April 30 - Jesus Is Coming

Homeless man

bearded and dirty

wandering the streets

eyes rolling in that

wild horse kinda way

singing chanting praying

it’s all God’s visions

that he sees brought

to him on angel’s wings

so profound his belief

that anger wells within

that the masses cannot

see nor hear the gift

he shares from on high

louder he shouts of salvation

urgently he warns of demons

arms waving wildly

skinny black crow wings

making punctuation marks

at the people passing by

most shake their heads

hoping that he gets help

back on his medication

somehow someway someday

crazy old man always talking

‘bout Jesus coming back

they need to lock him up

While every Sunday morning

in the pulpits of churches

stand the ordained the blessed

men and women of God

who bring the same message

of demons, salvation and

the joyous return of Jesus

some preach sweetly

while others pound away

at the sinners in their midst

the church sings and sways

and all the people say amen

dropping dollars in the plate

full of their self-proclaimed

piety and respectability

some build churches like

impregnable fortresses

self-contained communes of

Jesus Loves You

bookstore gym coffee shop

restroom’s with fancy soap

and heavenly soft two-ply

keeping the world at bay

until heaven’s gate is nigh

locked up tight every night

to keep out homeless preachers

left to lie upon their concrete beds

April 29 - Runner

She ran in 1967

where she was

not supposed to run

on an April day

in Boston

down a  frozen road

in sleet and rain

Number 261

She ran

to the salute

of men spewing

obscenities

their middle fingers

aloft in the air

this was their race

After all

women who run

get big legs

hair on their chests

grow mustaches

and their uterus’ fall out

but despite such

obvious risks

to her feminine health

She ran

past the official

who tried to drag

her from the course

who tried to

take her number

ripping and pawing

at her bib

Still…on she ran

26 miles

all the way to the end

straight into history

K.V. Switzer ran

April 28 - When I Was Thirteen

The screaming

that’s the worst part

that and the Thorazine Shuffle

stagger stagger

drool drool

nodding like

you got them

junkie blues

but it’s always

full circle back

to the screaming

their royal majesties

holding high court

as the madness roils

through tender brains

until the only

voice that is left

is to scream

some just stand

and scream

some run and scream

some swing fists

and scream

some do all three

Every. Single. Day.

I am terrified…Every. Single. Day.

April 27 - I Wish I May I Wish I Might

Dreams

did you have them

surely you did

star light star bright

Wishes

did you conjure

spells to fulfill them

I wish I may I wish I might

Hope

did you keep refilling

the leaky cup

that bled your heart

as your life was

molded and shaped

by hands not your own

Did you dream your

mother alive again

did you wish to be

exactly who you

wanted to be

did you hope against hope

to be the Captain of your fate

did you dream of us

all the children that came

did you ever think

it would all go this way

April 26 - Due East

East is somewhere

of this I’m sure

the four directions

forehead on bat

drunk dizzy spin

find me point me

round and round

here we go

here we go

hands up in the air

like I just don’t care

‘til I can spin no more

stagger stepping

off into the sunset

seeking the face

of the glorious sun

April 25 - I Remember

The prompt was about remembering


I Remember 

the first time that my door creaked open in the still of night
the way he slid into my bed covers shushing my alarm
the fear that tripled the jackhammer beat of my heart
wild rabbit scared squirming to escape the pen of his arms

I Remember
The quietly roaring screaming whispers of his threats
I will kill your brothers kill them all dead if you tell
I will kill you rip out your heart and feed it to your mother
before I eat her heart and kill her as dead as you

I Remember
The daytime it was as though nothing had happened
as if the blood on my sheets a stigmata appeared
extra comics special treats new clothes trips to the store
payments for what was done to me in the dark of night

I Remember
The shame, the fear, the loneliness, the hurt, the rage
swallowing my guilt like milk and cookies before bed
chair at the door tightly wrapped little mummy in my quilt
unanswered prayers teach me that God’s deaf and blind

I Remember
Learning to sleep in boots jeans razor edged knife
reaching under my pillow for the second knife hidden
the last time that he came for me my armor he found
though he tried to reach through my blade did he find

I Remember
That no words were exchanged the blade at his throat
the agreement silently made that I would not kill him
slowly upright he sat on the side of my bed and wept
for what I couldn’t tell the loss of his toy or death’s proximity

I Remember
The firestorm of madness ignited by those evening visits
as the fuel of grief stricken insanity burnt me to the ground
swimming to the bottom of 90 proof bottles only to drown
punching veins, nostrils and lungs just please take me higher

I Remember
The next man touched me after him asked did I mind
blade in hand fury beyond words I assured him I did
the times after that men’s hands caught me unawares
as a dyke raped again to keep me in my woman's place

