the month of June says to the month of May,

i don’t see why anyone
has to know about this

blame me not for
pink and perfect brides
washing their bed sheets

religiously

judge me not

for the 104 degree heat
that goes liquid-y
in the crease of any sized breast

for  the trespass  of salt,
the insufferable bead of sweat,

–it’s only going to get hotter

::

playing it again with 55 for RT

occupational hazards

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Paul Whitener the Sycamore Tree

there’s value
in what’s written
in mother’s
edgy voice

of blunt space
of moonlit night
of sycamore tree

of turning away
of self-doubt
of turning towards
ready to die
over, and over again

as is best
as is done
by toying
with the edge

of brush,
of pen,
of small-town mouth,
of tongue to teeth,
of windpipes
saying hello

::

for Real Toads

naked new moons

all of my poems are naked new moons
swirling little eddies in the ocean
around my buoyed pelvis, and jutting hip
all of my poems are tasselled waves of
strolling minstrel music & balcony sounds
delivered intravenously into my one open ear
all of my poems want to touch the evening sky
as satin thigh, and this is also acceptable
all of my poems are marked from the start
with no sense of boundaries, bound in the dark
— a star shaped heart

30: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads
last one! off prompt, whatayagunnado?

i’ve been living this way for more than 10,000 years i think

and i don’t even know
how i am doing it
prancing to the playground
calling dibs on the swings
hanging fancy words
on the jungle gym bars
flipping my hair forever free
from real-life verbs
like rush and race

i go hunting-up some honey
which is always given
after i learned how to poise
my asking to approximate
kindness i simply need
to borrow from the bees

and pay no attention to
Jon Lucas, the pissy pirate
to all the pretty posey girls
(he only likes saying
I can see your underwear)

in the whole scheme of things
what you think is the next to
the last thing, never really is
Jon, if you keep on twirling
10,000 more days, months, or
years, — honest to god this is
the easiest way,

29: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

Secret Bedside Life

It needs to be said.

There were regular close encounters
in the night. If I turned my head
to the right, there was a window, a desk,
a Coca-Cola mirror, a pastoral neighbor,
sleeping well I presumed.
Everything was (well) right.
If I turned my head to the left,
there was a darkened door. And a
clown poster: God knows.
So it was observance not to say anything,
but to push away what’s left
with the back of my thighs,
and my 8-year-old back which stiffened
in this ritualistic bedtime plight.

28: Real Toads

angel shoes

we line them up on the stairwell, —
when we don’t want to make him mad

size fives, left and right, go here, —
anyone can see how saintly they sit
resting their little soles on pinewood

brother’s go toe-to-toe, right here, —
a fairly functional promisary alignment
that the work boot father insists on

there’s too many tangled laces
in a lifetime for one man to finagle, –
so we line them up on the stairwell

27: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

how i discern You

to identify Your rented moment in time
with as much sympathy as possible
, i scribe You a Capital letter, a Space

while You speak magic a silent memory begs
, are We another Ourself all together
? how fragile You whisper very like a frog

, themselves an old-time thing-a-ma-bob
prescribing for the world maybe
: momentary music : a ripple in the universe

blogger-image--2038874275
Karin Gustafson – Outsider Art

26: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

daydream

18157207_10209196606052388_7690008580541656865_n
i can throw words
out of balance

yet i’m small ~ yellow
a secret question

a stopway off its hinges
i grow a little more infinite

within human limits
~ my door’s hungry

mother says don’t eat
with your mouth open

mother says don’t talk
with your mouth full

but i’ve always
been otherwise ~ yellow

i wear a light sweater
now that it’s April

and the sun is peeking out
to see where i am next

absorbed in restraint, or
inventing a fire escape

25: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

you’re my favorite page,

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i want you to know that
in and out of rain
i would have dog-eared
your form forever,
but i can’t bring myself
to put a crease
in your timeless beauty
treachery, i promise, will never
touch your needles of grandeur

24: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

the embarrassing job of writing poetry

without thinking (too much), i do it again
bring too many chocolates to the party

i don’t hold back for national diabetes
i can’t be responsible for what’s been done

i offer fruit punch (another sugar)
and immediately hate myself,

vow to unwrap one (or ten) evils intermittently
forever, or however long it takes to cure my disease

23: Real Toads inspiration from A Poet’s Poem