209

Day 209 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Coriaceous meaning: "like leather." 

Dead needles 

There was panting on the balcony

A dogged and laboured series of breaths 

There was beer, vomit and sweat 

There was a wart crusted coriaceous mouth

and a surly gent who enjoyed the feel of a lash and the way his victims curled like delicate pine

Needles bending backwards and 

Snapping collecting into a pile

At his feet 

the colour of autumn.

208

Day 208 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day disenthral meaning: "to set someone free from enslavement."

A couple holds hands in the Family Court 

They were separated

I thought

There were issues 

But they were at peace 

The two of them like 

Old souls that had withered a battle

He was gentle 

She was happy to be guided 

She took his hand 

She sat across from him

They made a joke across the Court room

They nodded compliantly 

They departed having found the decorum an amusing joke and experience 

Never the word attached to this experience 

Never attached to the secret words behind their eyes 

Never attached to the hints of smiles and hope 

There was a deep love there 

Something arrive at after a long journey through darkness and danger 

So much in a single look

They weren't slaves to it anymore

They'd been disenthralled

Hate had withered 

But not broken them

Their hands held by finger tips 

And still so much there that still might not be.

207

Day 207 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day deterge meaning: "to cleanse something thoroughly."

Unworthy poem

Who is to say what is worthy 

To write about 

I am not sure this is worth your time

But apparently it's not something

That time will let me let go of

So a man sits on a train in Sydney

The trains have these three person seats (designed for three modest persons)

So what does this fellow in the stripe top do

Sit right at the edge of the aisle

He had essentially blocked passage to the two other modest persons

He knows what he's done

I wonder if he feels a burning pain in his heat and he knows my contempt my narrowed eyes

If I could shoot some guilt into him I would 

Maybe he's too old and worn to care

No he's barely a sextenarian 

There needs to be an exorcism 

A deterge of the fools heart

Anyway I am spent 

And am left in contempt

For this gent

This perfectly able bodied arse wipe

I pray someone will ask please shuffle on over

Someone may eventually and then my rage will spike again as he turns his fruity eyes 

And in them you'll find one thing only

I'm sure of it

Indignation.

206

Day 206 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Coprolalia meaning "the involuntary repetitive use of obscene language."

Coprolalia

Don't send it 

Don't send the damn email

The fuck wit will spin it

He will spin it 

And float it like a paper aeroplane

Around your ears

Don't press send you'll regret it

There too many run on sentences

There's no punctuation 

It looks like a wall 

He doesn't have time for that

Don't toss some garbled Picasso of words at him

That fucker pig 

He deserves worse 

To be brought down a peg to be reminded of respect 

Glutton 

No don't press it, don't you can't un-send it

Think what would he do

He'd do it different

I bet he would too

Fucker fuck him 

I'll send it.

205

Day 205 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Constellate meaning "to gather together in a cluster or group."

Movement and Sound

Feeling the mesmerisation of the cosmos

Touch it the intangible glowing lights pulsing gyrating 

Seize this 

Rotary shimmering skittish 

Diamond sand and glitter streams 

Warbles drones as wind blows 

And kicks and fires in the chest 

Like explosions of life

Constellating.

Lingering as the pulse fades

As the tones die down

Thuds to a final stultifying halt.

Club X (204 of 365)

Day 204 of the 265 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Comminatory meaning: "threatening, punitive or vengeful."

Club X

What is there about it
The rounded flesh
The way it spins
The tease of it

Step back through the haze
see the full haired persons
rioting silently rocking
like morphine hit hospital patients
rocking their intravenous drips

Their words
You like the shape of the their words
On oval lips
You imagine that your name
will be upon them those
pink oval lips
You imagine the power that comes
with a name
Remembrance

The smell is acquired to say the least
the vomit stain on the carpet from where
they got too wild

There is skill
that one was nearly an acrobat
Could stretch in so many ways
The thought could make you ejaculate
That's the smell like your father's old
vinyl collection wet and collecting dust

The movements are slow
Undulate a nice word
that encapsulates what happens
with the hips and the way
this resembles waves
but we're far from sea breezes here
this is a hot sauna
not like at the spa house
There's spit and alcohol and crack
There's pinched lips

There's a phantasmagoria
With these chimerical dames
Blowing smoke through hot pink lips
and Blond manes

The drones and flares of dance music
The monotonous comminatory stares
and slaps
Dissapointment eats into the late night
early morning folk
who lose focus and seek contrition
from the wares here on display
This is a lascivious excursion
A tantalising holiday
...only it isn't

The hot fuzz of smoke contaminates
The hidden brawl and testosterone,
Estrogen filled sauna room
low lights and bodies silent in the dark
But not them they stand in dim pale moonlight
Like shining ghosts with fat milky thighs.

Waiting in the Dark (203 of 365)

Day 203 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day cantillate meaning: "to chant or intone a passage of religious text."

Waiting in the Dark

The thunder cracks
Lightning scrapes the sky
It seems like it will eat you
like a monster

But it's outside
Inside is the danger
in the blackness
between the halls and the cold tiles
and the cold snarling sniggers
of secret dark lips
that wait in the night
no cantillation shall halt it

Under covers pulled up
Under covers warm and snug
the monsters can be heard
a cool gust presents itself
noises happen - common noises
but not tonight - nothing common about them

The thunder cracks
It is closer
the lightning is a gigantic flash
and what will you see through the window if you
dared to look
will that dark face be there staring with
its wide clownish eyes
twisted into a gruesome look
resembling a smile
but there is no word for the way its lips are
its no smile
Smiles are after all for kind things.