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Rebecca Gismondi Apr 2012
I know that I will never marry Jimmy Fallon or Donald Glover or Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
I know that despite the myths, Brussels sprouts taste awesome.
I know that one too many tequila shots will automatically turn you into a philosopher.
I know that the sun sets in the East and rises in the West (or is it the other way around?)
I know that I am most happiest when I'm surrounded by amazing friends in the unseasonably warm March sun and a banjo is playing.
I know that a smile straightens everything out.
I know that although you can't forget the past, you can't let it dictate your future.
I know that having *** for the first time is weird, and so is ****.
I know that my hair is golden, my eyes are blue and I will never be stick-thin as hard as I try.
I know that there are 24 hours in a day, 7 days in a week and 12 months in a year. But it never seems to be enough time to figure out who you are.
I know that people come and go but those that love and care for you will stay glued next to you no matter what.
I know that as much as it hurts, you will get over love.
I know that I will never have the courage to rap publicly.
I know that Kim Kardashian's *** is most likely not real.
I know that travel truly broadens the mind.
I know that I'm insecure and over analytical and anxious and easily frustrated.
But I know that I'm also passionate and determined and a hopeless romantic and a picky eater and a restless sleeper.
And above all:
I know that when I look at you I see past your eyes.
I know that when you're around I smile wider and laugh louder and flip my hair more often.
I know I dress nicer to remind you how beautiful you think I am.
I know that I forget to inhale and that the butterfly on my shoulder has to fly up to my ear and remind me to breathe.
I know that I care about you more than anyone.
I know that I let you into every pore of my body, every opening: my heart, my head, my...
I know that I am willing to jump in with my whole body and risk being drenched in water for you.
I know that I can make you as happy as you make me
But I know that you're scared and vulnerable and hurt
But if I'm sure of anything (and mind you, I'm not sure of much)
I know that I will hurt and be afraid and breathe with you to make you love me.
Thomas W Case May 2022
I don't want to go a
gentle journey,
from convoluted to
convalescence.
I quit drinking again;
found love in
the psych ward.
She's my broken-winged
angel.
So much pain behind that
sweet smile.
She's drinking again,
and I can't fix her.
It hurts, like an arrow
through the stomach.

I have a rabbit that comes
to my yard.
She lies in the same
spot every day.
So much so, that
she has worn down a
place for herself--the surrounding
grass grows around her.
She feels safe.
I feed her spinach, and my
brother sings her
show tunes.
That's what we get
for having a drama
teacher for a father.
Thanks, Dad.

It's been an unseasonably
cold April.
I feel sorry for Harvey;
That's her name, thanks
again Dad.
I talk to her softly.
"Hi, baby--what are you doing?
Do you want to come in?"
She doesn't answer.  I'm sober.
I want to take care of her...
Both of them...
My two little bunnies.
It's cold, and the wind is
blowing hard,
beneath a mean grey sky.
Morissa Schwartz Jul 2014
1

I sit in the back of Dad’s car, bopping my head to The Beatles’ Revolution and hum quietly while reading over my notes for today’s math test.

2

Lunch with Val, Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick, talking about our favorite movie, Forrest Gump, until Val interrupts with how nervous she is about applying to high school.  We finish lunch in silence.

3

Let f(x) = -2X2 + 4X + 6…That is the question that has plagued me all day.  On my math test, I made the answer positive instead of negative, the minor mistake that will cost me my A.

4

On this beautiful, unseasonably warm afternoon, I am glad to be outside reading my favorite Matheson stories on the wooden cutout in the giant oak by the dining room window, but worries that I may not be accepted to The Academy interrupt my leisure.

5

For Christmas, my friends and I exchange gifts.  Val gives me a stuffed flamingo. I put right it right next to the unicorn on the lace covered brown bench that oversees my room.

6

We have received your application for admission testing to The Academy for Allied Health and Biomedical Sciences. Your test will be on January 28, 2008.

7

In gym class, Val holds her hand as if she is in pain, but she refuses to show it to anyone, not even me, her best friend.

8

Val has a circular scar on her hand that looks like a burn mark.  She insists that she is just clumsy and she fell.

9

This kid next to me at The Academy admission testing is breathing so loudly I can’t concentrate.

10



I glide my paintbrush through the orange paint and onto the canvas.  I don’t know what I’m painting, but I know I need to paint.

11

Math class is miserable.  Not only did I get an 86 on the test that I thought I aced, but Val started crying hysterically, until Ms. Endolf sent her to the school counselor.

12

Michelle and Kayla are mad at Val for acting so strangely.  They refuse to speak to our friend.  I refuse to join their charade.  I know she’s acting strangely for a reason.

13

I come home to find my mother crying…happy tears.  She tells me that I passed my admission test with a proud ear-to-ear grin on her face. The next step in the admission process is an interview with The Academy on March 1.

