Last Seen Blogs
teenagellamawagonneck
Sans titre
nofaceoo7
NFOO7
adresimsenoldun
Çatı katındakiler..
quartzidot
Quartzidot
vpsgol68-blog
Untitled
Text
On Miro’s Woman In an Eclipse
Daily Poet - July 23
I
How did you get that hair so messy?
Did you leave it out in the rain,
worse yet, used a brush,
forgot to condition it in the shower?
II
I stand in the wind
peering at you, kindred soul
I see you’ve streaked some amber
to balance out the black.
III
When Miro made you,
he took out a bottle
of inky midnight black
and spilled it across the canvas
shrouding out the earth, the moon,
finally the sun.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Purple Line
Daily Poet - July 22 - Signs
Purple line, coming in 2022.
Or has it been delayed to 2023?
Will that be enough time
for a return to the semi-normal?
Or are you building bridges to nowhere
that will carry no people to no offices
nor drop them off in front of high-rises.
The line was supposed to be lucrative
at last connect the red, east and west,
Bethesda to Silver Spring.
Now we stare at the excavators
Surely less traffic eases construction?
We march and march,
like Napoleon’s troops in Russia,
never to return from the freezing dead of night.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Magic Sticks
Daily Poet - July 21 - Natural World
Out in the open, we pick up magic sticks.
You cast spells on us every day,
pick up pet rocks, smooth and rough
and bestow them with divine energy.
You find beauty in the dirt
and the most gnarly of dandelions
waiting for the magenta hibiscus to bloom
as big as a bowl, as big as your little face.
Out in the green, you dream:
life under the arboretum.
0 notes
Text
Peter Green Died Today
Daily Poet - July 20 - Coined Words
I’m embarrassed I thought you died in the 70s
I see you now in your mod coat
on the verge of psychedelic breakdown.
This gilded world was not for you,
this much I can understand
from the depths of your slow blues stringing,
the acid-tripped dove on the arm
of the black magic woman nun
who reminds me a bit of Rhiannon.
But the woman you spoke of was of darker ilk.
Not made of rough stuff, but smooth as silk.
0 notes
Text
Ten Ways
Daily Poet - July 19 - List Poem
Ten ways to Avoid an International Pick-Up
1. Duck into the bathroom.
2. Have your female colleague whisk you away for “work.”
3. Give out a wrong room/telephone number.
4. Tell him that you’re married.
5. Remind him that he’s married.
6. Change your flight to leave a day earlier.
7. Walk ahead and keep walking.
8. Say your conservative parents wouldn’t approve.
9. Tell him you like his colleague.
10. Give in to temptation in the elevator in the late night.
0 notes
Text
Work
Daily Poet - July 18 - Get a Job
Day in, day out
shadow and mascara on
oil cleanser to take it off.
Stability in schedule, they say.
Some of us work for principle,
some of us work for pay.
Until either works against us
Who am I working for anyways?
The facades in the upper ranks
who’ve made it up by saying
Or not saying, the right things?
Burrowing in the implications
Reigning my right to exercise policy.
In the end, I’d go for the extremes
Write what the client wants
without the emotional seams
or write for the ones I believe in.
0 notes
Text
Parent Probs
Daily Poet - July 17 - Meeting the Parents
The wisdom is I should listen
to the fun memories you have
of my brother and I,
him pulling at my ponytail.
The time at the Grand Canyon,
when he wanted to watch basketball
while our dad wanted to see sunsets
and sunrises, thereby dubbed “Canyon Freak.”
And that I should ignore
all the treacheries and contradictions,
how you ripped me from my homeland
made me give up a boyfriend at 22
Only to suggest to me
that I should get married at 25.
Was the truth you wanted control over my partner?
Did you learn from your mistakes
to let my brother live
go to dances and play poker until 5 am,
and yet you expressed disappointment
in his life choices for remaining single,
never mind he was an aerospace engineer
oh how I envied his high-rise life.
These memories obliterate,
turn to dust, I cannot care for the distress,
the trips to Disneyworld, forays in the water,
spotting coral reef in glass-bottomed boats.
All just whisks away into the horizon.
