Violent Collisions (112 of 365)

Day 112 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day cabalistic meaning "a way of saying “secretive,” but with negative connotations."

Violent Collisions 

Red as night 

I was more oh so more

The food and dance and drink

I was more than words

I was more than I could taste or bare

I was more

The pounding of the night 

The synth rhythms 

The Jazz and the strings on guitars

Were scintillating 

Secrets danced in hidden alcoves

Scents of mine and others mingled

It was a chase

I was a predator

I was perfect in the night

With eyes distilling this essence

This freshness that cut through the cold

I was the warm throng in the mosh pit

I was the blooming curiosity of youth

I was the objectified 

The objective

Fervent beats and sweat 

Reduced to cabalistic innuendo

The tap of my heels

On dried carpets 

And beautiful star canopies

And tequila and glass tumblers

In our soft nubile hands 

The grace of my breast 

The kiss of the wind 

And the embrace of lust and longing and wrongness

Violent collisions 

And gasping whore notes

Punctuate my mind

The blood shooting through me 

Like a monkey in heat

The fire of my energised soul 

Is a super weapon ripping apart all the night 

I bask and stare out over the city 

I know it is all mine 

And I am more and 

I want more and I am satiated 

And I am ravenous and lustful and forever doomed to be forever wandering consumed in this fleshy 

Prison as Queen of the colour drained night.

Violet Town (111 of 365)

Day 111 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day calumny meaning "a false accusation of an offence."

Violet Town

Through the reeds and 

Beyond ploughs

Through fields of shorn cane

Where wind tickles daisies, sunflowers and rhododendrons 

I met my first love in Violet Town

I recall the vivid colours 

Of the basket she carried

With strawberries to the quaint 

Market by the creek that was blue

In all the yellow and brown

Spring had become her 

The scent of pollen buzzed

In my heart and tall tractors

Wove perfumes of grass and grease and grasshoppers chirped

There was the yowl of a grouchy elder of the town she was miserly and sallow and short as a barrow

There was also a balding grocer by the name of Kent he had wares that he sold and lent 

There was a collective yawn 

On the wooden stoops of the town

There was a collective curiosity as cars drove down the cracked solitary road and drove on and away drawing exhaust over the flowering fields of violet gerberas and posies

It's wheels spinning on into the horizon

It is knotted in my memory and heart like frayed twine 

I recall days of pleasant nothing 

The name continues to emote something, which claws at my innards and causes me pause and regret

I still recall the tears on her solemn cheeks 

From the calumny I spat upon her and that town 

Whose character I could not comprehend

Even so...

Time's wheels are not kind to Violet town

Time's wheels have spun me on

Time's wheels have turned its back on this place 

The world's colours are neon 

The world's colours are ill-suited for flowers 

The world is ill suited for girls bearing strawberries and hand thatched baskets

I fear the world is not one for Violet Town

I fear only my nostalgia is at home in this place 

It invents and imposes itself upon the cracks and groaning sorrow

Of untold droughts and neglect

Of the forgotten craft of smallness and neatness and earnestness 

It is lost and hollow

The faces are new but are old

The land is haggard and dying

The wooden boards once lacquered and watered are now dry like the bones of a drying fly beaten carcass.

Names will never Hurt me (110 of 365)

110 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day presage meaning: "a foreboding about what is about to happen."

Names will never Hurt me 

He wasn't sure what to say

The words never came

He couldn't take it back

The vile things and shame

She was torn asunder

Her heart was ripped into pieces

She was scornful and changed

Her feeling of presage 

His concerns were unmet

His disdain cast a heavy shadow

He was forever defensive

He would not wake clean tomorrow

She believed nothing from before

Her world was only the biting present

She foretold a future of turmoil 

Her mind was bent on resentment

He could not bring himself to apologise

His mind broken as it was

He could not recognise wrong 

His days ahead were alone.

Seven (109 of 365)

Day 109 of 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day inure meaning: "To inure is to get used to something difficult or unpleasant."