I Remember
All of the raping touching grabbing pinching and leering
the nasty suggestions that they’d love to make real
tried a lot of places at a friend’s or on the street or at work
a constant fight to keep prying evil hands and dicks away

I Remember
Not a one of these things happened in a public bathroom
not a one of these things happened in a public bathroom
not a one of these things happened in a public bathroom
not a one of these things happened in a public bathroom

I Remember…

April 24 - The Killing Days

The prompt is to write a poem as a story that's told backwards from last to beginning. This piece also incorporates the poem written in long lines prompt

Yeah, they executed Lonnie Dixon, he was only 17, but they let his daddy go

Boy selling postcards for fifteen cents, of the charred body, used to be John

Carter

His corpse still hung on display, when the Arkansas Guard came to do what the Sheriff would not

Found a man standing in the intersection, 9th and Broadway, directing traffic with the burnt to a crisp, remains of John Carter's arm

Came pouring into the Black side of town, bent on ripping up property, for a dark meat barbecue, piling up church pews, doors, tables and chairs

5,000 strong these good Christian white folk gathered, men and women, many with their children

'Cause dragging his body behind a bumper in a 50 car parade had only fired up the flames of their lust 

They pumped 200 rounds of ammunition into his dead body because everybody knew that the only "good nigger was a dead nigger"

But first they'd stood him on the hood and drove away with his life as the rope snapped his neck

Poor John Carter said not to be quite right in the head

Caught by the mob, blood in their eyes, hell bent on avenging the virtue of two white women said he'd done messed with them

Few days before this murderous rage, two thousand, too many, white men stormed the jail

With a vengeance burning, where their hearts once beat, only to find their quarry long gone

Police said they had his mama, made him stand 24 hours, no food, no water, no sleep as they pried out his mouth, their oral admission of guilt

No lawyers, no rights, no written statement, just their claim he said he'd done it

They stated that the son Lonnie confessed to the crime

At first everyone thought two Black men, the Dixon's, father and son, had done killed that little white girl, some said raped her too

A girl found dead, up in the belfry of the First Presbyterian over in Little Rock

Floella McDonald, little twelve year old white girl gone missing, town speculates that a negro must a took her

April 23 - Meat

The prompt for this poem is to use the first line of someone else's poem. I'm using Michael Klein's Other Horses

I wept in a stable
the smell of horses
long time gone
as are most of the
animals that used to be
There's been no
steak to be had for 
many years now
no smell of bacon
in the morning
no chicken or eggs
just a constant of
repeat dreams for
Hamburger Helper
that whole meal
we used to make
in one frying pan
We've done this thing
so called 
evolved mankind
killed off everything
except our sorry selves
not a church mouse
nor minnow survived
leaving us to eat
soy patties with
soy protein shakes
cold on the side
all kinds of flavors
except the ones 
we crave
multi-vitamin chasers
cap off our meals
while rumors swirl
sparking excitement
that they've found a
new way to make meat
something they've
done up in a lab
over across the sea
they whoever they are
claim it tastes just like
good ground sirloin
it'll be getting shipped
to our stores any day
Word is it will cost a lot
way more than we
pay now for the soy
but I don't care
I'm saving my dollars
I'll be first in line
for some of that
new Soylent Green

April 22 - How Not to Kill a Chupacabra

The prompt, a "how to" poem


Insert 3 drunk friends

into vehicle

drive said vehicle

down a national

seashore at 2am

on a starless night

amidst low lying

fog that sucks the

watts right out of

your headlights

‘til you’re looking

for boogeymen

to jump on the car

but the only thing

seen is an armadillo

you inform friends

it’s really a chupacabra

your Texas fellow

agrees to this truth

on down the road

another chupacabra

strolls in the middle

brakes slammed

oh damn it I tried

poor chupacabra

arrival at condo

third mate missing

the backseat empty

omg were we UFO’d

then past the shadows

we see missing friend

folded up facedown

in the floorboard

shaking and pulling

fail to stir said friend

fear induced sobriety

breath and pulse

we find are there

when suddenly with

a gymnast’s agility

the potentially deceased

arches twists and flips

in one smooth move

landing upright

where she then demands

what the fuck and hey

who’s got my lighter?!

