Nominate your favourite ANGER / UPBEAT / OBSERVATIONAL Poems

it's the type of appointment  
you write at the top of those
'dumb things i gotta do' notepads  
or type into your phone  
or whatever your system is  
nothing to dread  
certainly nothing to be excited about  
just life  
well, maybe just a little dread  
having one's boobs smashed between plates of glass  
could be somebody's kink  
but it not mine  
 
once in the waiting room  
phone's out  
about to start scrolling  
but not so fast  
my name is called  
that was quick  
 
it's all brusque efficiency from there  
gown ties in the front  
take your belongings with you  
and so i do  
concealing my bra 
a nice one of course  
inside a roll of clothing  
carrying my shoulder purse by the strap  
 
a woman in her fifties greets me  
if you could call it that  
in the imaging room  
she's neither friendly nor unfriendly  
neither pretty nor ugly  
my 36 Cs  
are far from the first pair she's seen today  
 
she's neither focused nor bored  
neither grateful nor resentful  
she's neither smiling nor frowning  
although if i had to choose  
i'd say frowning  
there's a concrete wall of pragmatism around her  
i'm pretty sure she doesn't write silly poetry  
or watch Beavis and Butthead reruns  
 
once the pink gown is untied  
she just reaches in and apprehends me  
first the right one  
then the left  
making no apologies for grabbing  
and regrabbing  
positioning and repositioning  
her no nonsense efficiency  
is neither offensive nor inoffensive  
it's just economy of time  
her business card could read  
Janet kaputnik  
tit wrangler  
 
i'm a quick study  
stand sideways  
put your hand up here  
relax your shoulder  
yes ma'am  
o-gram  
 
less than ten minutes after i walked in  
i'm back outside in the fierce sunshine  
rough drafting a poem about mammograms  
thinking of silly puns  
swearing i won't say  
i'm doing the breast i can  
 
oops i just did

 
 
 
 
I once found  
myself at the  
end of the
rainbow...
 
nothing was
there
 

Want to know if we can be civil in providence,  
if we can lay down subtext,  
unsaid words between them,  
if we can cease, seize  
a moment to be reasonable,  
whatever reasonable means  
like not tearing down to soul  
in a severely public space,  
you can tear me down in a car park,  
in any alley,  
you can ressurect me under trees,  
pen between your teeth,  
I'm sure you'll also need resurgence,  
a revival in your gut,  
perhaps we can spit away our bile,  
create a safer ground.  
Or instead could we be calm?  
(My mouth not longing to meet yours,  
spirits still intertwined, a knot  
I'll never attempt to sever or unpick.)

 


the universe does
not hunger

the seas do not
cry

the summer sky
has no heart to
break

the mountains
have foresworn
love

the earth shows
no concern
for history
 
and you
             (my last love)

an angel carved into
stone
now

lips muted to
prayer

wings grey, weathered

              covered by moss

a taciturn watch
over my
rest

never knowing

never caring

about
heaven

from inside
I feel

these walls I recognize
not like a prisoner
but an embryo instead
floating in the womb

from inside
I see

every landscape memorized
through my windows
each changing minute
of seasons transforming

from inside
I smell

newborn flowers
a barbeque's fog
leaves ripped away
a silken white blanket

from inside
I hear

a baby birds song
children laughing
scarlet sheets falling
frigid silence

from inside
I taste

stale air
isolating passion
uncrossable moonlight
beyond the bolted doors

© Rachel Orrick 2012

 
the pellucid  
glow of the  
motel light  
creases your  
face  
 
and you look  
like the fallen god  
I used to worship  
 
shoulders curled  
in the pervading glow
as if your throat-slitting,
fuck talk harmed you  
 
most  
 
you left your mark  
on me  
 
you certainly did that.
 
ribbons of my skin  
decay in your nail beds  
and there’s a hopeful  
glint in the far left  
of your cornea  
 
as if you hold hope  
while my flesh  
molds in a pile  
next to your boot  
 
and like a dead god  
you clawed out of the  
grave to haunt my  
daydreams  
with clods of  
nighttime sacrifice  
clinging to the coffin funk
 
and since you’ve been here  
 
you manacled my wrists  
and pinned me down,  
snapped your belt  
and stripped my skin,  
you’ve siphoned heroin  
from my corpse and  
let my sullen eyes  
rest on your  
self-loathing adoration  
 
I’d forgotten  
how demanding  
my gods were  
when I believed  
 
I believe now  
in something  
different  
 
you tore me apart for  
metaphoric apology sex  
and sure, that’s cool,  
but you never gave  
my fucking skin back  
 
skin weighs about 9 pounds  
and I never asked  
for that much of you  
 
I never asked that much of you
 
I never wanted  
a you without meaning
a costume of your body  
creased like a caring face.  
 