Seven

Seven chants I'll never dare

Six brides I'll inure to 

Five galaxies to explore  

Four minds-eyes

Three dimensions of love and pulp fiction

Two realms of misbegotten deeds 

One final bastion for this poem

Two yawning chasms of despair

Three eggs to crack 

Four gorgon states of hate

Five manipulated bureaucrats typing

Six fatalistic children crowning

Seven lines I'll never dare.

Marmalade (108 of 365)

Day 108 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day meaning grandiloquent: "is a fancy term for, being fancy or pretentious. In fact, you might say grandiloquent is itself a pretty grandiloquent word."

Marmalade

Hearth sombre marmalade 

Grandiloquent and oozing 

Toast and toasting

Mornings and midnight 

Spread it thick 

Spread it slathering and dripping

Peel and teasing 

Pulp and candy 

Honey and orange and lime and cherry 

Laughter became the moisture 

The jam jars reflected golden 

Marmalade delights 

Longing and suspension as the suspension hung like a hungry lolling tongue dripping down 

My throat. 

Abstruse (107 of 365)

Day 107 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day abstruse: "Abstruse things are difficult to understand because they are so deep and intellectually challenging. It might be hard to figure out how a toilet flushes but the technology that goes into making the Internet function is abstruse."

Abstruse 

I peered at her like I would an 

Andy Warhol

So transparently poised 

Books will be written 

Which may get close to that

Singularity 

There was a wicked Mona Lisa curl of her lips 

There was androgyny

In her outfit the denim jeans 

And the bowl of her hat 

I paused and thought at the nature

Of things and stared at 

Our images between tall columns 

The passing shadows 

Became an impressionist canvas

Of wailing Spring colours 

There we were indecipherable

I wanted to scream out 

Like black splattered upon a canvas

There was such a pleasant rose garden void between the two of us

But strangers were all we were

And would ever be.

Survivor (106 of 365)

Day 106 of the 365 day poem challenge.

A topic I often encounter and dwell on. I want to introduce a word, a familiar word, to everyone's vocabulary. If you know anyone experiencing family violence or domestic violence, they are a survivor not a victim. 

It's easy to forget how much strength and courage it takes to survive constant denigration puts down physical and mental. These people who survive they somehow rise above all of that. Hence the title of today's poem.

Word of the day extant meaning: "still in existence; not extinct or destroyed or lost."

Survivor

I want to drown 

Crushed by the hopeless

Resolve of the hopeful

There is a pincering

Syringe that burns hot ice

Inside of me 

The burning is peace beside

The sound of my scalp smashing

Against the tiles

But no one hears 

I might as well be drowning

There is a dark pleasure in

Feeling my useless flailing arms 

Beat against steel cruelty

And the iron lungs of grotesque

Laughter shrieking doom and death

I can't wait for death 

I pray for it 

I might as well drown

Deep in the wide vast needle sea

And feel the blood and the sting of infection and the pounding in my head and my blood 

I am become a wailing banshee

My animal howls 

Have disfigured me I am choking on ugliness and misconception

And the contempt of the outside 

But the inside is so cold and alone and I might as well drown

No noise can enter hear

No plea can leave here

No light can enter my darkness 

I want to drown 

Crushed within my own 

Darkest turmoil 

I want to drown 

And take the world burning down

With me 

There is so much power 

In my lovely bones 

There is so much only I know

I have the knowledge 

Of doomsday 

I am a witness of life and death 

I am extant 

I am sinking down

And it feels like falling with style 

The cold water of anxiety burns like acid should 

But I am numb and

I might as well drown.

Before the Bench (105 of 365)

Day 105 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Inimical: " not friendly."

For all you non-lawyers out there "the Bench" is a reference to a Judges bench.

