A Poem A Day, No More

I've decided to end "A Poem A Day". I kept it going for ten weeks, and I have to admit the last week or two has been a stretch for me to complete. It was a wonderful challenge, and though I hoped I would keep it going longer, I don't want to publish material that I believe could benefit from more attention, and that is where I feel I was headed. So, I will keep all fifty poems online here for those that are interested.

A Poem A Day, Poem #50

what is the poetry in a distance,
the colors and the shapes of your
hours? how does time count your
petals away, measure the meaning
hidden up and down the length
of your legs?

there are answers in your art, but
shhh shadows cover all your kisses
that might, maybe, lie lazily across
your face for teasing the lights with
possibly perfect sex smiles and
sneers

and the slow recognition of the
softest lines bent and sprayed by
your silhouette are something as
quiet and deliberate as a breath
pushing a whisper from a secret

but there are theories that travel
the distance of the heart and the
mysteries you make are as white
and perfect as the hope i hang
on this poem

A Poem A Day, Poem #49

you are still the sweetest stain, suffocating my heart
with your old singing, bouncing breath sounds and
word strings across all my useless dreams and

finally you are somewhere other than an echo
crossing my mind with lay-me-down lips or find-me
fingers, but

eventually these mouths, mindful of missed kisses,
might chew some new stardust, make a softer song,
steal a smaller singing from the music of your moons,
but

you are still a quiet that even thieves can't know, and you
hold a hunger in your hands that feeds endlessly reveries,
and i can not stop your stillness, or escape the simplest,
most basic beautifuls you are, hiding again, always, a stain
of an echo in my heart,

A Poem A Day, Poem #48

i remember laughing in the water with you,
our clothes sticking to our body, wet and warm
with laughter, your hair stuck to your face, and
a memory streams across my mind's window
like a dream of your fingers, clasping my hand
as you lean in for a kiss,
--and it is true that kisses are always softest after
the rain

and i can taste salt now, flavors that trace the
shape of the heart,
--and the heart is a hardest thing to recreate,

but i chase that vision, still, quietly, and when
no one else is listening, i reach with hands washed
by whispers to wish the wisps away from your lips,
--and, yes, kisses and rain are a truest thing

A Poem A Day: Poem #47

she has spilled secrets like stormbursts on this paper,
hidden sentences like kisses that phrases have forgotten,
and the sounds of these secrets sail on subconscious waters,
sing through the sands of this dream, constructing mythic
castles from the quiet carnal whisperings of the water,
asking the night to count how many seasons have past
since last your fingers found my face,
and i have searched the days, page after page, but the
dumbness of everydays are not somedays and the truth
knows no hair like the strings i have erased from your
face,
and love letters get lost in the lazy sound of a larger lullaby,
a melodic pause where a pleasure pierces, carefully, precisely,
some small sound that makes silences from words i never
spoke but have never stopped uttering

A Poem A Day, Poem #46

i've watched you run through flowers,
your hair on fire from the sun, your mouth
hiding a laugh from a kiss, and the face of your
heart turns in for sunny smiling, tucks a picture of this--
this piece of us, in a pocket you hide away for later dreaming,

and the world leaks something like a meaning in
the moment(immeasurable) between your hand
and my hand
and a touch happens, breathes with the echoes
of eternity water and calmly pours somewhere rain,
burying our bodies in the dirt for mud dancing,
pushing delightful daisies all the way to the top of
death, as delicious and sweet as your lips, dappled
that day with sunshine and slowness