14

I bead a few bracelets before going to sleep.  I feel guilty, like I should be studying or preparing for my interview, but I just don’t want to.

15

Val pulls me into the coat cubby during homeroom, the dark circles under her eyes barely visible from the faint light in the  dimly lit room.  She tells me how her father has abused her and her sisters this past year and swears me to secrecy

16

How can I help my best friend and her sisters? Can I help my best friend and her sisters?  Can I help my best friend?

17

I go to the veteran’s home where I’d been volunteering for a while and see my favorite veteran, Ray.  He tells me not to get old.

18

“Why do you want to go to The Academy?”  Ms. Ferris, my Academy interviewer, asks.  I stare at her blankly for a moment before responding.

19

When Val comes to school with more bruises, I break my promise and tell my parents.

20

I slowly open my report card to reveal a B in math…my first B ever.  I take a puff of my inhaler.

21

The old home phone rings; I assume it will be the Academy with an admission decision. “Help me, Morissa!”  Val screams into the phone.  I gesture to my mother who grabs the car keys, as we race to the door.

22

Spring break.  My family and I go to Hershey Park in Pennsylvania to celebrate my being one of forty students admitted to The Academy.

23

DYFS goes to Val’s house after her older sister tries to commit suicide by overdosing on pain pills.

24

Lunch is so quiet with Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick.

25

I got an 84 on my math test today.  I smile.

26

Val returns to school but sits at a different lunch table.  She has no more bruises, but her eyes are still red.

27

My gown flows as I march down the church aisle to receive my certificate of completion from St. John Vianney.

28

I stare at the screen of the my new HP computer as I scratch the back of the $15 iTunes card my grandparents gifted to me. As I begin to type in OKGO’s Here It Goes Again, as the first song I purchase, I change my mind and type in The Beatles’ Revolution.

29

I relax outside alternating between reading Stephen King and beading on my twirling chair as I now do every relaxing summer day.

30

Went to the shore.  Won a giant yellow bee stuffed animal.  I am the skeeball champion!

31

This is so embarrassing.  I don’t know how to open my locker.  In all my years of private school, home school, and Catholic school, I’ve never had a locker until entering The Academy.  Mrs. Bow laughs as she teaches me how to operate a locker.

32

Holding a brain is a lot different than I thought it would be.  It is mushier and lighter than I imagined.

33

“Ever see Forrest Gump?” my new friend, Ruchir, asks at lunch, as I mush the jelly on my sandwich.

34

I walk down the street pulling my ****-tzu and Maltese in my wagon.  Lester almost jumps out when he sees a terrier twice his size, but I catch him just in time.  It is the scariest moment I have had in a long time.

35

At the veteran’s home, I see Ray and tell him how much I love The Academy.  He smiles and asks if I’d like to sing with him.

36

The phone rings.  It’s my new friend Shannon.  She needs help with our Biomedical Sciences homework.

37

I spend Columbus Day at The Carpet Maven, my parent’s carpet store.  St. John Vianney never gave days off for “made up holidays.”

38

Solve for x in the equation Ln(x)=8…I haven’t been able to get that problem out of my head all day.  That is the problem that earned me the Best in Class Award on my first marking period report card.

39

It’s Sunday.  I walk down Main Street to pick up bagels for my family.  The smiley, bright-eyed girl behind the counter at the bagel shop is Val.  She is a student at Mother Superior High School. She asks if my unicorn is being nice to my flamingo.

40

I look at the flamingo and unicorn on my bench.  They’re fine. I’m okay.  Everybody ‘s alright.   Everything’s good.
This poem reflects the struggles of transitioning from middle school to high school.
LARISSA LOU McCASKY female 40 years of age 5’7” lanky physique stitched old pillowcases random fabric homemade knee length wrap skirt tight brown velvet vest no shirt camping sandals subtle smile

CLYDE ELI MOSKOWITZ male 52 years of age 5’9” athletic build yet signs of age white painter’s pants rolled up to mid-shin light blue vintage cowboy shirt wet black high-tops

act 1 scene 1

Sky bar 4th Avenue Tucson Arizona 6:30 PM actors sit 3 seats away from each other at bar bartender approaches Larissa

BARTENDER can i help you?

LARISSA (she looks up from cell phone) yes thank you may i please have a glass of sauvignon blanc or reasonable facsimile and tall ice water

BARTENDER we have a California pinot grigio $5 a glass

LARISSA is it good? i’ll try a glass (bartender serves wine and tall ice water Larissa sips) oh yeah this is good thank you

CLYDE excuse me i was considering switching from this Spanish red to what you ordered you like it huh?