You took your pounds of flesh  
from me to be redeemed  
and restored  
 
but I believe in something  
different now  
 
so I’ll wrap my arms  
around your neck  
and kiss you  
with lidless eyes
as your wide  
palms span  
my waist  
 
and shove my  
tetanus screwdriver  
into your chest  
as your tongue  
breeches my  
cold bones
to take
my single fucking  
pound of flesh  
 
because a human heart  
weighs less than a pound  
 
and you never needed it  
when I worshiped you  
 
I believe in something  
different now  

It was in 2021
your journey with us here begun
when you first shared on DUP
your frank, straight-from-life poetry.
 
From high school teen and then a wife
and mother, divorcee, your life
was shared with us upon our page
with humour, sadness, fun, not rage.
 
I saw in you great potential
as a writer, evidential
too was the way you shared
thoughts with your daughter, you so cared.
 
I read the comments we exchanged
about most of the pieces ranged.
Yours to me were filled with kindness,
no discordance, and thankfulness.
 
I thought you were going places
when you put some of your pieces
in only book of your making,
entitled "Songs of My Leaving".
 
But then addiction found its way
into your life, it took away,
it seems, ability to see
any more point to life's journey.
 
But to the end you still had care,
enjoyed being in your skin bare,
and still fitted in one last fling
with lover before life-taking.
 
Now your daughter carries baton
and we wish her to carry on
sharing with us your legacy
of loving, shared literary.

The sun, sea and sand cast relaxing allure
to leave clothes behind on that Cote d'Azur
beach, alongside the Mediterranean,
where the naked body found its place in the sun;
where both sexes, many ages and races
bring light of day to clothes-hidden places,
come out in their God-intended glory
to sunbathe, run, play beach ball or dip in the sea.
If I were a generous millionaire
I'd invite you on vacation to take you there.

 
Days of pewter winter skies
in their lonesome denial.
That trees are now in
their skeletal demise.
The world looks haggard,
as the crow hunts and flies.
My mind loitered with
decayed yesterdays,
and their lingering goodbye.
I, like the crow, have hunted
my mind for you a million times.
Your remaining ghostly vibrations
entwined in my rhymes.
My heart is pewter in a skeletal cage of demise.
Look into my winter eyes.
My dead gray empty stare.
Ready to cry the pure snow,
of finally letting go.

I feel drawn to you,
Totally drawn by your wild and crazy ways -
Like a painter is to canvas,
Like windows are to curtains,
And a butterfly is to cabbage...
Like boxers are to punching,
A harmer is to cutting,
Hot dogs are to mustard,
And a dog who has his bone.

...Lost souls finding their way home

I need you like a river needs to flow,
A drug addict can't say no -
Like all the best-laid plans,
Like, I'd like to hold your hand.
Yes, I'm totally struck by your 'WOW' factor!

My heart sinks like a hot knife through butter,
As you distract me like no other,
Attract me like magnets stick to metal,
And when I sleep I cannot settle.

I want you like there's no tomorrow -
Licking ice cream in the sun;
Like a race that's almost run,
You make me feel like number one!
Like cheerleaders like to cheer,
An alcoholic needs a beer,
It's straightforward and quite clear -
I just really want you here.

Without you -
I am the sun without the shine,
A clock that doesn't chime,
The wind without a kite,
A balloon that's out of sight -
Someone who wants more,
The sea without a shore,
The Earth that doesn't spin,

...And a loser who can't win!

Fixed a squeaky door
WD40
Expect the squeak anyway
Somewhat disappointed
Success
Failure too