Writing Life
I am grateful for gum
But only for myself and
The highbrow few who
Know how to chew
Silently
Everyone else? A crack
Or a smack should get you ten
In the pen where open-
Hearted and closed-
Mouthed missionaries
Teach by parable how to
WWJD it
In regards to absent-
Minded yet tasty and
Socially acceptable cud.
-M.
(Day 10 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Dragging the little tree’s
Corpse behind me a
Diatribe to the heatwaves
Rising from the cement
It’s not you, little tree
Doing what little trees do
Maybe even trying to
Shade the porch in
Your little tree ugly
Intrusive volunteer way.
It’s not you little tree
It’s the gardener
Who let you grow
Lets the rose bushes
Grow too
Evil arms that reach and
Grab in the walk
Blind to anything
Apparently
But mow and go—
Especially go.
-M.
(Day 9 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Wire and crimson crepe paper
Feathers flexed
Full span against the
Hurricane that doused the
Firestorm from which the
Wearer of the wings
Was born
-M.
(Day 8 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Draw and quarter my life
all lies
all the same their shelter
pooling in the gaps between
limb and limb
and limb
and limb
-M.
(Day 7 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
Dear god, I would prefer
You not
Carry me over the rocks
I would prefer
You let my feet touch earth
Once in a while
A smothering love
That atrophies my appendages—
Hobbles my run and walk
Is no proper penance
For absenteeism and
Hard neglect
And me allowing it—
The crippling love
Is no proper forgiveness
Find another way
Find another way
Find another way
-M.
(Day 5 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
It could be anything
An orange peel
Sunset on a fractured path
Sunrise
On a fractured path
Cellulite on a fake-tanned
Thigh gone terribly wrong
Funky cheese
See here. See here. See here.
I’ve got my pointer out
Round the borders with every
Line-measure of words
But
Did you notice
Never on the actual
Thing
My frustration is quantifiable
I’ve made a chart
See here. See here. See here.
Just to the left of the
Glowing picture screen
Reader
I think we have both
Lost touch
It might have been longing
It might have been
Sunset on a fractured heart
Or some such
Trite shit as that
I give
Give up with me
Let’s call it
Funky cheese
Put our heads down on our desks
And take a nap
Poetry sucks anyway
-M.
(Day 4 of my 66 Day Poetry Habit)
A god in golden overalls leans
Out the driver’s side of an open
Lincoln in the drive-thru
Late night
Tries not to puke
Pukes anyway.
Smiles
Checks his watch
Pays too much for his tacos
Pays too much for our tacos too
Swerves off
We won’t forget it
Who could forget him
He won’t remember
How he got home
-M.
(Day 2 of the 66 Day Poetry Habit)
M. N. Ashley 