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  Aug 2020 Poetoftheway
Dead Rose One
"how can you be in bed so fast?
we just got home five minutes ago?"*

You got girlie stuff to do babe.

unlock the front door,
thirty steps
to our bed.

maybe stop to basketball shoot
***** clothes into a swish
of the hamper's netting

or,
maybe not.

turn off the overhead left handed in
a single motion, a highlight video,
both left foot socks
hid in the snow boots,
outside the front door.

you understand.

my unseen
girlie stuff,
requires me in state of ******,
while you be
prepping.

face washed, creamed,
hair n' tooth brushed,
other stuff,
unmentionable.

am doing
my thing...

my girlie stuff


starting a
poem interruptus
my pre-Coitus exercise,
just a new love poem
conception,
initiated,
doing my thing,
waiting on you
primped n'pumped,
décolletage clad,
to give me that
girlie stuff
closing stanza
<>

the supply of words is not inexhaustible

neither are the combinations thereof;

what is inextricably true, of these two linkages

that is not exhaustive, is my endless delight,

in finding the ones that I’ve yet to contemplate

till you brought them waving to my eyes,

so as far as I’m concerned, you originate

delight daily, and that is the spark you create

making every day, the eighth day of creation of the world.






Sat Aug 22
2020
no can do the turning of water, the greatest magician’s trick ever, but
turning words into wine, that I can do,
ready your life, go get a wine glass,
sit down, this is heady stuff, be prepared!

you’re thinking, shoot, I can do that too,
no, you just think you can, for if you could,
you would be drunk already, making typos
all over your shirt, thinking’ bout your next

verse, a great love affair, the one you never
should let get away, the wrong choices that
fed on each other, living with a hateful woman
for the better part of your whole life, the children
who don’t even call to wish you happy birthday

and you would be drunk already just like me,
writing poems like this, a poet sitting on the roof,
and you would have written this whiney poem,
not me, pretending wine can wash your conscience clean

<>

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

But that was just a dream


Losing My Religion
Song by R.E.M.
  Aug 2020 Poetoftheway
onlylovepoetry
People say they don’t understand [my songs], but I never believe that.
It’s like understanding an embrace…
”Leonard Cohen

<>for cj<>

perhaps, there is someone in this world, who does not
understand an embrace; something physical no doubt.

perhaps, you thought that first kiss was the portal to
shedding the inhibitors, lobes stings, first arousal aroma.

but you’ve been practicing embracing from toddler age,
but someday, it traverses from hugs to all-encompassing,

the sensory adaptors, go wild from shock; and you think
to yourself, dear god, you’ve been holding back on me!

   <>

two hands,
smooth the shoulders, slide down, elbows grasp,
you’ve been taken unawares, while fully aware you’ve been,
taken, taken, and need to take, more and back, take again,
and you can’t decide between reciprocation or incantation
breaking separation, if only to start over from the last lingering...

touching vibration and every sense erupting, and you think
I’ve never been fully  embraced, and now I understand the
music and muscle of your poetry, and will add my verses,
lay on my stanzas,
ocean crossings, seafaring voyages, exploring hands on hips,
then encapsulating another’s face, stroke, not squeezing

arms come to rest on a pacific neck, the hairs tensile teasing,
and you can’t believe this newly formed addiction and why
everyone simply doesn’t go about constant craving embracing,
racingoverloading uncomprehending, it’s fulsome fulfilling, quenching
a new thirst, a new taste, extending your ******* reach everywhere

you clear the catch, the cache, and your voice now begs, announces,
commands, whispers, screams, so many things that all emerge as
simply a guttural exclamation raw and needy, again, again, again,
you say it as if that was your vocabulary entire, a one word language
because it is, it is, the language of insatiable, the speech of
only love poetry*
embracing.
  Aug 2020 Poetoftheway
brandychanning
everyone has gone back to suburbia,
city streets are dangerous, if you look
at someone cross eyed, it earns you death.

don’t celebrate this madness,
mourn it in black, it has a taken
a pandemic to school me again.

this a broadcast, shout out, email me
if you know how I’m feeling and can
share what other mutualities crisscross.

Do you like Jazz? Me neither.
Flouncy bouncy dresses? Nah!
Sweats? Unnecessary, I can sweat
just by concentrating.

You like me, own soulful bluesy singers,
femme fatales, who coax and croon,
wet the spun threads of subtle emotive,
who live by light of candles votive,
I live in black, day and nighttime,
write in midnight blue, a woman who!
takes no b.s. and doesn’t ever take no
for an answer...
  Aug 2020 Poetoftheway
sundial iris
هر دو بی فرزند هستیم (متفاوت)/we are both childless, differently
——————————————————————————


let us not ask each other or god

the why, just how life worked out

and maybe by a choice unconfessed


~

yet we both lie.

~

you possess thousands of offspring,

tend to their every need, breast feed

them water, special nutrients, stroking

their leaves, worry about their viruses,

you, dying just, a little, when, one rooted

looks up and says, “I am dying mother,

thank you for your love.”


~

my ***** produced two men,

each now, differentially,

lost, lost to me, and daily

privately, in word and wet,

weep my losses, for what

is a man who had children,

but goes down into his grave

gray haired, with none in

attendance to refill the soil

that his grave grayed body

requires to

hide his wasted,

childless

life.
  Aug 2020 Poetoftheway
Marshal Gebbie
Dragged the body to the summit
Hurt like Hell, in a fractional way,
Cobbled together a frank admission
That I was never one to pray.

Always played the mission my way
Struggled through with ups and downs,
kissed the girls, when they would let me..
Avoided fools and cussed the clowns.

Some mates endured the hot seal highway
Some expired along the way,
Those that mattered kept it up
Them that didn't, slid away.

Guess communication matters
Misunderstanding breeds contempt
Always thought I spelt it out right?
Maybe lied to circumvent.

Another breath, another day
It seems to roll along,
Regret I ****** forgot the words
Now I can't recall the song.

Bitter pill, this restitution
Can't quite, really, come to terms.
Love, they say, is of the essence...
How come, then, one never learns?

Robbed the day of all the meaning
Catalogued the blatant theft,
Endured the brittle conscience cleaning
Now there aint much, actually, left.

Gotta go, I've said my piece
Perhaps you've even listened?
Though, I wouldn't bet the house,
Cos Jesus Christ aint yet been Christened.

M.
Flat Earth Friday
7 August 2020
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