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.