LARISSA yes it’s quite good funny coincidence i just switched too from pinot noir last week i decided it’s unseasonably heavy you look familiar have we met?

CLYDE we’ve almost met on several occasions i’m a fan of your beauty (raises hand appealing to bartender’s attention) hi may i please try what she’s having

BARTENDER no problemo señor

LARISSA oh that’s sweet i thought for a moment you were going to say you’re a fan of my writing

CLYDE you’re a writer huh what kind of writing?

LARISSA whim fancy poetry fiction essays critiques i like to experiment with different formats

CLYDE hmmm what are you currently reading?

LARISSA aren’t you the inquisitive one i’m currently reading Yukio Mishima’s Madame de Sade it’s a play

CLYDE wow i’m a fan of Yukio Mishima and the Marquis de Sade yet unaware of the work are you enjoying it? i’m Clyde what’s your name?

LARISSA Larissa i just began reading it so far so good

CLYDE may i move closer?

LARISSA yes

CLYDE thank you (he picks up glass and sits next to her) hello

LARISSA is the mustache recent?

CLYDE still growing in

LARISSA i like you better without it

CLYDE got a razor on you?

LARISSA it makes you look sad

CLYDE hmmm (long pause he looks away then into her eyes)

LARISSA are you ok?

CLYDE yes

LARISSA what’s your profession?

CLYDE i’m a painter sometimes writer and i teach yoga when i can find work otherwise i scrape out a living house painting restoration whatever pays

LARISSA a painter what do you paint besides houses?

CLYDE i’m old i’ve painted everything figurative representational abstract symbolism you name it i’ve painted it

LARISSA you’re funny

CLYDE you think so?

LARISSA Clyde why are you sad?

CLYDE oh Larissa i don’t know what to say in a way i feel i was sent here to do a different job i don’t understand why i'm here or what i’m doing do i sound crazy? life throws a lot of hardballs at you few are good enough to make the big leagues the rest of us struggle day to day no i don’t mean to express that thought i’m grateful for the opportunity of this life in my own little way i try to make a better difference

LARISSA you’re not crazy Clyde you’re wise well spoken words you’re a sweetheart i’m glad to finally meet you

CLYDE oh god Larissa you have no idea how good that makes me feel i am such a fan of your beauty the way you dress your voice gestures everything i look forward to reading your work

LARISSA chill on the flattery Clyde my dog is dying (tears well up in her eyes)

CLYDE i am so sorry for you (he reaches into back pocket) here’s a tissue i know what it’s like to lose a precious friend i lost my baby 12 years ago and still carry her picture in my wallet i’m probably not someone you want to talk to i totally freaked out (tears well up in his eyes)

LARISSA Clyde you are so sweet can i buy you a drink anything what do you desire please

CLYDE uhh thank you but no not tonight i think i’ve had enough i need to go home Larissa you’re an angel my precious angel thank you my heart flames for you (he stands up)

LARISSA you’re being dramatic Clyde please stay and talk with me i won’t ask you again why you’re sad i like your mustache it’s growing on me please hang out with me

act 1 scene 2

9 PM they are walking back to her place

CLYDE (looking up at sky) the moon Larissa the moon

LARISSA you’re so dramatic Clyde

CLYDE you think i’m a drama queen?

LARISSA i don’t know you well enough yet Clyde are you?

CLYDE sometimes i think i’m a woman trapped in a man’s body

LARISSA shut up Clyde

CLYDE i’m definitely a man but way too sensitive for this world

LARISSA i need to *** (she squats and pees)

CLYDE (he looks up and down street keeping guard) you’re the coolest girl in the world

LARISSA you think so?

act 2 scene 1

cell phone conversation

LARISSA i’m taking Sweeny to the vet i can tell he’s hurting bad

CLYDE i’m coming with you

LARISSA no this is too personal

CLYDE shut up Larissa i’ll see you there

LARISSA i don’t know i need to do this by myself i feel so sad Sweeny’s eyelids are half closing I’m losing him

CLYDE i love Sweeny for adoring you the joy he brought to you please don’t shut me out Larissa i’ll meet you at the veterinarian’s we’ll figure this out write paint practice yoga work it out somehow

LARISSA ok alright see you at the vet’s

act 2 scene 2

they are shoveling a hole in her backyard deep enough so no creatures can intrude both are crying Larissa is in a daze

CLYDE that caliche is a ***** to shovel through

LARISSA yup

CLYDE oh baby let me have the shovel

LARISSA i can do this i need to do this i think it’s deep enough let’s go look at Sweeny (tears pouring out of her eyes they go back into house Sweeny is lying wrapped in blanket on table)

act 2 scene 3

he is lying next to her sniffing smelling her underarm kissing her neck hair she is lifeless coming to consciousness crying hysterically

