Keeping track

These are just my forum post poems and some insignificants that have been hanging around my files. I'm keeping them together in one place in no particular order and will keep adding to them. If you see something that has potential, leave me a critique; I'll gratefully consider it. [:            
           
           
i.            
           
Monday's sleep,            
                        abortion's waste            
Tuesday's sleep,            
                        the strong, the braced            
           
Wednesday's trees go midlife trawling            
Thursdays sacrifice war's fallen,            
           
Friday's secrets --            
                         depravity's force            
Saturday's sleep            
                         nature taking her course            
           
And the death that is brought on the Sabbath day            
Is for race and gods' laws, and love's finding a way.            
           
           
           
ii.            
           
Tiny arms wrap as far as they will            
around the last strength I have to stand            
and pull me through            
whilst dusk and storm look past my face            
appealing to another woman            
for more than what this stupor has to offer.            
           
Something familiar, maybe hope            
peeks cheekily from underneath the bed            
counting down with covered eyes -            
           
And one day I will be the woman            
those open minds are searching for            
face in the sun, feet solid in the storm.            
           
           
           
iii.            
           
"drenched"            
           
standing in the rain            
you may think i'm miserable            
but i'm not really            
i prefer to be drenched            
in what the sky has to offer            
than stuck in the house            
with your bucket            
of bitter mop-water            
all over my brand new jacket            
           
yes, i'm quite happy out here            
           
           
           
iv.            
           
so quiet you are            
even on these occasions            
your woman lost            
in every note of the music            
as you half-interestedly observe            
the jovialities            
rippling through our gathering            
           
and i wonder which are the words            
that will never form            
when you stop to look at me long            
like that            
                          --and hold            
           
through whomever is talking            
whatever the joke            
however late            
our drinking            
has gone on            
           
a pleasant mystery            
and it makes me smile            
sometimes            
           
           
           
v.            
           
I sit quietly and to myself, beneath my music            
sleepy under the fickle clouds of thought and monotony            
as we pass my favourite spot for Japanese take-away            
and then my favourite pub.            
I rarely make either one these days.            
           
Money's been piling for a trip to the travel agency            
that the old bus passes daily, two blocks up from Chinatown            
its posters full of promises and lives I've left behind            
where islands beckon with swaying palms            
and the fleeting chance to get away.            
           
Surprise, clarity perks then sighs at the sight of my deep scarlet            
'69 Mustang childhood dream - gleaming - for sale;            
it summons my inner lust for heat and tarmac            
steaming summer rain.            
The roar, the rev, the cruise, the freedom, in sand or dirt or snow...            
           
I get off at 53rd, where the resident ATM delivers my news.            
I won't be riding the bus tomorrow.            
           
           
           
vi.            
           
If sterile were withered in a tantrum of trite, whatever would we do?            
If bore were easy to overcome, why would we need tantrics            
or upside down mirrors?            
Instability is an estimable risk, which cannot be estimated by humans,            
only quiet insects.            
I have nothing to say. Enjoy it.            
           
           
           
vii.            
           
you're a full collection          
of paint filled pipe-bombs            
gone off in confined spaces            
           
-muted-            
           
but for the blazes of pure's burn            
'n colour            
come up in the residue            
of your explosions --            
           
and you speak river      
sustaining for blade, fur and scale            
dipping currents dragging deep            
under words that crash and hiss            
at all them taller solids            
stubbornly insisting on stasis            
           
the weight of what may be and what may not's only            
about as heavy as a bluebottle            
but sings the same bloody song            
and that's where your emotives' translations 'ting'            
like crystal in the chaos            
           
'cause darlin'            
grit            
gives just as good            
as the river            
           
           
           
viii.            
           
this            
one's              
silence            
           
is a temple            
buried under eons -            
           
yet, when words come...            
           
                                  they form lovingly            
                                              
                                  and reverently            
                                  as prayers            
                                  whispered            
                                              
                                  to a boding conscience            
           
           
ix.            
           
I wouldn't say            
I've ever done anything            
abhorrent -            
never fucked up somebody's face            
or their life, relationship...            
and if I did one of the latter            
I fixed it            
before they found out            
           
got a clean driving record            
and a family            
never did a hard drug            
only ever had one man            
though            
a few more names            
have been chiseled            
into the bricks that comprise            
my psyche.            
           
My dirty secrets are purely grime            
and guilt delights to strangle the sin            
every thought, if left unchecked            
is fodder for the gods            
           
So don't take it personally            
when I slice expectations            
with passive aggressive            
rebellion            
that according to mother            
is exactly the same            
to Heaven's gate            
as practicing witchcraft            
           
If you're flying high            
I'm probably trying to dangle            
from your leg            
           
If you're under the rubble            
I'm probably trying            
to bring you up for air            
           
but if you're really            
really            
free            
you won't catch me            
trying to save you.      
     
     
x.      
     
"fleeting"      
     
it's the energy      
stirred by water and wind      
penetrating skin      
to sink into soul      
     
when we sit wrapped in tandem      
take a bite      
right out of it      
and drink a toast      
to spite life's awful      
favored sons      
     
you make me happy      
with both roar and calm      
the weight of your gates      
lowered      
in soft places      
where whispers      
lend their spirits      
to a less than silent      
war      
     
yes      
i'm happy      
[in these moments]      
when words suffocate      
from half a world away      
     
and at least for today      
i'm happy      
when i want you  
 
 
xi.  
 
The aura people call it Abstract Tan  
next is violet  
then yellow.  
 
I don't even like yellow.  
 
First of all,  
what a horrible cloud of dust I must exude  
for those who actually see these things.  
 
Second, nothing interesting  
about 'abstract tan'  
unless we're going for colour of sand  
a trench coat maybe, or  
the bronze we get from sun...?  
 
All sort of pleasant  
now that I think about it.  
 
Anyway, they tell me I'm scattered  
my processes are random and I  
drive people crazy  
with the way I work out the world.  
 
They tell me I'm sensitive, but  
that theorizing emotion instead of feeling it  
is my tendency .. I say  
I conjure the stuff[accidentally]  
and probably won't let on.  
 
So, I'm generally open  
lose things  
I take you as a code to crack  
unless you don't present one  
and it's true  
I don't like being  
disliked that much.  
 
But they're wrong in guessing my basic fear  
is rejection for being erratic.  
No.  
 
My basic fear leans toward the thought  
that this is all there is.