Mad Poetry Tuesday

We have come to the table Of the earth, sistren and brethren From all corners, the proletariat to the bourgeoisie, Here - like lambent light, Flickering for a few precious moments. We fetch cups of the finest libation And lolligag and entertain the hours away. And then the Barmecidal feast comes, Served on invisible platters, and we indulge, Oh how we sink our teeth in with pleasure until A few of us have meteorisms, or just laughing gas, And we walk wanton onto the particularly wet lawn, And flip a coin to see who might dance in the fountain of youth And who might retire, pooped from the gaiety Of life among strangers - who became Less strange and more strange As the years passed. Then God says take my robe, grab a bath, And join me by the hearth. We have some rad stories to tell. -- Mad Words List 6.26.18 Pooped (as in tired) Fetch Flip Particularly Proletariat Bourgeoisie Barmecidal Sistren Lolligag Lambent Meteorism Rad Gaily -- This list was collected by asking the question, “Wha

Out of the earth, stems cut, And into the glass. A spectacle, a marvel, A reminder of the Outside, placed inside. They dazzled for days And then one by one They drooped, stooped over the Cold, round edge of the Vase, reaching for the door. And she said, "It's time, These must go. They might delight a few more Days, but no! Look at this Single one limping. They must Go." And into that brown bag They were buried, without ceremony Or song, amid napkins and other plastic Horribles. And that's how I found them. Heartbroken, Ruffled like goose feathers, Waiting to be taken out Again. To feel the air, Even if it would be among The dead and uncompostables, let their feathers Rest back into the earth They were clipped from. "Let us wilt in the place We call home," they said. And I just wanted to caress One - its soft, pink goose feathers - And tell it that it was the Most beautiful thing I had Seen all day. The most beautiful refuse,

In the saffron summer, something grew out Of the weeds of empathetic words between us. It entangled and took over; I thought It might be invasive, but it turns out We planted it together. Not deliberately at first, sometimes Tomatoes just sprout from the compost Heap of life. Sweet, and Unexpected. Blossoming out of Honesty, and nourished by laughter, Maybe a little water, and days in the daylight. Your supportive arms held me up, And we grew stronger in the warmth And flourished in the garden of nonjudgement. When one of us withered now and again, Or when we palavered into madness - Sometimes there was rain, Or necessary silence, but there would always be a harvest to come. My dear companion, sibling of the soul, In this serene truth I rest - That however many winters bury Our roots in the snow And try to make us forget the Fateful hours when we lived in the young heat - Let me tell you, I will never Forget the lushness of what you left in me. The leaves m

Just this minute, the white-tailed Magpies are finding themselves In the verdant glades of the Rockies, As the aspens, fresh green, quake in the wind. They know nothing of Jon Snow, Or the window on the second floor Where I look out, remembering, Longing for apricity, the sun on my face. But the gloam is settling in, And the magpies will soon be seeking Windows of their own To look out of. And I think the shadows on my page Are cast like dark rainbows - made of light And things in the way. Awe-inspiring shapes I couldn't see in the dark. Is it best to be inside or Outside? Or can I be moved To appreciate this Pedulumic cycle - To be tossed, fro and to, Between creation and decay, Between sunrise and Sunset? Do you feel the loam in your hands, How rich it is when you dig deeper? Do you admire how perfectly The lilac blossom, with its powerful redolence, Seeks your attention as if to say, "Stay outside for a while." As my colleague yamm

How does one end up In a house on the trembling edge, Breathing in the mountain air? How do you, stranger in a strange land, Decide this paradise is the one to throw Your blanket down on in the grass And smell the sweet lavender While it reaches out its royal arms Toward you, tenderly? Did you smell the dankness Of the city first? Or were you born On that fresh mountaintop, Skiboots strapped on shortly After diapers? I wonder about your place In the sun and wonder if you've ever seen Oceantide in the evening, Foaming up on the soft-sanded shore While the sea turtles scurry in head-first? And I wonder if you've ever known Five lanes of traffic, or swampy flatlands, Or desert thirst and the miracle of cactus. Mountaineer, you are a force of curiosity, Barreling through my thoughts as I drive Back to the dankness, to the five lanes You've never needed, to the people You may never meet. And I leave you To the rocks and the trees of Heaven on Ea

I shuddered at the cacophony That roared outside my door. What lay beneath the hairy branches Of Nature's constabulary? That primordial design Ever building, ever breaking, Wonders surreptitious, its pleasure - Oh, divine. That green thaumaturge Did stand at my gate And sent down roots To some chthonic place. And when the rose buds bloomed In June, I knew that my garden Was written in some kind of Pesharim, its message lost to most. But I listened, oh I bent My ears like a litigant to the Judge, as the vines made me An interlocutor in this earthly tete-a-tete. It felt dastardly, to peel back The petals of this stupendous joy And see the inner-workings - The hearts of stars that grow at my feet. Inside the stems We're galaxies and mysteries, unventured Life. Knee-deep in the shitter, They shined. With new perspicacity, I saw The unmitigated farce that A Digital Age would be, Breathless and choking out life. The key wasn't on the keyb