More work anxiety dreams.

I am attending a meeting I shouldn't be.
I should be elsewhere.  I know because I am the only
full-time faculty member here.
As I sign the attendance form, I erase the names of all those before me.
I sign my own name, on a sticker that smudges and becomes illegible.

I lift a bit off the ground where we are sitting.
And settle.

Later - is it lunch -
Still I am not where I am supposed to be but,
as no one is looking, I simply rise up of the ground,
vertically, up towards the high ceiling,
(avoiding the ceiling fan).

There is no reason I can't do this, can't be here, up this
far off the ground.

I doubt myself and sink down.
I can't rise up anymore.
I can't.
Maybe I can't.

But I know that this is what I do
so I float up again
into even a more open room,
the ceiling, much higher,
me: much higher

It is like swimming in air
just air

I am good at this
There is no reason not to float up like this
not to listen to the Human Resources speaker
from here.

Place

Because this is a dream
we float above the landscape

There are three mountains, three peaks, high, steep.

Two dark (one quite - so beautiful: that.  so stunning.  blueblack and vivid).

The third, after and below, there where our lives were lived so well (I show him, I show themI come back many times - showing)

We drift, holding hands or gliding near, high and over the mountains

Two dark (one quite! - so beautiful: so stunning.  that!  I still love it.) The third, after and below, far below, white and made of clouds.

There is a gentle coastline of a kind.
There where our lives were lived so well.
The waves still lap at the edges, there.

I don't know for sure that I'm not alive
but I know I was..  There!

Come see.

There are three mountains, three peaks, high, steep

Two dark (one quite - so beautiful: that.  so stunning.  Isn't it, still?) 

The third, after and below, there where our lives were lived so well

The third, after and below, far below white and made of clouds.
Listen!  to the waves! familiar, dear.

All we shared.

There where we lived.
Where we lived.

There.

holiday

It hasn't been easy lately.

I have lost my way.

thin wash

wash out

brush away

That is not the problem.

The problem is I'm gutted - 

like a cantelope scraped of its seeds.

dry brush

record skip

a cry from outside

The color is still nice.

The frame still contains it.

It hasn't been easy lately.

I have lost my way.

all is random

this light here

that shape there - why?

That is not the problem.

The problem is I can barely differentiate myself

from the hard summer season.

Another devastation is another story.  we gasp, rage and forget

Platitudes, bromides tell us to love

we share pictures of our perfect day, the salad from our garden, teenagers leaving

It is true the little goat is delightful

dancing on a pig
He is so happy.  why does he leap on everything?

even lovely colors don't keep me on my feet for long

there is another cry from outside

the crumpled man has peed himself, I see from above.

and the stream

catching the light

branches like slow lightening to the gutter.

that everything is a miracle

lately

is simply not enough.

22 - star...

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Star (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles include: “Star-struck,” “Star Man,” “Star Wars Prequels Aren’t Star Wars Movies,” “Starter Set,” “Stark Raving Mad,” and so on. Remember: I’m totally fine with prompts that get bent a bit.


Starting up again

I'm not sure why - a week after my root canal -
My tooth aches enough to keep me awake.
Shouldn't I feel nothing?  Haven't the pain sensors been scraped away?

I seem, lately, to always wake at three, at four,
not wanting consciousness, even a little.

It aches there in the background and keeps me awake
a gnawing sensation that underscores loneliness and the slow measures of aging
and incremental, incremental failures.
- what was taken out isn't fully gone.

The tooth, also, hurts.

25 - exercise

For today’s prompt, write an exercise poem. The poem could be about a specific exercise, or it could just incorporate exercising into the poem. Or it could be dedicated to a piece of exercise equipment–so an ode to an elliptical machine or those hand grippers or something. Of course, not every exercise is physical; there are military exercises, mental exercises, and so on.


It is much better
- by the time one's mind wastes away -
at around noon or so

to have run with a sandbag for a bit
or inverted one's body into the letter V
until it cries out, in Victory, Vanquished

to lift one's weight (through addition)
over one's head, over and over

over one's mind that will be so much clearer afterwords
Clear and sharp and alive!

At least until noon or so.

24 - Lost/Regined

For today’s prompt, write a poem in which something is lost and then regained. Maybe a relationship is lost and then regained, or a special keepsake. Maybe it was stolen and won back. Or maybe it was in your possession the whole time, but you just didn’t know it.



Lost/Regained

Appearances all.
All disappearances - just appearances, just visions
lack of vision
lack of inclusion

To think we could lose

any of it

Until we lose all of it.