CLYDE rest easy darling Sweeny is up in heaven waiting for you

act 2 scene 4

Thai restaurant

LARISSA i’m not hungry can’t focus on the menu order for me

CLYDE i love you Larissa more than anyone anything else in this whole world i love you

LARISSA i feel sick tired

CLYDE shall i drive us home

LARISSA no let’s eat in an unforeseen surprising way Clyde i love you too deep down stay with me Clyde don’t ever go away
neth jones Nov 2022
sky like combed smoke
unseasonably warm for mid November
carrying my coat
i wonder if winter depression
can be missed this year
10/11/22
Carla Marie Feb 2012
With regard to this grieving process…
how is this supposed work…?
is it okay to be sad for me…
but happy for her…
cuz Cancer
(with a capital “C”  
outta respect)
is a low-down cruel *****…
But she gave that low-down cruel *****…
A run for her money…
A hellava fight…
And now her race is run…
And it’s a win/win …
Or maybe it’s a no brainer…
And I’m sure that there is at least one more cliché that I can use here
But **** it…
It’ll  hafta come to me later…
Cuz my skin itches…
and I keep looking over my shoulder…
feeling as if someone is there…
Chloë Fuller Nov 2015
I.
leather skin
tattoos from youth that are laughable
as messy as a room gets every month
succumbing and cleaning up a mid-life crisis
a broken wind-up soldier
folsom prison's bar ‘s open every time the sheets get too cold
two year expiration date
grease
red wine at a dive bar

II.
never completely remember anything except touch
whiskey clouded brains and side-ways smiles
tongue-slinger
serpent waiting to strike
retracting and falling backwards far
slithering in during the AM
charming underneath the stairs
monotony
unwanted terms of endearment
the tea kettle will always whistle when the water gets too hot

III.
spells and red lights flicker at late hours on unseasonably warm nights
sweat and dragons both thrive from heat
smoke, from mouths and cigarettes
shakespearean scenes that melt to fingers grazing lips so effortlessly
this was all coming in due time after too many moments
spent on washing machines in an ancient haunt
falling into fictional identities when we come together
doe eyes
tears fell from poetic words spit so harshly on delicate air
a temporary home and an eternal momentary escape
the weekend of Nov. 1st
r Jan 2015
It's unseasonably warm
for a January morning.

I was dreaming of a girl
and blue western skies

...a faded bedsheet
sideways in the breeze
on an old clothes line.

I was dreaming
she was mine.
r ~ 1/18/15
it was the last day of winter
unseasonably warm

I was standing behind an Imam
his arms were raised
hurling prayers for peace
into the face of intransigence

black dressed armored
SWAT teams amassed
swinging readied M16s
vigilantly guarding walls
constricting penned citizens

waiting to place an
American flag
draped coffin
onto the growing pile
of other coffins
covered in the
multicolored flags of
Iraq War belligerents
swelling at the base
of the wrought iron fence
surrounding the White House

I saw a curtain in the
White House part
the window filled
with two tiny faces

I imagined it to be
Sasha and Bo
taking a break from
rambunctious play
to peer out on
a grim assembly

wondering
in confusion
whats going on?
why are these people
placing coffins
in front of our house?

Sasha and Bo
ran upstairs
to the
Oval Office

she burst through
the door

“Daddy people are
piling coffins
in front of our house

Why?”

The President
hugged his daughter
and answered…

“we’re at war
Sasha...

“the Evil Doers
hate us for
who we are...

“they want to
hurt us...

“we must ****
them…

Sasha asked…

“one sign says
our bombs
**** children…

is that true
Daddy?”
Thats a lie
right Daddy?

If you knew
children like
me were being
killed you wouldn't
let that continue…
would you Daddy?”

John Kerry
popped his head
into the office….

“Sasha,
your Daddy
would never
**** children
in service to a lie”

Sasha’s head tilted…
The President flashed a smile…
John Kerry walked away whistling…
giving no notice to the photo of the
Vietnam War Memorial
as he passed

Music Selection:
The Shirelles
Soldier Boy

Oakland
6/11/14
jbm
Jae Elle Mar 2012
suffice it to say
I feel unseasonably
confined

tomorrow the sun
will rise
& the ships will
dance on the
ever-shifting horizon

but I will not see them

you will wake in
your world
& not have a single thought
of me

I am too far from the sea

& I wonder if it
bothers him
too
that I might one day
set sail on the wheels of
my '97 Ford Taurus
& never return

anchored upon land
is what I am



but the horizon
draws near




as you sleep in your world
& wake in my harbor




won't you please
think of me?
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone,
Bright eyes, accomplished shape, and lang'rous waist!
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise—
Vanished unseasonably at shut of eve,
When the dusk holiday—or holinight
Of fragrant-curtained love begins to weave
The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight;
But, as I've read love's missal through today,
He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.
Jae Elle Feb 2012
you live to chase
s
        t
               o
          r
     m
s