April 21 - Bless Your Heart

The prompt was to use the sounds of home, how things were said 

As a child there

was Spanish spoken

my mother’s first

language and

then the English

of the father’s

There came a time

we moved away

from the land where

speaking Spanish

brooked no alarms

going to a place far

below the Mason-Dixon

in the deep South

to the people

of the second father

to find that another

kind of English

was the native tongue

And ya’ll was a noun

and a pronoun

and it could be

singular or plural

while bless your heart

was not meant to

seek the Lord’s

intervention in the

care of your heart

rather as a means to

call one dumb as

a bag of hammers

or unable to accomplish

simple tasks

like finding your

ass with both hands

in your back pockets

When telling grandpa

who was pretty old

that his fly was open

he told me simply

that a dead bird

doesn’t fall from the nest

No matter what

was about to be done

everybody was fixin to

when telling Granny

any kind of untruth

she’d lean way back

and look you dead in

your eye and tell you

that dog won’t hunt

The first time one

of the aunts said

butter my biscuit

I went to the kitchen

to look for a biscuit

and some butter

Uncles would tell you

that they might could

carry you to the store

but you’d have to wait

cause it was so hot

that the chickens were

laying hard boiled eggs

For a good long while

I didn’t understand

what was being said

I’d smile and nod

trying to puzzle it out

in the context of all that

had come before

but in the end it

turned out alright

I got to where

I understood them

pretty well

So excuse me now

I gotta get back to work

you know idle hands

are the devil’s work

but before you go

could ya’ll cut

them lights off

and make sure the

hose pipe ain’t dripping

Ya’ll come back now

April 20 - Step-Sister's Lament

The prompt was to write a poem as the minor character in a fairy tale

I didn’t even want

to go to the ball

wearing this

ridiculous dress

that mother and sister

think is so posh

their dreams of

snagging a prince

not one of my own

I wanted to wear

long pants with

shiny black boots

a pirate shirt

billowing cape

with a saber

at my side

sans face paint

and curled wig

wearing only a

roguish smile

upon my lips as

I asked her to dance

this beauty I knew

as Cinderella

into whose

home I’d been thrust

by mother’s marriage

to her father

The first time that

I saw her amid

introductions all round

in morning’s light

among the roses

of her garden

my heart lurched so

that I thought

myself about to die

From that moment on

I lived for the sound

of her voice and

every waking moment

I sought reason

to spend with her

until her father’s

untimely death

and yes

I do wonder about that

when her life

changed in this house

from sibling to servant

under mother’s cruelty

that is such I dare not

attempt to play the hero

So here I sit alone

in this cage of the

feminine silk and tulle

watching her waltz

across the room with

the kingdom’s prince

knowing in this moment

that I will never be

a suitor for her heart

Mother arrives

admonishments fly

sit up straight

straighten your gown

smile pretty

at least pretend

you’re having

a good time for

the gentlemen here

it’s likely you’ll never

gain a prince

but a husband

of some kind

must be had

I watch her twirl

around the room

so light and beautiful

in his arms
that I desperately 

long to be mine

her rescue is at hand

but there is none

to be had for me…

April 19 - Tea time

Prompt was to write a poem for Earth Day


Along the river bank

trees perch

by the toes of

their roots

sipping their

afternoon tea

beneath the

shimmering dome

of sky’s brightest blue

as the Buffalo flows

a dark green Caddy

headed for a meet-up

down at the White

in old Buffalo City

The absence of sound

weaving a spell

of silence that

elegantly drapes itself

along the bluffs

in a quiet so loud

that begs the question

of wakefulness or dream

until the stillness

is slit wide open

bleeding out the magic

to drown in the river

done in by a pod

of thermoplastic

killer whales

shredding the membrane

of this enchantment

as they paddle their way

uninvited into the

belly of this moment

their cacophonous chorus

louder than a

murder of crows

it’s only minutes

that feel like eons

‘til they round the bend

and in the gloaming

comes the wink of fireflies

flitting about

sparking the spell

back into place

as the ghosts of

the ancestors

gather round the fire

to tell the stories

of how it used to be

April 18 - Photograph

Prompt was to use words from a specialty dictionary. I chose photography 


Strewn between

mountain and valley

these artifacts of who

we used to be

all of our sins

against the other

blown out for

a thousand miles

the evil we carved

upon wounded hearts

in the solar flare of

our self-destruction

while the dust bunnies

of what was good

still multiplied in

the days gone by

and now we find

our long since

empty glass

is thirsting anew

for this cocktail

we’ve made up of

two parts forgiveness

and two parts

re-imagination

and a dash of

amnesia

no doubt about it

there’s no halos

to be found among

the budding green

and vibrant blooms

of this new spring

while clipping the rot

of the dead and gone

grinding up the bones

of what used to be

to feed this fertile soil

spraying and praying

to water this garden

between whose furrows

we will dance

throughout the

long summer nights

to the tunes

of our poetry written

under the moonlight

radiant and resplendent

in the delight

of what has always

been between us

that which…just is