0 notes
Text
Stone Cold
Daily Poet - July 16 - Headstone
Will I get to choose my headstone color
like I can choose my MacBook color -
Silver, rose gold, space grey?
The elegant choice would be silver,
it would make my ghost eyes come alive.
Underneath the earth, I hear my son and daughter
whisper memories to each other.
She was nice, but sometimes crazy
She was creative, but terribly absent-minded
Remember we had to keep finding her glasses?
I am torn between two epitaphs:
“She needs to gain more weight”
or “She called a spade a spade.”
Neither seem appropriate now.
0 notes
Text
In Jest
Daily Poet - July 15 - One-Rhyme Poem
I feel like the court jester
In this insipid, Christmas sweater.
0 notes
Text
Magic
Daily Poet - July 14 - Burrowing
You are magic
cauldron, bubbling over with desire
You turn your eye, tragic
vicious, cold
The earth transformed your sorrow
Your radiance draws nearer
blinds me, you walk away.
0 notes
Text
Homecoming
Cool nights in the purple-dark
grey wool stockings
pink-lit hallways
Your friends asked us for our story
I played femme fatale
It was easier to manage cattle class global movements
The white night light cast stark shadows
glaring in my single eye
the strange intensity gliding
across your pale back
your black glass stare
I left you in the candlelights of youth
your desire burning too
bright, desire blinded me
left me like an emptied lake
I left you to your Icarian delusions
and spent another winter in Baltimore.
Today I see you, your perfect single family
No cracks in that double-pane veneer
But where’s the glance that made my skin crawl
wonder if you were going to kill me
One day, the monster will climb out of your skin
and I’ll stand in the corner, laughing
waiting to caress and cradle
receive you for your final homecoming.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Algarve
The trip appears to me out of a dream,
crisp, salted cod and buttered clams with garlic.
The vinho verde cools on a hot day
while the children sweat, sleep, and play.
The mind wanders far into seascapes,
azure dreams and rocky caves.
Crash of waves jars you from reverie,
sound of pitter-patter feet through cobbled streets.
A turning glance and secret scowl
dancing up the alley in twin rompers.
At night, the midnight blue turns to wind
sleep like silver stars, silence like obsidian.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Anaphora
Daily Poet - July 13 - Burden Basket
Because you told me I cannot deliver
I sit frozen at my desk eating chocolate for breakfast
Because I balk at your thought I am lazy
I mash the chocolate in my teeth
Because I cannot function here anymore,
I grind the teeth in the chair
Because I cannot stay another minute,
I shove the chair away and leave.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Red Heart
Daily Poet - July 12 - Neruda’s Wildness
the heart is a thing
when stabbed
beats with red rage
blood like mandarin
juices flowing
sticky sweet
you dare to impose
when i was quiet
I did not ask you
to spark the orange flame
to quell it with
your nonsense outbursts
you may think
searing threats hollow
I know I can always
walk away.
0 notes
Text
Goop!
Daily Poet - July 11 - Natural World
the spider is itsy-bitsy
the slug goes “goop”!
the cat with the blue collar
scurries across the maroon deck
running after black squirrels
running after walnuts
soon the red fox may
be running after him.
0 notes
Text
Plant Handbag
Daily Poet - July 10 - Search Engines
Botanical bags
for leafy souls
hemp-woven rope
do I catch of whiff
of something sweet
a little pick-me up
in the dry air
turn on the humidifier
so I can see
the starry night.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Underground Claustrophobia
Daily Poet - July 9 - Phobias
I was so used to wide open
suburban spaces
the first time it happened,
I writhed, confused
standing in midst
of my ob/gyn flatmate
she whispers to me
the businessman returning
from Canary Wharf
can’t stop staring at my legs
who else besides an American
wear shorts in London anyways
let alone a brown girl on the Tube,
and one with a 32-inch inseam
legs as long as some
men nearing 6-feet,
I know because I try
on my husband’s pants for fun.
tonight, I will wait in line
at Wimbledon, I think not.
the air is laden with heat
it must only be 75 degrees
but the engine whirs
and the space closes in
I see the people
and slowly start to spiral down.
0 notes