Nothing is lost - it is right there
out of sight, out of mind, but present,
accessible -possibly.

No.  it's all there
every utterance, every possibility,
every dip in that reedy pond or touch, expressed
, books - understood, read at least, read.
And all our days and all our nights,
their magic and tedium and meaning
under our skin
within.

Nothing is lost, really.
Until all of it is.

23 - footwear

For today’s prompt, write a footwear poem. A poem about shoes, flip flops, socks, slippers, flippers, boots, pumps, and so on. If you’d prefer not to dedicate a poem to your footwear, just mention footwear somewhere in the poem. That’s right; your hi-tops don’t have to be the star, and it’s totally cool if somebody’s clogs play a minor role in the poem.

*****

I am a good traveller.
I am willing to try blood soup - once.
I love nothing more than riding in the back of a pickup with the chickens
on a dirt road with pot holes the size of an American.
But I always have the wrong shoes.

You will find me
crawling through the tiny wet entrance to the Stone Age temple in sandals.
that are wet and and on which my feets slide around
like eggs in oil.

Or the heels.
I like heels.
Always heels as I climb the Acropolis or walk in ecstatic loops
through the streets of Paris.

When I arrive somewhere at first I might unpack and admire
how clever I have been,
packing for style and function,
packing light,
packing so light
I have no single pair
of good, sensible shoes.
But I have my passport and have slept well
and that's all that seems to matter.

Day 17 - Haiku

Under the lily
My giant, orange koi fish, Fate,
Spends his time alone.

16 - Setting

For today’s prompt, write a poem about (or at) a food establishment. You could pick on a chain like Taco Bell or McDonald’s, sure, but maybe there’s a local favorite–or some special dive. Heck, maybe that place where you took your first date or got your first job. Have fun with it, and if you need to do a little research, go out for something to eat.

Depuy Canal House

There were these places that we - all -
were happiest.

This old restaurant, old canal house,
in rural upstate new york where you could peer
down, good-looking, beautifully dressed, young and delighted - like one
of many levitating, framing angels in a rococco painting
upon the cooks
good-looking, busy with the pomegranates,
preparing wild mushroom soup, with pomegranates,
or stuffing the full bodies of radiant, glinting rainbow trout
with some unbelievable ingredients that grew
just out that sloped wooden door there

We were happiest there.
She was proposed to there -
a diamond in lieu of the mock turtle soup
the diamond that would be stolen off her limp hand
years hence

good years hence
some bad

but in any story the scene must be set
as a bookend for the return home

or

in contrast to the climax
light before darkness
the measure of things
the height of hope and bounty from which
the protagonist
falls.

15- words

For today’s prompt, write a poem with at least four of the following eight words:

1. flat
2. ring
3. lavish
4. vessel
5. paper
6. blacklist
7. gaudy
8. tooth

On the back of the paper I drew the guy with the missing tooth

that I always draw because there is a time, always, 

when the drawing looks flat and poor and I am no vessel

for the great spirit of art that has failed to descend

to draw a golden ring around me

to lavish upon me

specialness

a gift

no, the man is flat

and poor

barely looks like a real man at all

he looks more real

better drawn

without his front tooth

I move on to

another page.

Day 13 - Last ....

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Last (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles include: “Last Word,” “Last Card Catalog,” “Lasting Impression,” “Last Train to Duluth,” and so on.

The Last From Me

Though I obsess over them - 

what will they be

when will they be?  

soon? - 

the last look, the last word,

the last meal, the last day,

the last memory

I don't remember many

I just remember the last thing I remember

but not the actual last thing - the last laugh, the last hug,

the last easy time.

I remember telling her,

"I'm so mad at you."

and knowing that that was the last thing she heard

from me.

I don't know what to worry about

about the dead.

I was mad and death fell like a hatchet

and split my life from every tendril

of its story - almost.

Some things continued to grow.

The last anything barely matters.

The living tendrils grab onto whatever they can hold

and hatchets fall where they will.

Day 12 - Silly

For today’s prompt, take on one (or both) of the following prompts:

• Write a serious poem. Or…
• Write a silly poem.

oh.  running today.   the only thing to do is write a limerick.

There once was a teacher named Laura

who was late flying out the doora

the shit sycamore ball

that had just happened to fall

just before sent her right to the floora.

boom.

off i go.

Day 11 - Defensive

For today’s prompt, write a defensive poem. The first thing that springs to my mind is getting defensive about an accusation, which may or may not be true. The next thing I think about might be people or animals defending themselves. Or defense in sports. Or defense in the court room. Or well, there’s a lot to defend in this world.