I live to chase                              
                                             y
                                                     o
                                                               u.
Poetoftheway Mar 2015
an impurity
inherent or invasive,
identity, purpose, all unresolved,
substantive, long-lived, minute sized,
flexible, formed, yet more,
clearly shapelessly, so well visible
we'll disguise it
to survive it

without passport, an émigré
illegally legal border invasive,
but somehow more knowledgable
of the unmapped byways within,
more than me - how can that be?

never motionless, indeed,
always hurried, even when energy gathering,
despite it's detailed timetable,
detailing plentiful stops and
interminable unexplained
screeching wailings,
it has no smooth gliding,
nor rumbling grumbling halting,
to a final destination imprinted

this impurity,
a beheaded brainy horseman
searching for what,
I'm not permissioned,
unquenchable questioning,
all I am allowed is
sensory
surceasingly, unseasonably seeking

the undresser,
the verisign
of veritas
eyes mirrored reversal internal,
you can't understand why finishing
this poem is so hard

because you don't want to
confess this
impious impurity,
no étranger, it is but
copious insecurity,
of the all of you,

the ecstasy of
the rushing,
the upsetting,
universal unique to us, you,
unholy, ecclesiastical, catholic,
that impurity is just
the heart pumping the
mottled blood of
life coursing through your words
and out your fingertips,
onto those
stained drumsticks
used
to play the keyboard alphabet
about an
out-of-tempo
impure ecstasy
beth winters May 2013
it is unseasonably warm
from across the neighborhood
"******* ******!"
the rumbling masculine undertones
of his voice compress my heart
i crawl into my stomach
seeking shelter from a nonthreat
"liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar"

he spits
and i cringe
his anger pulses
every anger
that has ever been shoved in my face
whispered in dark rooms
the anger i have witnessed
pierce the skin of women i do not know
the rejected wounds i have absorbed
all wrenched from their hiding places
pulled in pulpy fistfuls
from the crevices of my body

he shocks my system
of sympathetic nerves
like lightning
my palms sweat
i close the window
april 26th 11:30 pm
Cali Dec 2014
Skies like sheets of shale
floated above our pretty heads,
shedding fat drops of rain
upon an unseasonably warm
December day in Michigan.

I broke free from your grip
beneath our shared plastic umbrella,
ran into the yard
and spun around six times,
arms outstretched like an albatross,
face upturned to the miles and miles
of unbroken grey clouds.

I stopped and called to you,
fly with me.
as my palms turned up
and reached for you, involuntarily.

You laughed, staccato,
and your ambiguous smile
was nothing more than
an ugly daguerreotype
set before a landscape
of compassionate trees.

I'd rather not get wet,
you said

and I think
I've always resented you
for that.
while luxuriating in the boughs aching
to imbibe solar raiment golden this summer like
february twenty first two thousand and eighteen
when old man took a mandatory brake

from mister sun spilling forth
unseasonably balmy temperatures
equated from this human drake
swallowed hard taking

respite delighting, holistically
lolling (nar gagging) obliviously par
taking paradise magical optical pulsations,
a desperate need to succor dehydration

that found me relinquishing
a coveted reading nook and cranny,
this explanation not "FAKE"

excuse withholding appeasing,
an unrelenting paroxysm
watering parched palette
**** ceded to abend
imagination immersion

linkedin radiant nirvana basking (like a robin)
while feeling spell bound by this warm weather
unseasonably tropic teaser came to an end
drew the analogy how indomitable

joie de vivre kneading love intend
ding, sans partaking draught found wealth
between bounded pages doth mend
moe so than any medication

(akin to placing a wager sparring rivals)
desire for on par,
when body needs replenishment of fluids

thus...deferring self
for healthy pleasant liquid to slake
in an effort to curtail parched mouth
felt as if being scraped

by a lab bot tummy sized rake
thence entire corporeal being
didst shimmy and shake
analogous within mine

so many dozen square feet parameters
thee earth didst quake.
thence upon gulping sweet pineapple juice
(to evade dole drums)
a poem yours truly decided to make.
distracted yet again by
the fullest of moons
on an unexceptional night
blown out of proportion
by undue reverence
and misplaced relevance
looming larger than it seems
nature should allow
a false sense of light
marred by hues
of orange and red
forced upon it by
this unseasonably late
summer's twilight
there are those who
will assign meaning to
this sight and to any
signs thus associated
guided by the symbolic
grounded in the scientific
somehow the truest
of explanations are overlooked
the simple will always
inexplicably
be far less appealing
than the convoluted
outside is sweltering monsoon humidity but no rain prior to now inside the bank is air-conditioned crammed full with Friday late afternoon customers she stands in line wearing short cut-off jeans flip-flops loose-fitting silk fawn chemise hair in pigtails holding wallet thinking to herself the man in me wants to enter through your kitchen door famished fingers itching breathing hard the woman in me wants you to lay me out on supper table have your way gently slobber berry pie laughs aloud to herself as others standing in line look on smile politely too reserved to ask what’s so funny she questions her proclivity to become lesbian more likely she is searching for sincere strong yet somewhat ambivalent male capable of switching roles humoring her playing with flights of imagination