A Poem A Day, Poem #45

was your love thing a more alive thing than my love thing?
or was your thing a lesser, simpler thing perched delicately
atop floors of flowers, superficially swimming in a slush of
sparkles, a delusion of sweet spots tossed with tired kisses?,

and was my thing a reckless, scared thing twisting in
the trickery of whispers on webs, sick with heart stains,
tumbling through the vertigo of violence in your hair,
trying to catch a better balance from the lovely brutality
of our thing?,

and my thing wanted to grow more things,
and your thing was a dull thing, a playing thing, like
something that melts quickly on the tongue,

but your thing was as sweet and soft a thing as my thing

and i still carry my thing, kept quietly alive, tied to the
head of my heart

A Poem A Day, Poem #44

asked about inspiration, i take a muse breath--
leave little replies all over the air as if crystals of lazy,
streaming snowflakes were sliding streaks of girl
silhouettes all over the strands of these skies--
instead of stuttering some stupid statement colored
by mumbled metaphors and missed kisses

as i walk away from questions, i wonder, even myself,
why your hands hold all the pretty flowers, their curves
and their colors, their fragility,
what do the stars say that make me hear your name at night?
and why is it that the better beauty of the beasts we are
bubbles, always, back to you, inviting friends and fingers
over for poems, lovely lie-down lullabyes that decorate my
heart with meaningful metaphors and bluer moondrops
that shine for paper birds, waking up words full of wanderlust
wings and willow trees

A Poem A Day, Poem #43

the wild strawberries of your kiss still visit me
on days when the sun is full of steam and the body
moves with the slow deliberateness of lips opening
and closing for unconscious kissing,

and the sound of your breathing is a further
articulation of the lazy curl of your hips swaying to
a rhythm of the only dance that matters, our bodies
swinging and sliding down the miles of moons we
have imagined with make-believe hands
(and there are still secrets i carry with me to bed at
night),

but your voice is a place i have lost when it
is quiet and the world teeters on the buzz of wanting
to stack a string of wonderfuls on the stubborn stars
of this slightest swim of sleep,

and the mind waits for better birds to fly with
weightless wings, floating on the feathers of long
done days where every whisper was a meditation
on touching, where the lights were languid and
laying loosely to a dream, unwilling to fade, eventually
going quietly away and distant from reaching with
ripe fingers feeling for stolen strawberries, as sweet
and sad as the summer rain

A Poem A Day, Poem #42

who cares about love poems or lollypops?
who knows anything about the mystery of her hips
or the breath of god?
but when the lights go down and i lie with the
summer sweating all around me,
i skate across those winter skies,
those twinkles of eyes like sparks fighting for shine
and from the air a cool foggy breath shakes my heart
awake, and my pulse stutters and
there is something like a snowy vibration
that sends a smile like a race up my spine

who cares about metaphors or daffodils?
who knows anything about the shape of her shoulder
or the depths of death?
but when i trip about on the winter lights tonight
i wake up the stairs of stars, climbing
the dreams of songs that slip through the fingers
of her hair,
and i hang on until
there is a rush of blood swarming in my sleep
that leaves a trail of snow angels leaping in my
throat, flying in the drink of a wintery kiss

A Poem A Day, Poem #41

something i can not touch about you rises and falls, opens and closes
around my heart, fading in and out of this musical mind i have, collapsing
like a cubist mirror on the river of memory which washes away old hands for
new touches, and though it comes and goes--this song--it can hardly be heard,
(the sound your throat made when it was waking up my name) and though its
mouth speaks and kisses, it can not feed the heart the same leaping, the jumps
and dives in the gut, the slips and slides in the chest, when you used to find
your fingers falling somewhere, anywhere across my body, and though the music
is a meandering watery flow of blurs and shadows, there is a place you still
sing when i stop for a swim in the silent stream of dreams, which allows
for no time, no limits on the landscapes we color when we hide love from
this real world, this weary chase i make, windburned and running to catch
that drink of river you painted on me with the patience of whispers and waterfalls,
all flowing back to here--right here

A Poem A Day, Poem #40

you left me with a wing,
a sprightly thing,
to touch and remember
the weight of your face,
the softness of a smile
waiting to be kissed,
a laughing of hands and
a flight of fingers
that takes years to recite
even with poetry piling up
on a man trampling time away
in search of the tiny truth
you hide when you slide your
body out like some cloud succumbing
to the blue that birds drink in the
rarefied air of stretching for the stars,
breathlessly reaching for the wonders
that you reflect in way-away water

