post a weekly writing project. The work will be something I develop over the course of each week in addition to my daily poems, that I then publish every Saturday. It might be a poem, but it will more likely be a work of short fiction or an essay. The goal is to create a weekly series of 52 short-term projects that are generally more thoughtful and artful than the daily posts. I will post the first of these on Saturday, August 27th.

So, here's to another year of creative experimentation! I’ll let you know if additional creative projects develop.

Thanks again to my dedicated readers. This is part of my daily writing practice, but it means so much to me that you read and share. I hope my writing enriches your day even if only a little.

Be good to each other.

MS

Cryptic

alabaster crumbles leaving behind 

white dust covering the ground

at the noseless statue’s feet 

a finger traces messages profound 

but incomplete 

they are from the hollow cradle 

of warm earth’s womb 

beware 

and so forth 

the bear and her cub 

by the hunter pursued

whose tracks the bull erased 

before the twins 

and so on 

all sunk in a sealed stone sepulcher 

at the bottom of the sea 

search for this 

and look for me

Teaching Important Life Skills To My Sons

measured by the blazing eyes of sons

this bookish board gaming nerd kneels

and builds the kindling box of crisscrossed sticks 

and lends extended breath to bolster fire

feeding flames with broken branches

brandishes a pocket knife to carve sharp skewers 

demonstrating patience roasting slow

how to achieve crisp caramelized skin 

on a marshmallow

Recipe For Summer Peace Of Mind

add the smell of honeysuckle

wild flowers sweet grass

a cool draft blown through

the windows of a car at speed

hand dolphin in invisible waves

frog and cricket song

a cool bed a night breeze

aged in a human heart

best served by experience

Itchy Night In The Country

all the spiders we cleaned from the cabin

made their way out of the waste paper bin

venturing deep in the forest to speak

with the shadows that live near the creek

hear them whispering out in the darkness

as we lay shaking and longing for sleep

lamps blazing to ward off cold phantom hands

and the skittering eight-legged creep

Costume

it’s impossible to exercise only

a part of a phantom self

when the whole soul is one 

shaking bed sheet afraid

woven of so many manifestations

that a frayed thread pulled

takes apart the whole 

unhallowed ghost

The Changeling Home

that amoeboid house

absorbing failed desire consuming whims

freely trading walls for extensions then

areas enclosed for resource hoarding

reached full form in social fits

barely surviving its architect’s death

burst insides and faulty wires

ornamented with rusting butterflies

ending small and flat and dark

succumbs to its wild environs

and transforms again

Ember

after a red sun

breathes its last

treasure glanced 

in the arrows' fire

Migrant

when the land is your land 

i am a stranger now forever

but my hands at your work

are familiar enough

 

rise again with ancient dawn 

slowly worms turning 

over in fecundity

key the tractor ignition

looking horizonward into red sun

teeth grinding already grit 

the taste of engine grease

the oily belch the blinding screech 

running forward over the 

chastity of earth bursting forth fresh 

grown corn hears a future sizzle

fried chicken faithful friends 

continual cries of all the hens 

and the solitary rooster fed

crows remain unafraid

strawman upstanding in the golden grain 

honey running in the apiary  

at dusk farm fields smelling of shit

dinner tables steam in tired silence

all you have but do not possess

and i wash dirt from my hands 

outside at the spigot boots in mud 

wind in sweat black hair

my shaky legs and barking soles

now walking down that way

down that way

Echoes

how does one speak 

beyond the voices of others

at the end of the echoes of my past

looms the threat of my own

a phantom ripple of those before

an emulation of a simulation

of a story twice ten times told

what is it i am 

as echoes fade

as i grow old

this body told me

once

After Surfing The Web For Peter Birkhäuser

directionless unconstrained imagination 

with shining teeth tears into memory 

glutted on the blood of dreams undreamed

crazed it stands before the canvas of the eye

the purest artist 

it paints 

monsters in the dark

Two Cents

blasted faster than a flex stands

branded last the palm of both hands

chained and feeling like a free man

broke month but hauled in four grand

spent on rent and checks sent 

resources leeched without a red cent

double fisting my drinks just to seep up

the doublethink needed to keep up

half crazy and anxious getting bills paid

civilization the game the player gets played

Enemy

where have the enemies gone

no longer looming

in vast ideological ships of meaning

making pod copies

alien to an old sense of justice

no longer sinister fingers

poised over world ending

glowing red button klaxons sounding

children curled up under desks

existential safety theater practice

for the ending cloud

over and under my skin crawling

it’s impossible to emerge whole

scorched earth oceans of blood

chasing the offender

for amputation

Wild Witness

wind gives forests breath

whose myriad green tongues shush

urging rapt remark

The Hollow

when a young pliable mind

meets the cauterizing drill of insult

the tissue heals around the wound

ever after every experience echoes 

in the shape of that chamber

taking on the tinge of pain

Sharks

cornucopian conglomerations 

regarded past passions as

indivisible irreversible irrevocable 

not what revolutionary means

here in the land of the free you can

just say you are and be 

but forgetting spins in our veins 

built in the founding fathers’ fall

we forget

that is our hell

the fiery playground merry-go-round 

the rope history skips 

like a record

rewrite rewritten history twice transcribed

the crossed off crossed out 

fifty states stations of the cross 

you say you want a constitutional convention

well you know

conservative editors will 

have wet dreams

the fucking flies jerking 

off in the ointment

sickness sequestered living room aglow

waiting for breaks between the commercials

this season sharks come ashore

walk around like no one notices 

pretending to be people

oh that dorsal fin runs in my family 

yeah rare mutation 

oh the fifteen rows of teeth 

just coincidence

(the better to eat you with my fucking fricassee)

don’t forget to vote and when you do

vote for me

Grist and Grit and Gleam

the tin can battle of garbage pail kid

inheritor cardboard collector

up in the dark past bedtime

late night of the transistor radio

playing down on the corner the kids 

breakdancing breaking their legs

on 

then whoa ragdoll

off 

skateboards

and laughing and free five years old

he rode the stone dolphin

in the waves of wind 

cold night forever 

the overpass passed over and the lights went out 

we can count on one hand the times 

you fed us from the

coarse grey sand 

washed from the

the bottoms of our feet now

clean of dirt and rocks and skin

are we lit do we light 

and then travel as fast photons make 

the world brighter and the radiation 

is the green of her eye on 

a grinning pistachio sun

Life Like Glove

beyond where your birth

meets your inception your name

was already known