Before the Bench 

Idly I doubted 

Idly I pounded my head 

Idly I demanded more

Idly I paused considered 

Discerned 

A miasma of competing 

Anxieties rose up to meet me

Possibilities formulating and stewing inside of me

Idly I watched the decision be made

Idly I sit on my hands

Idly I blush red in fear in rage 

Embarrassed 

Must my hands fidget

Must this room compress in on itself

Must there be so many eyes positioned upon me

Idly I ensure my demise

Idly I listen to orators 

Idly I flap my lips

Idly I turn the cheek

Foolishness 

Must it be so inimical 

Must this be my turn

Must I subjugate myself before

Authority 

Must I condemn myself to impotence  

Idly I draw my body down

Idly I kiss the earth and cross

My heart and hope to die.

Voyager (104 of 365)

Day 104 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day azimuth meaning: "the horizontal angle or direction of a compass bearing."

Voyager 

The stars are so vast and distant

I am a Captain

You are a supernova erupting

Beyond my finger tips

Beyond time 

The quasars pull you in

The impossible destination

I cross to reach you

Starward through cosmos 

Past milky galaxies and nebulae

Into interstellar space and beyond dimension and beyond form

And beyond comprehension 

And beyond gravity compression 

My love has the supreme gravitational vortex of a black hole

The centre of all your matter is drawn cloyingly and uncomfortably 

Claustrophobic onto me and upon me and inside of me 

And the stars are not enough 

And the Suns are sweet perfume and nectar and they are you

And I am lost in this purple pink fluorescent phosphorescent haze of brilliance and you are shimmering and erupting once more

And I am so close

But your smouldering super nova heat will consume me and

I feel my heart and soul and the stars burning apart

I feel the beautiful heat vaporising me

As your passion etches a deep eternal trough into the void 

Now I am forever burned into its tapestry and I am dust beside you

I am dust 

My celestial trajectory is ended and my azimuth is 

Commingled with you.

Functions (of love) (103 of 365)

Day 103 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day raison d'être meaning: "the most important reason or purpose for someone or something's existence."

Functions (of love)

I am a function of you

Your world views are functions 

Of my self and a collective conscious

Which are functions of other functions 

I function and am apart

But function implies you must be there

You are my function 

How might I have function if not for you

My function is unclear

Unless defined 

A function is our relationship 

Is a relationship 

Please give me function 

What am I without function

Existentially of course 

I may not function 

But yet have function 

I may not function with you

But function with the earth and clouds and the water

And with spoons and forks 

And various other tools utensils

And gizmos 

Functions are fascinating 

But ill conceived and abstract things 

You give me function

You are my raison d'être

My primary basis 

This justification

This task this purpose 

This goal this premise 

This consequence this outcome

This solace this peace

This impermeability this infinity

This function.

Monkey suit (102 of 365)

102 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day ping meaning: 

"A computer networkadministration software utility used to test the reachability of a host on an Internet Protocol (IP) network, and to measure the round-trip time for messages sent from the originating host to a destination computer and echoed back to the source."

Monkey Suit

It takes a great deal more

It takes a great mind 

Not some monkey suit

Most ought keep this in mind lest they rewind 

Some have passion for it

Others acquire the skills unwilling

Not some suited monkies

Most are not apt or willing 

Some drink away displeasure

Others mope and moan in equal measure

There monkey suits are wrung out

From tears and crushed memories, their treasure 

It takes soliloquy and ponderance

To become great and remarked 

A monkey suit is but a mask

It is not a matter for which an answer may be asked 

Heroes are forged in obscurity 

Toil creates great things 

A monkey suit alone misleads 

This poem at lasts ends and pings.

(To you web browser)

The rocks on a Friday afternoon (101 of 365)

Day 101 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day paroxysm meaning: "a sudden attack or outburst of a particular emotion or activity."