A Poem A Day, Poem #39

we have made colors, earth shades,
floating into space tendrils,
stars have spoken our names

we have swam in the muck of water that surrounds
the planets we have planted with wishes and
kisses

we have laid down to dance, drowned in the
lazy yellow lights of sex streams to watch the
flowers of the stars tumble into storms

and we massaged blooms from our fingers,
stepped into pasture's paradise with the
stomps of our feet, sinking away in stupefication,
buried in a beautiful bath of black holes
where nothing is hidden
and everything exists

A Poem A Day, Poem #38

there are pictures i hide, movies that slide like secret
lights when i lie in bed, waiting to sleep, swimming in
and out of the shine of some memory, some mouthful
of kiss, a word spoken but not heard because voices
--beautiful vibrations of throat waters--are the first to fade
into the distance of years, and yesterday you were telling
me things about tomorrows and forever, and today you are
a quiet movement in my mind, a spot of silent light fading
into a different dream where voices matter half as much as
their mumbled meaning

A Poem A Day, Poem #37

there is a hollow house in my chest that jumps and dives,
shouts and whispers, when you tilt your head that way you
do when i am looking too close, trying to reach you with
eyes not hands

there are ships that sink in my gut, drown in delirium,
when your legs are curled under your body or shift
into a crossing thing where the greatest aesthetician
would fear to tread

there are stories swimming in my mind, floating and falling
on every curl you have traced with touching fingers, every
kiss you have cut with ache-splitting lips, and you have ignited
these gray mattered walls into a glassful of dreams
and i will sip this sleep until i'm dead

A Poem A Day, Poem #36

you are a sputtering, a stuttering starlight
that floats from a dissolve in my heart,
holding tight to a scurry of sleepy feet forgetting,
hiding in the empty holes of a dream scattering
to catch a flurry of lights from this moon,
this girl smiling,
you, shining tiny spatters from shadows
for one more shush,

and your hair is exactly the way
i remember it(feels like a time,
smells like a place), weightless
in my hands, effortlessly descending
into breathing

A Poem A Day, Poem #35

there is a sunbath
resting on her knees
a shine that swims from light
and shadow in the dappled
colors of white and black from
the tree's breathing above her
and the sky is watching with
one giant blue eye and somewhere
there is something more beautiful
than this
somewhere there must be a thing
more mesmerizing than that light
--that knee--
but i'll never care to know it

A Poem A Day, Poem #34

you are a water that whispers(half-awake where
the moonlight makes mischief of hands), like a thing
that lies across a dream, washing the waves from
the slippery stars of sleep, where the birds crawl
across your body, tumble down the tired tides of
your hair,
and i hide in this sleep to watch your rivers--
to hear your cunning current flowing ever so
fully into my throat, cascading like so many
mouthfuls of the rain, like a kiss left for
morning drinking, dripping little wet remember-
puddles to trip on all the dry, dumb day

A Poem A Day, Poem #33

you are in the street, dancing
in the wet street, dancing
dancing in the wet street, soaked
to the bone with rain and smiles

and a kiss falls from a yell in my
throat, tries to reach you in the
static of your shake, in the soft
pelting of your hips

a car comes into the street, humming
in the wet street, humming
humming in the wet street, shining
on a dancer with lights and puddles

A Poem A Day, Poem #32

the day is lovely and the sun--
you are bright like silverfish, the water
dripping from your hand--cold--across my back
like shivering on the rocks, waiting,
listening for the birds--the sound of
some little singing, some little storm
dangling on the horizon of this heart
standing on the precipice of youth,
smelling that summer water flow by
me, reflecting that place you play when
i am resting and the quiet earth breathes
all around me
--the day is lovely and the sun

A Poem A Day, Poem #31

these fearful fingers fidget and drum this sleepy forgetting
with frustrating turns and tumbles for more sleepless
heartbreaths left to catch in your quiet sleeptaking where
dreams must be better than great gulps of gooey nostalgia,
like that time our hands, your hand and my hand, touched
a song that slipped out from a memory reflection and lit
life afire with quietly happinesses bursting something like
every and each single sliver of skin
and all those sensational stupid smiles and great gorgeous
giggles we have tucked away for later-keeping are now
hitting a wall of someone else's silence,
and i reach for diving memories, grasp for clues of kisses,
descend deeper into your dreams, hold onto great heaping
handfuls of my heart, sleeping on the edge of the cliffs of
your castles, grip tight with these tired fingers to the clouds
to catch sight of your spinning

