april 6 . Hurricane John

A storm is coming,
swift and strong.
He sends leaves fluttering
adrift with his breath;
his gaze sends a shiver
down the spine of a song;
and the touch of his hand
brings a subtle death.
She is right to run,
with the leaves, and the doe;
and to fear the distance
invading her shore.
If she ran from the beach,
she might avoid the throes
of a life less ordinary.
But she wanted more.


ekphrastic poem prompt from: annie liebovitz' "pocahontas"

april 5 . exhibition

sometimes 
i like to dance naked
from the shower
to the bedroom, and
flaunt my power
all through the kitchen,
just twirling and skipping and
watching my fat wiggle,
using my arms as maracas,
feel them jiggle 
like jello,
freshly molded,
light and springy.
i like to crack the blinds, just a little,
like to twist that little adjuster thingy
so the slant is sufficient 
for me to see out
and the lights to see in
so far as i let them.
and oh, will i let them--
front row, center stage
for my stretchmarks, like
shooting stars;
my round belly that could,
with a single rub, soothe a war;
for breasts that float
like hot air balloons;
and these goddess' thighs
that will butter you up;
don't dare avert your eyes.


sometimes
i like to dance naked
and i want you to watch.

april 4 . the neighbors moving out

it's so bizarre, how
one day i am listening to them
bang against the wall and
laugh raucously at 2am;
and the next,
the Budget truck is stuffed full
of dining chairs and
paperbacks, battered pillows
and floor lamps;
the window's naked again,
finally,
and the carpet can breathe,
though it coughs,
for the dust;
the walls can expand
and the fridge can chortle
without being smacked
for acting out.
the dwelling place
my neighbors left
is rising up in exaltation,
free at last,
free at last.
until the next ones come
parading in,
pretending this space
belongs to them.

april 3 . partly underground

the basement apartment
we both wanted to live in
swelled and loosened
with the incoming flood.
i had no other choice
but to run.




***
I would like to register my protest against today's poetry prompt; a poem title "partly_____" is unimaginative, and I think predisposes itself to bad poetry.  So I cannot be held responsible.


Go here for a poem that tickled my fancy today: http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Want-To-Share-Erotic-Poetry/453824

DORK poetry

side note:
i have found dorkier poetry
than i will ever write.


http://www.dorkpoetry.com/

april 2 . ice queen

in a t-shirt and panties

on a friday night

in front of the television,

chomping on ice--

sucking on it to melt it down,

cracking it slowly with my molars,

rolling it along my tongue, and then

biting down one last time before it disappears

      i am reminded of 

a night out at the bar

      amidst peeled-off yuengling labels

      and furtive glances

trying to sober up by drinking

another glass of ice water

      i am reminded of

what a beautiful man told me 

as he listened to me bite
and break and swallow:

      i read somewhere

      that chomping on ice is

      a sure sign of

      sexual frustration.

after this encounter

i complied with a 

cease and desist

on all ice eating endeavors

out of spite           --and maybe denial.

but tonight i am feeling

reckless,

so i may destroy

every last 

crystalline cube

in the place.

april 1 . why do i eat here every day?

the restaurant is

               mariachi

           and

sizzle

      and

           crunch, scrape

            and

you will never believe what i am doing tonight.

        and

in the middle of this is

                              idle glare

                                        and 

                                          salt on the table

                        and

             pages           flipping.

in all this noise,

all i can hear is              the silence

      of the boy and girl                      across from me;

               she is reading,

                  he is staring at the television,

                             or at the table beside mine,

                                               or over his shoulder.

she looks up at him like

         she can't figure out how she ever--

                                                            i mean, really, ever--

got tangled up with this guy.

                 i watch her lungs expand,

                                             heavy with irony

               as she rolls her eyes back around

to her stained and yellowed

romance novel.

just          sizzle

              and

           crunch, scrape

        and 

the turning of

another page.

introduction

So, I haven't been writing for a while; this is my vehicle to return to writing.  I will be doing the poem-a-day prompts from this website: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/.  I will write one poem every day through the entire month of April and would like to continue on afterwards.  I make no promises after April, but I shall try.  (Thanks to Travis (Once-A-Year Poet) for the blogging inspiration.)


Welcome to my little experiment... and it IS an experiment.  I am going to feel 100% free to deviate from my normal style and tone.  This is a forum for exploration and breaking free--which may mean--sorry to say--utter shite.  Or pure gold.  I guess we'll find out. 


Please feel free to leave comments and/or suggestions, and please also understand I may not care.  Although, kind notes are always appreciated.


:o)


Thanks for stopping by.  I hope you find something you enjoy!


-Lindy / the dork poet