The Rocks on a Friday afternoon 

The camera man chops another piece of history

My aching blisters tear at my heels

The wind stirs teasing the commuter, spectators and Friday revellers

The pavement riddles and confuses cracking underfoot 

The trees sway under a sweet cool caress 

The bridge towers solemn proud and rusted 

The jogger jostled past his pack swinging uncomfortably left to right 

The cab driver parks in the centre lane ignores the chorus of horns behind him

The men on their iPads keep their eyes down and move forward blindly 

The quiet streets hope for more use and pray all the same to remain undisturbed

The basketballers twist and spin and toss to pumping anthems 

The dog walker raced to catch her exuberant hound

The folk sit in and out of the pubs

Checking their friends, phones and mouths 

The elderly gent stands confused on the corner clumsily clutching his mobile 

The tunnels echo peace and serenity and magnitude 

Friends wave, colleagues chant, acquaintances are met and drawn near 

The young man sits in a park watches the spring leaves fall

The young women saddle about with their bright hand bags 

The lone motor cycle weeps at the sight of the water

The aged stone stand still stiff and confused a century is a second to it

A paroxysm strikes me down between the mundane road signs and the towering pylons and the gates of harbour and water.

Tribute to a Special Girl (100 of 365)

Day 100 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Well three digits :) we are here more than a quarter through, less than a third and only one day after trump was elected president too.

Word of the day diaphanous meaning: 

"so thin as to transmit light."

Tribute to a Special girl 

I love being soggy in the rain

With you 

I love feeling angry and tired 

I love these unfortunate fortunate memories of ours 

I love it when you wind me up 

And send me around the bend

I love it when you cause me to scream with delight, shock, perplexion and vexation 

I do not so much love that unbearable tightness in my chest like a nuclear heart attack 

I love our feeding, cooking and domesticating 

I love our bathing, exfoliating, masseuging 

I love our burping and other private things 

 

I am homeless without you

What we share is diaphanous 

And cannot be caught 

Described, touched 

But it is felt

Even when I cannot be bothered it 

Is always there and thoughts intrude

And panic and anxiety 

And excitement and ecstacy 

All in the same breathless breath 

Odi et amo

Tragedy and humour 

Pain and pleasure 

I love the possible futures ahead 

I love the Unknown

All of it 

As long as you are there.

That Day (99 of 365)

Day 99 of the 365 day poem challenge.

I can't help it. In so many ways the US election has nothing to do with me in Australia. It's what the soon to be confirmed presidency of Donald Trump means symbolically to me that boils my blood. Still there's probably reasons other than immigration people are voting for him,  for example his economic policies are obviously more attractive for big business. 

But I digress, let's just say it seems to me that there is a painful message that is being reinforced over and again in recent history. That is just how selfish most people are and I'm not leaving myself out of that. Anyway that's enough from me. 

For those of you who have been following my efforts thank you. I appreciate this challenge I've been doing for almost 100 days now, is for me alone. So any page view, I am so appreciative of. Thank you for your time and attention. 

Word of the day partisanship meaning: "prejudice in favour of a particular cause; bias."

Do You remember 

Do you remember the day

When they kicked them down

When they spat in their faces

When blood ran in the streets

Do you remember that day when

Silent moans rose in mouths

Where divergent views turned

Into a hellish storm

Where misinformation reigned supreme

Where the word hatred had been

Given new flesh and colours and faces

Where sportsmanship was dead

Where good and evil were never clearer 

Where anger broke down civilisation

Where partisanship at all costs was worth more than compassion 

Do you remember the day

Nothing changed

Our catatonia was pointed out 

To us 

Our selfish apathy was exposed

Do you remember the day

When you stopped believing 

That you could effect any positive change

Do you remember the hopeless tremor of the persecuted 

Did you care 

Or did the white noise drown it all

Do you remember feeling afraid

Do you remember feeling alone 

Do you remember that insignificant day

Do you remember the day when you

Recognised the essential selfishness of human nature and greed

Do you remember the day

Where there was no happy ending

But a crowd cheering alone for themselves

A crowd of strangers 

A crowd of robots 

An ugly fleshy thing jeering and cajoling and shouting: "We are best, we have won"

Do you remember the day

When it rained and you stood

And felt the water hot and sharp

Where you could not move

As the droplets rolled down

Cold and icy over your palms

And you spread them and you

Felt like you were bleeding

And you wanted to bleed

You wanted the sky to tear apart

You wanted it all to crash down

But instead the droplets splashed down harmless and never ending...