A Poem A Day, Poem #30

you are a bird singing, like a song lilting
away the hours with the brutality of a brilliant
heartbreak in the dreary distance
and that fading sound is the prettiest of pains, waiting
for uprisings and new deliriums to deliver--like
your lovely body curving a little repose around
the slowest drips of a dream

and how do you feed me this music after time
has so inelegantly tumbled down those achy
dust traps of memory tripping on the rusty wires
of the throat, choking on the most forgetfullest
little fingers pressing lips for kisses,

and how do these hums hover like some ghosts
of hands brushing away a tickle of your hair?

(and a laugh and a cry falls out of a song and we
watch it dance until the light inside it fades away
into a wonderful wee withering)

A Poem A Day, Poem #29

when you somewhere speak there is an air that
surrounds us like the branches of some remember
tree where the leaves might as well be pages blowing
away the words we once spoke when we were younger and
stupider, but happier hanging onto the brightest starshine
from the kisses floating in our eyes

and what value do we apply to these cloudy comedies of
a kiss where we taste some rain years later, caught--
everything ascending into spring--when we are wise and old
and reflecting on the gauzy wash that memories make when
you count the veins of this tree's leaves with those
slightly dumber fingers touching these tired lips for the
last time--
combing through the sand of words--
counting kisses--

A Poem A Day, Poem #28

what more can I spend on sunlit dreaminess,
on slightly dripping journeys through the
old vibrations of a kiss and the words that lay
lips on the ears like a blanket on a cloud, soaking
up all the skin's rain with restlessness and
day-old reminders of tiredness and shadows
playing hands with the children we were, the
children we are when we travel together again
to that place we planted our flower and pretended
to watch it grow, is it blooming? has it survived?
do our dreams themselves dream? do the characters
we play remember to cultivate our memories with
water and wishes and tiptoe kiss-squishing stars
where our barehanded breathing makes better
buried heads

A Poem A Day, Poem #27

it's spring and the soft light that surrounds you here
in these heart places i have formed around those
soft bird-like memories are chirping away at the
clouds for radiances to share with the angels in
your hair, with the gods of memory tripping over
the roots of the trees that we have planted in our
bellies for later rainbows, for somewhere silences
where time is forgetful and we are still young and
in love

A Poem A Day, Poem #26

she is dressed for poetry hands like some
angels had caressed her body with especially
soft fingers leaking down her dress until
knees are barely exposed, mockingly elegant
with peek-a-boos
and the air between is where mysteries--beneath
the skirt--make thoughts wander, and the legs
that stretch from the secrets told by her thighs
are only stifles of word sounds trying to assign
some formula to those meaningfuls she makes
in my mind
and heart songs are not nearly as lyrical as her
feet, moving mindfully like her toes were
untouchable things, digits for dancing,
places to start the climb up for finding the
freedom of femininity that men can not describe
without chisels and lines, words or angels

A Poem A Day, Poem #25

the spring can be a sorrowful thing with
the music of the birds dancing in cloud
shadows, the speckled sun receding into
rain and opening yellows again onto
the happier side of the world,

and we are slow to answer this call to
joy, but we are quick with hands and feet
and bedroom silences that equal something
greater than seasons can understand, but
when the blooms awaken and the eyes of the
flowers see us for the first time, then there
is a dancing that remembers all those warmths
that were forgotten while the skin was hiding
beneath the sleep of winter, and our kiss was
the only light we'd seen

