lunchtime poems poetry

pettygrove park 4.26.18

It’s warm out
So I’m outside again,
A ghost of translucent skin
And awkward-angled sunburns,
Draped in cheap Target cloth.
A single man in cyan
Sits on a sun-drenched hill
Staring into a bright rectangle.
I write about him
In a similar rectangle.
I do my best to not ogle
The women in sundresses
But let’s face it:
The world is blooming now
And there’s much more
To look at.

I, and maybe you,
Pull clods of earth asunder
As we haul ourselves
From the sunken winter,
Shaking our lumbering frames,
Inhaling the soft scent
Of flowers. We smell love,
And feel the warm breeze
Against our cheeks.
We’ve won our annual
Fight against the seasons.
We’ve won once again.

lyrics poetry

033p: howling alone (ingrid)

i don’t give a fuck
everybody dies
some hit by a truck
some shot twixt the eyes
others hang themselves
some while jerking off
some infect the world
with just a simple cough

so you see
worrying about me
is just a waste of time
who can blame a guy
pissed off at the world
for shooting up a school
and taking out these fools
if only i’d been hit
i should’ve been a shield
cause living ain’t for shit
and nothing ever heals


lyrics poetry

032p: 21st century girl (dana)

whist’ling down the hall
a spring in every step
i blossom in the fall
awaken with some pep

my mirror loaded up
with inward-facing praise
the summer swollen shut
forgotten in a haze

i’m your
21st century girl
i’m the
future of the free world

students passing by
slow and steadily
fresh-faced alibis
potential guarantees

all the kids in school
were putty in my hands
i never lost her cool
i always had it planned


lyrics poetry

031p: prettiest (penelope)

what does it matter
i wipe off my mascara
it keeps running down my face
in front of a camera
the satellite antenna
the public feels my grace

suddenly smiling
with fake reassurance
there’s nothing wrong inside
get me home now (get me home now)
i’ll never be brave
i want to run and hide

all that i know
all that they told me
is that i’m the prettiest girl
they gave me a sash and a tiara
and all that i know
all that they told me
is that i’m the prettiest girl

i saw a boy dying
a boy from my math class
he always sat up front
and there he was lying
in freshly cut grass
a victim of the hunt

they asked me his name
i didn’t know his name
i didn’t know their names



030p: prayer to dovar the lightbringer

blessed newcomer,
we await your sign
you who embody
the gift of divine.
sacred mask,
send us your kin
so that our path
to transcendence
may begin.


029p: creatives aren't meant to push buttons and pull levers

creatives aren’t meant to push buttons and pull levers
they are meant to construct new meanings for buttons and draw levers doing silly things
some people push buttons all day
and are happy; others push buttons
and stare out of the window and pine for the outdoors and think about the other projects they’re working on
we’re all creative in our own ways
we all sprout from stardust
we all love the beating of our own hearts and the inhalation of breath
we all sing songs in the shower
to unseen lovers and grandstands of adoring fans
and some of us stare at computer screens in offices
and we sing in our head




027p: sausage stir fry

a tablespoon of coconut oil
slipped off my finger into
the frying pan; the remnants
rubbed into the dry creases
of my toiling fingers.
catapulted frozen vegetables
to distance myself from
splattering oil, a wooden spoon
bought from safeway
to stir the warming victuals.
normally, chicken presides
over this court of cauliflower,
but, bereft of poultry,
instead a substitute of
polish sausage, sliced
like hot dogs in mac & cheese.

it was fucking delicious.


026p: small talk on an elevator.

small talk on an elevator.
suddenly we’ve become
engrossed about the weather
and the sports teams
and golf. golf. everyone
plays golf, and they talk
about it like it is
a nuanced game.
i sigh (in my head)
and write poems to no one.


025p: note to mike m. on the way back to work

do you remember me,
winding through
labyrinthine hallways
to attend your audition?
it’s okay if you don’t;
a brief speck in a life
met with many faces.
such investment goes
into passing people you
kind of know on the street.
in a mote of time
a thousand calculations
beyond the wisdom of robots
cycles through your head,
and by the time you
come to a conclusion–
it’s too late. they’re gone.
and you keep walking.