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Monday, 5 December 2016

The tale of the schlemiel (121 of 365)

Welcome to day 121 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day schlemiel meaning: "a stupid, awkward, or unlucky person."

The tale of the schlemiel 

Good day sir said the schlemiel 
Good morrow replied the fat reprobate 
They strolled on each to their own business 
the schlemiel could not connive why such beautiful trees bloomed by the river
He tipped his hat down to the mayors wife Lillian, who strode across the bridge
The schlemiel being fond of 
Wide bosoms trailed behind
Unbeknownst of her small-town nobility
Good day, gleefully he sang
She replied being dour and cheeky
She had him if only for her jealousy
Reprobate husband
Who happened to stroll by 
In the meadow two blonde
Souls nestling about 
The schlemiel looked up and saw despairs 
Lillian crooned and smiled mischievous 
The schlemiel fled 
The reprobate chastised the woman
So they say but others say 
She crushed him beneath her pleasantness and constant indifference.

LSD (120 of 365)

Welcome to day 120 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day penny-farthing meaning: "a type of bicycle with a large front wheel and a much smaller rear wheel."

LSD

Projections of ghosts fill the horizon
Chords of light wail and yawn
Dispensing lasers divide and carve the flailing crowd 
The embryo of boiling life 
Gestating within the smouldering scampish urethral track
I am the excreta of s profound hallucinogenic God
I am the many armed demon of destiny Vishnu
I am the shifting of cerebral hemispheres
I am the lobotomised robotomised
Host of internal Polaroids
That snap and crack onto my brain
With pulse pounding precision
There are flashes in the dark
Whether from the strobe or my synapse 
Shooting dopamine
Shooting norepinephrine
Shooting serotonin

The air dances with fire flies the burst out of rotating finger nails
And the mouths of the crowds 
Entangle and fold into each other's
Like grotesque fleshy butterflies
Unicorns are born here
Penny farthings speed over rainbow laser roads 
Rotating rotors roar like propellers 
From trees that bloom pink and green on the blushing ceiling 

Pound pound pounding
Of the heart and soul 
Race for equilibrium 
The colours the colours 
Where am I...
What am I...
What 

Cervid (119 of 365)

Day 119 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Cervid meaning "a mammal of the deer family."

Cervid

Hung drawn and quartered 
The deer stood before its reckoning
The rifle at the ready
The scope saw destiny
Caught between the cross-thatch
One violent shot rings out
It sears like lightning
The thing is undone
And prised apart 

Thousands of miles away 
In marble halls with marble knives
Venison passes ones lips
They laugh as the blood trickles down their throats 
Like century old vintage.

Thursday, 1 December 2016

Escalator (118 of 365)

Day 118 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day officious meaning: 
"being annoyingly eager to do more than is required."

Escalator

No I don't agree
Fuck you fuck the point
I can't 
No you don't understand it's impossible not in my language 

Screw you dog piece of dirt
The choice is yours to make 
Back off or get lost 
Words can sting
My words will leave behind a shrill belch irradiating your ears

I hate you
I hate this place
I hate these angry words
Back off you're ruining this
I didn't do anything 
I never do anything
It's always you who 
Fucks it all up 

You're rotten 
You're officious 
You're better forgotten
You're useless
A pansy, a faggot 
You're a cunt

Words have a curse and a ring
I hope your spine caves in 
With all this 
I hope you die
I hope you go to hell
I know you're a coward
No one could say these things if they weren't true

These grotesque things are all justified 
You made it so 
You deserve it
I deserve to say what you are 
You are nothing 
I will make you nothing 

I will reduce and define 
Until there is nothing left that is you
Just the acid sting of slurs.

Dandenong (117 of 365)

Day 117 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day munificent meaning "very generous."

Dandenong 

The hills are dotted white
With tiny flower stems 
Lost in green banks of moss

There is a solemnity 
In the gardens the slow drip of
Water like a broken faucet 
Spring is here in the bright
Purple of the jacaranda 
Spring is here in the red and pinks of the posies
Spring is here in the flowers in the bridesmaids hands 
The thorns draw some blood 

There is no breeze
But the sky is clear and glad
The trees appear huddled together
Into a cosy bouquet 
A small water course trickles 
Down a procession of trees
Gathered as if in ceremony
How many years have the taller ones known whose boughs span more than ten arm spans across
There presence is munificent 

This place is best without people
It is best without the sound of car engines and the stomp of feet
The roof of the Forest with its broad deciduous leaves 
Is like a stained glass window 
This is a cathedral here 
The silence is beautiful 
Beneath this glorious canopy
The red dirt is regal

This is peace.

Roast Lamb (116 of 365)

Day 116 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day largesse "liberality in bestowing gifts".

Roast Lamb

I can smell Sunday 
The sweat of potatoes sweet and salted
The honey scent of carrots in sparkling oil and 
soft pumpkin hungry for my tongues caress

I see the dour sweaty faces 
Around the table
Hands are pawing and trailing grease
The lamb itself innocuous and bland
Then it is wreathed in all of its finery and the table is spilling with plates and the largess of it all
Makes my belly ache

I watch the thick butcher knife
Slice open the lamb
The pink bloody flesh is inside
It calls to me 
I feel the fibres of its beautiful 
Death on my tongue 
The flavours of salt and the blood wine in my throat

The cooling mint sauce refreshing with a hint of vinegar
The bloating continues
The potatoes grow cold
The peas roll off my plate 
Onto the floor the gravy forces my t-shirt to bulge as I transform
Into a sloth
Laughter is drowned by food
Talking of wide grotesque lips
Drowned in wine and flesh and blood
My cracked lips stained blood red
With red red wine. 

Iconoclast (115 of 365)

Day 115 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day iconoclast meaning: "someone who attacks cherished ideas or institutions."

Iconoclast 

You must serve the greater good
You must persevere against spittle rebuke and condescension
You must decide to be better
You must

You must avoid staples of vulnerability
You must stare cold and straight
You must ignore your suffocating anxiety 
You must

You must conquer insurmountable dread 
You must have courage 
You must have a strong stomach 
You must beat them down
You must crush them if they do not listen
You must

You must forget everything else
You must realise nothing else is relevant
You must beat and hurt and punish
You must succumb to violence
You must be violence
You must avoid the impulse to self destruction 
You must project self assurance
You must do the impossible
You must remove anything from you
Which will not assist.

You must.