I do not want to remember.

Frozen Coke (98 of 365)

Day 98 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day carouse: "engage in boisterous, drunken merrymaking."

Frozen Coke

It's raining and technology

Cannot keep me warm

I stand in a frozen coke 

Of people and there is someone with a giant straw and they regurgitate us and we all congeal miserably together running in into the rain

The colours run into each other 

brown and pink

The wet hot sky carouses 

And vomits us all out like

A spoilt drunken man

And this is the sweaty mess of

The commute 

There is no sanity 

We might as well be sloshing 

Out of the machine 

And be slopped into a cup

And sucked up 

by the guy upstairs.

Treasure (97 of 365)

Day 97 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day atrophy: "a decrease in size of an organ caused by disease or disuse."

Treasure

One day my dearest treasure was stolen from me

I was lost in tears 

The world was tasteless and foreign

Laughter was a hideous parasite

Without my treasure

I roamed outside of my comfort

Hoping solace would find me there

But instead snakes buried themselves black and tearing in my intestines 

It was like nerves I'd forgotten 

It was like being young again

That terrible Unknown

That fatal doom to be lost

My tears sounded as though

They came from a child 

I lost more than my treasure 

I wandered and none could suffer

My loathing and my mindless loafing 

I wandered aimless without my treasure and without a rail to grip

Without a support 

I prattled on in circles of friends who demonstrated no interest

I divulged my woes next to acquaintances who avoided my like an illness

I bothered strangers with my tale

And they spat on me 

Then I did not speak

I fell silent and remained so

Until the trees whispers were screams beside my silent and

my tongue atrophied 

They, former friends, waylaid acquaintances and scowling strangers, did not know nor care

That my treasure was lost 

I stopped and froze

In the ice of my own heart

I froze and suffered five deaths

The first was my flesh as it slipped away from me becoming gelatinous and rotund 

The second was watching my nerve being wrenched from me

The third was to see my loneliness sucking on my marrow like a parasite 

The fourth was finding myself divested of all mortal caring 

The fifth was losing a fire that kept me from mutating into a frozen statue to grow stiff and return to my treasure.

I tried to make the last journey 

I stood at the threshold of it 

With only the ugly matter at hand

I tried but then I knew

My treasure was gone

And even then in nothing

It would not be returned to me

So I turned and walked headlong into my despairs and ugliness

I saw it all the way into the horizon

The walk was gruelling, is gruelling

Nonetheless I continue

I dream that my treasure will return

I dream and drown in hope

But I know one truth only 

My treasure is gone and she shall never return to me.

Heaven (96 of 366)

Day 96 of the 365 day poem

Challenge.

Word of the day immaculate meaning: "perfectly clean, neat, or tidy."

Heaven

This is the crust in the eye

On a Saturday 

This is the brining sun 

And the knotted toes of lovers

This is the jostling of 

Dogs that lick toes

Bottled rum 

Caramel hops 

Bubbles hissing

Consumerism calls

This is the absent protest

Of fatigue at the end of business

This is the blushing of heat 

And tanned nakedness

This is the empathy denied 

And then granted 

Candy smiles

Tight thighs 

Beautiful frames 

Sell-out sensuality 

This is the kinetic flow of 

Organs pulsing sex

This is the exfoliation of 

Abrasive thoughts 

This is the pounding of the

Heart in the final throes 

Tremulous eyes

Jittering knees

Servile poses 

Virgin Artifice enshrined

This is the ardent halo

When desire is exhumed

This is the ending of 

Shallow contemplation

This is the hollow shell

Of immaculate heaven.

