MORE/ MORDANT

 

I cant, but I’m wanting to be more mordant

I must bring my grades up, get rated-up “smart-alecky”

I could slip pseudo-snarky from the back of the class

It’d muster some sweet laughter, then go warm just like true love

Though they’d see that I had come to this,

All red-faced and lost

god, if only I got some of this

Resting red-faced and lost.

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photo- Mwesigwa joel (unsplash)

FORTH YEAR

“My brain hurt like a warehouse
It had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things
To store everything in there” 

 From “Five Years” from David Bowie

photo-Lesley Derksen (unsplash)

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Might mixed media shaman- lite

& Brainiacs in italics write

Strive To Have Thee Happy P.O.V”?

I only choke on O.K.

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OK It looks here we’re lost

It only looks just/ old whiskey must

Unfortunately hamper

Unfolding this old map

Help hold yr own

Here, you better take the fifth.

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Precedently ominous/ Night crows might caw,

I propose we suppose this labyrinth

Is the Casbah

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S O N G

Around, nightbird’s song,

Seep’d in the walls; Profound in

Pulsing palace darks.

Daybird sings, replaces things.

Simmers back, Solace embarks.

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PHOTO-Alexias_Fotos (pix)omen

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. https://wordcraftpoetry.com/2021/02/16/weekly-tanka-tuesday-poetry-challenge-no-213-ekphrastic-photoprompt/

COLD POWER OUTAGE

There’s a cold power outage
To my home and lights.
I was working an old poem
Now deep inside my PC’s tights.
I know how to work it
I have the patience to rework it
It’s so warm when I rework it.
Hotter, when it all comes back on
When words, my words, I see
Then surely I’ll take measures
To make sure we’re both free

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• 

L O S T / J U S T

PHOTO- SECRET GARDEN (pex)

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 I. LOST

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 For now, awhile, I won’t let you pull me from the wreckage/

But, how you hold my hand, for both of us

Until the jaws of life arrives/

Tho’ I’m not at a lost of words, I’m lost

In thought / “I’m lost”, I thought,

“And hiding from the hidden costs.”

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II. BIRDSONG

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I’ll crave then dare to speak of crow and sparrows

in shrapnel-filled WW I battlefield winds,

in sharp scarlet dawns/

They’ll sing to find their kind

if they’ve lived,

A song will find its way back,

between the blood & budding daybreak.

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III. J U S T

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it could be/ a branch of a tree

perched at a high hill

would have a new bud just

breaking through/ it would be just for you

and in time a blossom. You’d just

lift yr arm up/ and pull it down/ just in time

to drink it through

with yr deepest stealing breath.///

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for Kay Ryan, K, and mostly M

C O L O R S

I’ll take on fake cyber lawyers,

I’ll finally fill out the cyber will.

It’s a fine time to fill in those spaces,

Was some suggestion from one lover;

Plus I got a call from a faraway brother;

Cards splayed out on the table,

A gasp goes down ‘round the drawn crowd,

As they turn to peak at my color

Already leaking from my face. They cannot wait.

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photo-gadini (pix)

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And I turn up to seek her colour,

Already flushing her chest and cheek.

I can very hardly wait

She’ll start to try to speak…

And I’ll find and see

All in all, the riches mined & left shining

After all finalities,

Are just filthy lucre

Aside memories

FAR-FETCHED GAINS

photo-FB meme stolen (sue me)

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I now redden to reminiscences

I’ve had a share of furtive glares & glimpses

Clandestine tiny glares & glances

But now, it’s on, to save our brave new world 

I’m now ready to walk new roads

Step surer into newer eventualities

Bet dearer on far-fetched gains

I’m pretty sure to shift to uplifting new payloads

Pretty sure no hurricanes

It could all work out, take root,

It’d adapt.

FORESHADOWING

art by Lucy Krall (unsplash)

I’m going to start by foreshadowing the end

With bright light/ Out the tunnel/ Our portend

With bright flowers/ All about/ Those late hours

When willows will make their own music

Low upon still river water

We too, use quiet power.

Instantly eventually emancipation

We will warm to harmonies

All/ For our own harmonies too

(We’ve the dry tears and years we’ve waited)

M Y O W N P A R A D E

photo taken in the Imperial Desert near California / Mexico border, 1929. photographer unknown/

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Walking, mostly neat in clockwork/ close/ meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  Just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers, parted.

(Vain fantasies say  old glories stay guarded)

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a heavy chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

Taking it to heart & head.

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I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.

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“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man,” (of course

Your Morning Porcelain

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photo- Gabby K (pexels)

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My funny anglophile,

Honeychile,

I’m sure you could fit as british

I’m sure that could be one big hat

You could wear in yr garden for tea

It’s a cliché’

But porcelain

Is the crayon I’d use for yr skin.

It’s not the naughty tickle that gets you grinning

When I kiss yr creamy creamy belly,

You forget that it calls with capitol B Beauty.

When I kiss yr bum & backside,

You ignore that it’s more than yr backthere backside.

When I explore yr inner arm, yr inner leg,

All yr inners, Inner faces,

Now you know new inner secret places,

New, even to you, you nude alabaster

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& you pray I’ll stay slow

but oh

you go

“go faster”.