Defensive

I'm not a bad person.  I'm not a bad person.
I'm not a bad person. I'm not a bad person.

How many times did she say this?
How did it loop in her brain?

It was this judgement she feared, I think,
- what do I know -
more than anything.

You're not a bad person
if you can't cry for help.

You're not a bad person
if you can't put it down.

You're not a bad person
if you live precariously
at the edge of all blackness.

You're not a bad person
if you fall.  And keep falling.

And have no hope of not
falling.

You're not even a bad person
if you're dead.

You're just dead and that's why
everyone is upset with you.

Day 10 - emotion something

For today’s prompt, pick an emotion, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “Happy,” “Sad,” “Angry,” or well, there’s a universe of emotions out there.  

not feeling this one too much, but I'll try


 Scattered

It is fundamental to my being,
if I admit it.

My mind darts like a hummingbird
like a startled silver little flint of a fish

There is this flower  there that
and a sound that changes everything around me

yes I flit
I dart

I seek
I flee

Every moment the world 
I find is brand new.

Day 9 - Hide Out

For today’s prompt, write a hide out poem. When I was a kid, we’d build “hide outs,” I guess from our parents or other kids. An assortment of criminals (fictionalized and real) have their hide outs. But maybe there are other hide outs, like a “man cave,” “she shed,” or the local pub. Heck, maybe it’s the library. Give it a thought, and I’m sure you’ll find the right hide out poem for you.

*

Indoor Fort 

Even now, I can get hit on the head

as the upside down dining room chairs

covered in a heavy quilt

tip in and bring the whole

hidden place

folding in on itself

us giggling underneath

Not engineers we try again

and have for a moment

sufficiently hidden in the middle of the living room

telling stories now

until the setter can't stand it

and finds us and steps on the heavy quilt

and the upside down dining room chairs

tip in and hit us on the head

and we are in a pile of furniture

and dog love

and laughter

and will always be there

hidden, completely now,

from space and from time.

Day 8 - Doodle

For today’s prompt, write a doodle poem. In my mind, I’m thinking of how I like to doodle when I’m talking on the phone or sitting in a meeting. I used to doodle in my classes when I was younger. So for a poem, I’m thinking this could start off as something small that stays small or builds to epic proportions. Doodle around a bit today. If needed, start by describing something close at hand or within your current field of vision.

Doodle

It starts with his name
one letter on top of the next
quickly illegible
the capitals popping out
from the dark splotch
like legs
that become a hat
or a set of wings
or just more legs
if I'm feeling obsessive

It's just a habit
telling the paper
what echoes in the heart
sometimes it might be numbers
numbers large enough to equal
worry

sometimes a confession
looping or etched
a cry into vast terrain of the paper's surface
of how lonesome
how lonesome
how frustrated with the frustrated self

quickly illegible
sprouting leaves or tendrils
or wheels
going somewhere
as some world launches around it
fitting to the doodle's dimension, its being

in this way I can forget
to attend to what
I should attend to

and I worry instead
about where this millipede or galaxy
this dark spot of need
is going, what it might find
for lunch
what it might want to feel
more at home.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Urban (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Urban Cowboy,” “Urban Warfare,” “Urban Daydreams,” “Urban Living,” and so on.


Urban Decay

We all know it will happen
the weeds pushing through the door jam
to the CEO's corner office

the furniture, flaking it's poly-blend skin
in the mildewed dark of some future time

and echoed and echoed
perhaps not everywhere at once

but these are not marble columns, are they
not wrought of stone or etched with the likeness of heroes

the buildings might sway
with the earth shaking below

might gleam of sun
well beyond their years of use

but these will be shells at best
if you press your ear to them

perhaps you will hear
the minting of money

the echoes of orgasms
from behind closed doors

you can only imagine
how it used to be

how good it used to be
for a time

Day 6 - Detachment

For today’s prompt, write an ekphrastic poem. An ekphrastic poem is a poem inspired by art. You can pick your own favorite piece of art if you wish. Or you can use one of the examples below:

Detachment

When does it happen

change

opening

release?

I am in this world 

with its maybe-horizon

its echoed place

its day or moonlit night

its hold of time

loose place for sense of self

identity

name

story

I'm not looking even to change

and it's not of a sudden

and it's not - or is it - 

unavoidable

I am lighter, looser

a space opens up into 

what scale

what promise

what un-asked for hope

it is other, elsewhere, fine

and I am going there now
I'm already gone

Day 5 - In/Experience

For today’s prompt, we’ve actually got two prompts (that is, a Two-for-Tuesday prompt). Here we go:

1. Write an experienced poem. Or…
2. Write an inexperienced poem.

Experience tells me that that way is south

that that smile is trouble

that that quiet voice has the answer - always

But I haven't been in all directions

I don't know how to keep a smile turned my way

I can't imagine it.