2

the heat is getting to everyone tempers run short irritability prevails birds with open beaks **** in hot breaths comb dry dust blown yards for scraps vast patches of mesquite pale yellow cracked pods strewn along streets sidewalks palo verde trees vibrate hissing buzzing cicada chant he turns water heater off cold water faucet on but it makes no difference mildewed towel restless sleepless wrestled bed sheets in morning sun’s defiant glare merciless he recalls clammy summers in Chicago working downtown riding screechy bumpy “el” train home smell of burnt electrical wiring perspiration beads rolling down arms backs of hands soaking wristwatch band dripping from forehead sticky clinging clothes observing other passenger’s misery discreetly focusing on females knowing they’re suffering from same circumstances thinking about dampness between their thighs and for brief moment escaping oppressive condition in that sweet warped imagining

3

she determines pinot noir unseasonably heavy decides instead on sauvignon blanc opens closet door choosing what to wear in this unrelenting muggy heat

4

more than anything he wants to belong with female partner

5

she imagines a kiss

6

he thinks about a smell

7

she stands undecided in ******* in front of closet mirror 7 outfits scattered on bed she is more intelligent shrewd clever than this foolish display looks inside herself for serenity calm out of the blue she smells it hears it however late the monsoon rains finally arrive she will clothe accordingly
i close my eyes
as the song comes on
the one about the boy
trying to skip rocks
on the ocean
and i can see myself
years from now
taking a little hand
warmly in mine
and leading them down
that old, worn out dock
to our old spot
between 10th
and the shore.
i'd show those little eyes
the very spot
i fell in love with
you
that unseasonably warm
November day.
i'll show them
the date carved
in stone.
our proof for the ages
that no matter
what happened to us
we really did
happen.
i'll tell those little ears
about the magical
once in a lifetime
sunset
that took my breath away
and took us to  a
whole other world
a whole lot better than
this one.
i'll tell them
our story.
the long complicated tale
about best friends,
a lovely blonde haired
blue-eyed boy,
and my insignificant self.
i'll mention how
we saved one another
from ourselves
and how we fell
in love
during late night talks
but never admitted it.
i'll tell them the story
of us.
i just really hope
i get to give a
happy
ending.
jimmy tee Nov 2013
a gray morning in November
unseasonably warm

once again it is the crows domain
they speak to one another, you know

the wind carries anticipation
the ground seems ready willing and able
to accept the coming snow

yesterday was a rare day
I did not drive my automobile
good news traveled my way

one dry leaf falls
floats on the breeze
****** it before it touches
the earth interrupting
determinism

anxiety stifles happiness
a goal that is realized
in stops and starts
a million jabillion thoughts
each and every day
yet we see ourselves as making rational choices
information overload
any idea what the mistake ratio might be ?


Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Jordan Fischer Jan 2016
The cold bites bitterly at my face
Figures, the night I decide to go for a walk
This unseasonably warm winter turns to mace
Liquor warms but ultimately steals

The breath turns to ice on my face
The ice has a way of boiling my emotions
Bringing them to the surface
Until they're all out of space

The liquor causes flushing
Not only in the cheeks
But in the skin and in the the weeks
My skin tells more than I ever could

Time tries but can't tell all
Just like my cheeks the story comes from nothing
But it blossoms nicely
Into a beautiful rendition of the emotions within
Thomas W Case Aug 25
I don't want to go a
gentle journey,
from convoluted to
convalescence.
I quit drinking again;
found love in
the psych ward.
She's my broken-winged
angel.
So much pain behind that
sweet smile.
She's drinking again,
and I can't fix her.
It hurts, like an arrow
through the stomach.

I have a rabbit that comes
to my yard.
She lies in the same
spot every day.
So much so, that
she has worn down a
place for herself--the surrounding
grass grows around her.
She feels safe.
I feed her spinach, and my
brother sings her
show tunes.
That's what we get
for having a drama
teacher for a father.
Thanks, Dad.

