The line tires me
but the great, gray
scratchy pens perk
like scalding coffee.
-M.
(Day 22 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit. Tired today, hence the doldrums poem. Not bad, just yawn and zzz. I’d rather a nap, but I promised myself, at the very least, an American Sentence to keep the streak alive. Here she is. Today’s American Sentence keeping the streak alive. Now… yawn and zzz.)
A baby blanket the size of
A grown woman’s
Bed—the grown woman
Lying in her god’s lap in
Pain
They go to the bathroom
Together one of those
Weird couples who go to
The bathroom together
Because
She cannot walk or stand on
Her own
Or sit or lie or do
Any other thing on
Her own when that
Pain comes to take
Its tax
Oh my god I’m in
Agony
The Great Destroyer we
Don’t believe in together has
Wrapped me skin and
Bone in thick veils of
Agony
Her god offers her a bit of
Cookie and promises her
This bit of cookie the
First food she’s eaten in
A day
Will be the pleasure of
A prayer
And not make her
Sick it’s a big promise—a
Promise only a great god
Has the heart to make
And keep
-M.
(Day 21 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit. Three weeks! Three weeks on a bit of a sad note, but three weeks nonetheless. I wasn’t going to write today. I thought I needed another P day, but I’m glad I sat down with my book and did it anyway. It’s always better to write than not to write. How often we need that reminder.)
Safe in his hundred arms
Enfolded we sweat away
My freedom hearts as
One ticking thing a
Lifetime of un-spread wings
This poem is unfair
To a god who loves me truly
Enough to cut off my
Oxygen sometimes
-M.
(Day 20 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit. For those of you following along, yesterday was actually day 20, but I had to take a P day for personal reasons. Nothing like getting back up on that horse with a little of the good old god-angst. I hope everybody has a great weekend.)
Jaw set
Gray eyes clear
Seated at a loom
In an officer’s tent
One battle
One pass
One well-placed blow
Nike woven in gold
-M.
(Day 19 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit. I’m not going to lie, you guys: today’s poem sucks. Sincere apologies to Athena. As bad as the poem is, I think she might appreciate at least the fighting spirit. I feel like absolute hell but I AM going to make this 66 days. Write a sucky poem. Live to poem another day.)
Second Best Hair
Still keeps your head warm
And your lover’s fingers busy.
-M.
(Day 18 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit. This one is an “American sentence,” 17 syllables. Definitely not a home run, but enough to keep my streak alive and that’s what I’m all about on through the 67th day! Onward and forward.)
My god at the wheel
Grinning
We’ll never get there alive
-M.
(Day 17 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Novice at the stand
Goddess of War guides me
Her peaceful estate
Keeping still the woof
Warp to warp
Hand to hook
Hook to thread to hand
Pull to click
Through to click
Bend
Hand to hook to hand.
-M
(Day 16 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