Lavender (95 of 365)

Day 95 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day supine meaning: "failing to act or protest as a result of moral weakness or indolence."

Lavender

I know a girl that I think of

As lavender

A complex mixture 

Of nuttiness and the butter of 

Flowers

Long supple words and thoughts

She opines with such grace

Her subtle muddling

Her trembling purple 

Her docile nature

She is readily supine 

And prone to agreeableness

Yet the piercing way her eyes twinkled

Murmuring soft and invisible secrets

I suppose she is an enigma

She is a concoction and a

Blatant fiction 

Sometimes though I am convinced 

I feel the touch of her breath

On the back of my neck

And the lemon scent of her finger tips trail my spine.

Implied (94 of 366)

Day 94 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day emollient meaning:

"a substance with a soothing effect when applied to the skin"

Implied 

Buff masculine broad

Slight feminine serpentine 

Teasing 

Lusting licking

Jostling jumping jamming 

Moaning maw-ing mating marinating

Playing Pumping pashing pawing packing 

Groaning grinding grating gushing goring gyrating  

Cradling crushing crooning cramming clawing climaxing creaming 

Naked entwined neutral 

Relaxed bodies recline 

Elation applies emollient.

Good morning (93 of 365)

Day 93 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day discomfit meaning: "cause to lose one's composure"

Good morning

I see you through 

Lovelorn eyes each morning

You turn and struggle 

Like a caterpillar emerging

From your cocoon

You make adorable noises 

And turn about 

You spread your wings in a manner of speaking

While picking at your eyes and nose

Your toes wrinkle in and out

You are fast asleep and I am

(Perhaps) voyeuristic and studying

You

When you emerge from 

Your coma your eyes are wide 

And lips undulate between 

Solemn grins and floppy clownish

Imitations of wide grotesque mouths

I smile back

Your wide open eyes are 

Discomfiting portals 

They open up to a wide alien world

I might slip and stumble inside of them

I am scared and alive (strangely)

I wonder what it is that you see

On and in me

You touch my hand

And I touch yours

I kiss your mouth

And this means peace.

Wanker (92 of 365)

Day 92 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day minge: "vulgar term for a woman's pubic hair or genitals"

Hey all, there's been a lot written about cultural shifts and about respect and necessary attitude shifts in how men ought to treat women. I want to make clear that the following poem in no way reflects my own feelings, rather I'm trying to emulate the voice of the person fitting the description of this poem's title. 

Now that that is out of the way, here is...

Wanker

Like a bat out of hell

She was charging me

She was frothing 

She was a wild dog 

Like a caged animal

She was all scrawny

She was ready to pounce

She was getting her claws out 

Like a bitch in heat

She was raping my sensibilities

She was moaning like a whore

She was pissing me royally off

Like a mentally deranged narcissist 

She was begging for more 

She was screaming out to leave

She was my shit to clean up

Like a deranged psychopath

She was my grotesque minge

She was in need of putting down 

She was ripe for drowning in her own congealed vomit.

Tales of Time (91 of 365)

Day 91 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day ephemeral meaning: "lasting for a very short time."

Tales of time 

I dreamed of doors in the sky

And of worlds that I could touch

So familiar and distant to my own

My fantasy was to become and

Drift out into that unknown universe 

The clouds were candy lime 

There were gates tall and brass behind which were taller secrets

I imagined that just beyond 

My grey reality were rich tapestries

Beyond expression and beyond words

Beyond colour, fluorescent streaming beauty constant ethereal 

I wrote poems to poke into unknown realms and to write stories about twisted time 

Stories in which I was the hero 

And anything was possible 

But it was so far away and the colours were bright and the clearest blue and there were shouts and cries so exuberant and warm and comforting but they were beyond my sight I could not 

See who made them 

I could not see 

I could only imagine

And write down stories 

And ponder

And glimpse in my mind

Those ephemeral worlds 

Dancing beyond reach

And beyond comprehension

Invisible and bitterly real.