It's been an unseasonably
cold April.
I feel sorry for Harvey;
That's her name, thanks
again Dad.
I talk to her softly.
"Hi, baby--what are you doing?
Do you want to come in?"
She doesn't answer.  I'm sober.
I want to take care of her...
Both of them...
My two little bunnies.
It's cold, and the wind is
blowing hard,
beneath a mean grey sky.
I dedicate this poem (a repost) to my friend, Dawn Holt who passed away last week. RIP.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others from my book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHB1Q13LID4
Foram Adeshara May 2017
You are like a rain,
Sometimes pleasant, gentle soft.
Sometimes unseasonably heavy.

You are like a night,
Sometimes moonlit, misty.
Sometimes extremely dark and cold.

You are like dream,
Sometimes blissful and romantic.
Sometimes bizarre, incomprehensible.

You are like a talk,
Sometimes heart-to-heart.
Sometimes ribald, scurrilous.

You are like a wind,
Sometimes gentle.
Sometimes strong gusty.
Ottar Jan 2015
Empty branches, nakedness stark,
Against an undescribable grey dark,

Sky,

Evergreens mockery, of winter's brown,
Mist so heavy the tall grass will surely drown,

Fog

Mixed with rain to the air a heaviness brings,
Here's the deal, there surely will be, Spring!





Bring on the poetry,
Hands not frozen
To an aging keyboard
Unseasonably warm
So why am I so cold?

This too is a season,
Or a trial of reason
It ....appears.
C E Ford Jan 2018
It’s that time of year
when the air is unseasonably warm,
summer’s last push,
last bounce
on the trampoline,
before the street lights
come on
and her mother
tells her it’s time
to come inside.  

I tilt my head
and lean it back,
closing my eyes,
allowing the mixed smell
of tide water
and seat leather
to drive me elsewhere,
back to the river streets
and cobblestone houses
of South Georgia
where my journey began.

The warm night air
fills my lungs
with longing
and nostalgia
more than smoke,
and for a split second,
I’m there:

With the crickets singing,
and the salty spray of the ocean
from the thunderbolt islands
filling my empty places,
in ways
that no other person
ever could.

And I don’t feel
brave
or powerful,
or even beautiful,
I just feel
in control,
and that’s
enough for
me.


There is no wishing,
no hoping,
no dreaming
for a better tomorrow.

Just the contentment
of not knowing
which direction I face,
but the
understanding
that I am going
somewhere.
I wrote a poem, once, called "Passenger Seat" when I was 18 and completely in love with everything around me and the people who were taking me there.

Now, almost 5 years later, that poem has been rewritten. And I have, too.
Teo Mar 2015
It’s late and I’m alone again
I’ll try to write a poem again
But I don’t know how successful you’re going to be
It’s up to me to breathe the life into your heart,
My little friend

So I’ll tell you how I spent my day
Because you’ll hear the things I say
While all of my peers are far away

I played tag with spiders on the floor
As cobwebs above my attic door
Drifted in a breeze that came from nowhere I could see
Floated in the breath of some being I couldn’t see

When the arachnid came too close
To the shadows that encroached
My thoughts turned towards the sighing ghost
And Halloween came 7 months too early
In my fog filled head

So I’ll give an October air about you
Purely for the sake of being un-seasonal
Written in the spring when you should be written in the fall

Who sees orange leaves in almost April?
Who else smells evil in the air?
Who can feel the whispering maple
Playing with your windswept hair?
Can you see the goblin sleeping in its secret lair,
My little friend?

That’s the place where I wanna be
Out in the open with the trees
So I can let my soul run free
With my imagination in its grasp

Instead I’m still here in this room
Air smelling like a different doom
Cut off from the grinning moon
A prisoner in this painted womb

But outside is unseasonably cold
This winter weather is too old
The frost outside is far too bold
And I can’t lie, I am distressed,
My little friend

Distressed is better than depressed
Too bad today I’m both I guess
Because I’m too alone at best
Angry and obsessed at worst
For simply someone to converse
And share the thoughts I have rehearsed
But I’m left within the dust to brood and thirst,
My little friend

I feel abandoned and annoyed
At how easy I am to avoid
Like a fool, a ******* toy
I’m feeling cruel,
My little friend

I can’t keep waiting for warm weather
It’s been coming for a month too long
And the place where I’ll feel better
Will only make me feel more wrong
With plants still dead and freezing soil
With no birds to give it song

So I’ll keep you close at heart
And keep waiting to be happier
And waiting on that smile I lost somewhere along the way

Today you’re my piece of Halloween
You’re a fragile memory
You’re a grinning, growling, gleaming jack-o-lantern
I carved out of nothing with my voice
And etched into the computer screen

I tried to breathe the life of another season
From this spring air and into you
But I think I failed somewhere along the way today
And let you down just like my friends have done to me
So the least that I can do is nothing, but I will thank you
And wish you were a human being
Instead a poem just listening
Scar Sep 2016
My head hurts, and
It's unseasonably warm.
I read that a concussion
Can cause mild depression.