A Poem A Day, Poem #24

the veil of morning lifts the dewy earth awake
for the birds to sing sweeter than sleep and life
is arranging itself carefully for a soft landing
on day
and you are still away somewhere dreaming of
unknown things, and the meticulous mechanizing
of minds won't let me pull the covers from those
places where sleep hides your secrets or else i
would slide some kiss into your mouthful of moons
                and we could be together somewhere never
                tethered by couldn't's or shouldn't's
                always morningful, singing

A Poem A Day, Poem #23

there is a touch somewhere i have not found,
a finger or a hand so plush and perfect that
silence knows no sound could interrupt its
rested, rhythmless unsong,
                                               but it is a hiding
touch, a place away, dreaming in the dark places
we don't look when we kiss, waiting in the
softest regions of the clouds we can't reach
when we slide our waters into lovemaking

and those creatures that climb the mind,
the muses that pull the flutes from the
worlds you make in me when we search
for the secrets that sex whispers when the
steam rises toward all the unknown stories we tell
in our future sleep, there is still a touch holding
some unspeakable sweetness for me to taste in
the shadow of a clumsy cup of moon

A Poem A Day, Poem #22

(This is essentially the same poem presented in two different forms. I couldn't decide which one to post, so I decided to post both of them.)

1.

once during someday dreams so dizzy that mazes fell
like mind-drops when my thoughts drew momentary
circles of those places i might live inside you and

these pictures have been hiding eternally across my
memory with mirrors of meanings that move these
immeasurable makeshift movies into being when you are
near
and those me-places that you embody are the muses of
some miraculous poems come undone long enough for me
to touch their myths with mindful hands

and those places cast a frosty moonlight that falls on her breath
like the cosmos were making snowdrops from the startling
kisses she spreads across my mouth laying lulls and lightly
hands over the stars to shut their bright eyes with shushsongs
descending into the softest sides of sleep that mostly children
know and other stars only shine to remember in dreams where
the sound of her most passionate kissbreaths lay me softly down
in this stuttering snow that falls like an angel shaking a child
from the stars,
descending into the dust of deeper countries, diving into
deliverance

2.

once during someday dreams so dizzy with mind-drops
that the heart stops to wonder: where are those places that
i live inside you?

do they cast a frosty moonlight that falls from your breath
like the cosmos were concocting snowdrops from the startling
kisses you slip over my mouth,
                                                         laying lulls and lightly
hands over the stars to shut their bright eyes with shushsongs
descending into the softer sides of sleep that mostly children
know and stars only shine to remember in dreams

are these the places where the sound of her most passionate
kissbreaths lay me softly down in this stuttering snow that
falls like an angel shaking a child from the stars,
descending into the dust of deeper countries,
diving into deliverance,
waiting to touch the you-places that live inside me

A Poem A Day, Poem #21

what do i know about roses?
but the mind makes softness from
the red light of your hands, like
petals anywhere descending onto
a drip of a dream
like tendrils tumbling in the pouring
rain

what do i know of your water?
but that it tastes like the rain
when the summer slumbers into
fall and the color of the world
changes into a song made thirsty
by your orange absence

A Poem A Day, Poem #20

you hide in heaps of consciousness caves
where the darkness drives delusions of yesterday
kisses and shines lights from the tiniest touch of
your tired eyes,
                           the shine of a smile that still quiets
all the turmoil inside this tangle of time like a bloom
were to find some warmth in the slowly fingers of your
nowhere hands,
                           and you still soothe my body even in this
dying, even with somewhere memories, you still hold my
heart above the mediocrity of morbidity, keep my soul
afloat in the absent air of godlessness

A Poem A Day, Poem #19

she whispers loudest as the languishing seasons
sink into change, when the air swirls new directions
like gusts of guesses, her voice slides by my flesh
with secrets and name-breaths, and there is no voice
like a remembered voice when love was new and ever-
changing, like flower rising, like leaf falling, like snow
descending, like the soothing of cool water from the shuffling
of hot sands
she is a question constantly unanswerable and a place i can
never fully reach with my hands, but she tells me love stories
in my sleep, and there are trees still standing somewhere that
hold our roots in its lovely unraveling fingers, all of our love,
and it holds it there for us, quietly, for remembering, careful not
to disturb the hair's breath of birds

A Poem A Day, Poem #18

it was cold,
waiting for you,
a piano plays--somewhere
--like a vibration that massaged
me in a manic fray of slurred dew,
where dreams lay on top
of misery like a melody
coming alive inside the heart
--like a rhythm were
absent from the memory
--like a dream were
coming undone before you ever
spent it on sleep
(where do they go--these dreams we sell to sleep?)