The quiet voice says, that's okay - try.

Day 4 - Distance

For today’s prompt, write a distance poem. As a runner, I automatically think of running when I think distance. But hey, there’s long distance relationships. Or why not get beyond geographic distance and consider distance in terms of time or emotional distance. Or some other interpretation.

Distance

When I step outside
out from under the branches
of my ailing elm tree

the top of my hair
my last light little blonde hair is that last thing
(drifting cloud notwithstanding) - the very last thing
until perhaps a glance off the edge of the surface of a methane sea of Titan
or a veil of a nebula, pink

Is that how far away our dead are?  Further?
Is there a distance to them?
But can there be a distance not measured 
in time or space

because this is the distance that matters to me
the vast void that I pass through
from my desk to my coffee pot
- immeasurable  -(in terms not of time or space)
in which the persons I love
are not.

(maybe are not)

How far away are they?

Day Three - Three

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Three (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Three Blind Hippos,” “Three Muskrats,” “Three’s Company,” “Three Movies Is Too Many for The Hobbit, Peter Jackson (just saying),” and so on.




Context

One
It's still this world
with its leaves unfurling
its fields, patched and waving
the paved arteries moving quick with millions
the things getting done
water levelling, dust settling
Night and Day at once, both married
to gravity and time

Two
It's is Night somewhere
It is Day here
I am still in my pajamas
with my coffee.  The Spring light is radiant.
A girl snaps awake now outside
as the truck hits a pothole
Her only home is her body,
its fragile limbs and memories jarred
with each rattle and bump.
But she is moving forward.

Three
The sphere is contained
as it is surrounded.  Space becomes the second thing,
the Earth again one.
And the third then is far away.
If far or away apply.
The second always implies the third.
The third becomes the one.

Day 2 - She said

not sure why I only post here when this poetry challenge thing is a going but that seems to be how it is.

the prompt: For today’s prompt, write a what he said and/or what she said poem. Maybe he or she said a rumor; maybe he or she gave directions; or maybe he or she said something that made absolutely no sense at all. I don’t know what they said; rather, each poet is tasked with revealing that knowledge.



Morning News

She said Uncle Spink had a missile silo
buried in his dairy farm and he received
small checks every month for his whole life for the inconvenience.

He said he lived in this French village -
that this, right here, was the beam he would
knock his head on accidentally - when he was AWOL.  This very beam.

She said the top floor was where the officers stayed
and that the dirt on their boots made her life
a misery.  Sometimes she still thinks they are there, bumping around.

He didn't say much, but muttered, "Goddamn.  Goddamn."
whenever Nixon would speak, the spots on his own hands and the tremble
more visible every day.  His fishing boots were folded away, his wife - different.  Still sweet.

She said, "There has been terrorist activity downtown."
I looked out the window and saw a bright blue sky
and a robin hopping in the scrub.  I met the eye of my neighbor who has since died.

He said, "There is no doubt civilians have been killed."
She said, "I can't just leave the county."
He said, "Hang onto my neck."
I said, "Where are we going?"

Day 1 - Fool

You'd think I'd get tired of starting these and not finishing.  My motivation is ... fairly ... good for trying to possibly follow through.

For today’s prompt, write a foolish poem. It’s April Fool’s Day, after all. Let’s loosen up today with a poem in which we’re fools, others are fools, or there’s some kind of prank or tomfoolery happening. Fool around with it a while.

If it's possible to fuck it up

I'll do that.  I volunteer.

It begins with water for the coffee maker - a bit on the floor

socks. wet. and then all down hill from there.

wet grinds missing the basket

jacket worn without a button - burst in front of the chest, of course

the red light, no wreck but, well, not stopped for the makeup spilt in the purse the laughter

from eighteen years ago peeling over the forest lost

the traffic, heavy, reckless, the heart empty am I fucking it up? i don't

 know

what I don't know but I know it is vast, so vast that I, even in moments of bright self esteem,

am only an infinitesimal flint bit of all this flake waste piff of alas a fool

for loving, yes, him I will never hold, for failing to send in the envelope, 

for missing the train, all the trains, and staying in and paying triple for waiting until now a tired

try for youth

and hope

direction

while the whole world shouts, stabs and edges towards the head

of the line

the socks dry bit by bit on the radiator 

and by the time I get home, tired and wordless, they are burned

yellow suns at the heal

ready to burst into flame

without meaning