But what if I was mildly depressed to begin with?
Katie Mora Apr 2011
Waking up feels strange,
like you’re coming to in an asteroid belt
or an avalanche. You pour fog
into your morning cereal and every clink of the spoon
against your teeth
seems to have something to say -
a letter, a number, an apology,
something unintelligible.
The bathroom tile on your bare feet is unseasonably cold,
and looking at yourself in the mirror
is like reading Tolstoy in Russian
for the first time. She’s left your drawers
and counters bare.
You hadn’t noticed how colorful her things were
until they weren’t there. She’s taken
her bottles of lotion, the pastel ones and the neon ones
and the one with green and white stripes,
and now everything in the room is white.

The pills go down like pebbles.
The light outside seems either brighter or dimmer
than it should be; you can’t tell which.
Your eyes have been trained to focus on her,
every little curve of her lips and wrinkle in her clothes,
every twitch of her finger as she stirs her coffee,
and now that she’s not there there’s nothing to focus on.

There’s a draft now. You’ve never felt it before.

It’s amazing, how many things
she hasn’t touched. She hasn’t touched
the books on the third shelf,
or the stuffed duck you keep in your bedside cabinet,
or the bottle of nighttime pain relievers you forgot you had
near the fridge.
But looking at those hurts worse
than looking at the things she forgot,
because they’re things that she could have touched,
could be touching right now.
But she isn’t.
You don’t know where she is.

You touch everything for her,
with your left hand,
the hand she squeezed before she got out of the car
and you drove away before you could look back.

You bite off all the nails you’ve been trying to grow out.
You chew at them while you wait
for the shower to warm,
and they’re gone by the time you’re ready to shampoo.
When you step out, you’re bitten by everything
that isn’t there anymore. You wonder
how long you can be occupied by these novelties,
how long you can be intrigued by them
before they start becoming too much.
You think about moving out,
taking only the things you were both indifferent towards,
finding a smaller house
further away from everything.
You think about doing what she did -
packing up all your things into a bag
and getting on the first plane you can,
but something ties you to where you are.

So you stay.
You pull away from everything
and pretend she has left you with nothing.
Caitlin Skye Aug 2013
She picks it up and cradles it;
Not a second thought.
The perfect harmony of the feeling of nothing
Tightly embraces her.
Makes her feel at peace.
She enjoys the simplicity of the unseasonably warm winter breeze.
It whispers:
                "I can; I am; I will."
Keely Anne Jan 2013
it was unseasonably warm for a january morning, and
as a result, the front windows of your car were left
cracked open to the lazy morning air

and i saw them hanging there
like open mouths poised to spill their secrets

i searched for a pen.

i thought about writing down all the things i love about you
every time you took my breath away
every fever dream of you and every time i wished i could undress you right then and there
and i was honestly so close.
your windows were open, and i could slip it easily onto your passenger's seat.

but no one was parked on the other side of you,
and i would quite certainly give myself away.
so i didn't risk it, and i'll have to be content
with hoping you wanted to undress me, too
1/18/13
DG Sep 2015
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
   Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone,
   Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, and lang’rous waist!
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
   Faded the sight of beauty from her eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
   Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise –
Vanish’d unseasonably at shut of eve,
   When the dusk holiday – or holy night
Of fragrant-curtain’d love begins to weave
   The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight,
But, as I’ve read love’s missal through to-day,
She’ll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.
betterdays Feb 2016
the curve of the beach
is outlined in a murky red today
the kelp has turned in the heat

on the sand the little *****
make little spheres and bubbles


where the damp meets dry
a sandcastle slowly loses form
as the wind takes it away
grain by grain


on the rocks three kids clamber
shouting and pointing poking sticks
into the pooled worlds

up on the grass, sit two old gents
and the clamour of seagulls that
are being fed skerricks of fat golden chips

i stand admist all this feet in the water
work pants rolled up, shirt tails out
breathing in the saltspray
looking to the horizon
as it begins to colour  the evening sky

at my feet swirl ribbons of red brown kelp


it has been an unseasonably hot summer
made a detour on the way home.....first day back to work.......
Ronald Jones Jun 2015
The rim of the earth glows crimson in the
gathering dusk as
an unseasonably warm breeze churns the air
Soon all the earth's places will be in
dark ruling covenant
Like us, my dear love,
our blood aflame,
our lips and hands extinguishing each bright spot
of burning desire

December 22, 1992
Michael Marchese Sep 2016
She was food for thought
Psychedelic mushroom clouds
Half-eaten nervous burgers
Strawberry daydream kisses
Couple slices of heaven
Unseasonably colden delicious apple autumns
Egg yolk suns in her over-easy eyes
As I feasted mine
On her body's bountiful harvest
And her heart's insatiable appetite

— The End —