A Poem A Day, Poem #17

you stretch those legs out like pulling flutes
from underneath a low sung lullaby where
a chorus of mother hands collapse on my
head with playfully fingers drizzling yesterdays
and dewdreams to confuse the color of incredible
that quietly opens up a pouring frenzy of thighs pressing
into hips where rhythm meets the secrets of your song's
vibration and the heart meets the bleeding scream of
the rain when the brain breathes a little bang-up delusion
draining from the body like a moving were shining inside
me spreading out like a symphony of a sunshine tsunami
crashing into strawberry-lips seething under the surface of
this sweet storming somewhere sound that like mist eases
weightless water on me

A Poem A Day, Poem #16

your hands part the waters of my memory
like carving miracles into soggy sand and the
waves that leave broken pictures of your eyes
shine ethereal echoes, like momentarily melodies,
where new puddles lay like lazy drops of orange
dreams to rain down your deliciously drooping lips
where there is only one thing that whispers louder
than well intended kiss-wishes and it speaks in
audible ebbs of ecstatic inflatable breathing, over
and over again, with the rhythm of the water washing
wake-ups from the periphery of this drenched, and sun
dappled daydream like a slow loop of some simply
serious song were saying:
                                        i can't get you off my mind-
                                        i can't get you off my mind-

A Poem A Day, Poem #15

you are a breeze that burns me when i breathe
a memory or a moment blown by like a brittle
song reminding the trees of little whispers we
used to ease out of one another with kisses that
cause deep down lurches in the lungs like a spark
wrapping its beautiful blue glow around the tongue

and those touchings that fall and fumble from the
meanings of hands like something were defining the
lights of the heavenly stars to brighten up this old
city of me where alone waits for dreams, prays for
forgetting that hollow ache you carve within me
every time i see your blown hair caught in
effortlessly happy lips, your fingers pulling it out
like some silky song were buzzing in my brain, contriving
brutal pieces to press against me before sleep washes
over me with new wishes, new winds whistling where
words won't go

A Poem A Day, Poem #14

sometimes i hear you coming with whatnot
words,
feel you with neednot hands,
succumb to your trembling with nevernot kissings
while water spills out flesh on flowerbeds where there
is no desire like a love on fire
                                                and there is no hour when
passion shatters all these impossibly pieces, splattering
alwayses like two bodies coming unfolded in the puddles
of our flowerfired air blowing brilliant billowing
breathe-nots at our wonderfully wasted wantnots

A Poem A Day, Poem #13

spring is an unclumsy awake hand
that shakes the dust from the heart
with a burst of rain that pours forth
wishes and daydreams like sleep
were an always thing blooming inside
the heart, spreading those rose petal walls to
drink its birdsong up like kissing a
girl for the first time nervous in the
dark just before the light comes up on
a little love shaking on those lovely limbs
of uncertain leaves

and the newborn bounce begins to breathe
shivers and burstbellybutterflies up and
down all those delicate pieces of flower
that she plays finger by fumbling finger,
counting each new word like a secret were
whispering her name in that wind that splashes
the face like shining water climbing across a
smile for a stuttering sparkling of stars teetering
on a stillness deep on the inside of sky
dreams and sleepy stems of cotton seeds
caught for later lay down days when the
rain dries on lips and mouths drown in the
dust of no new rhyming love to peel those
places in the heart where wings are birds
and whisperings are only echoes of
remembering first time touches and
startling kid kisses

A Poem A Day, Poem #12

what was it in your eyes that sent me diving
into the water of way gone days, like puzzles
coming together in the heart, like blood collecting
pools in the gut for sick-making love
and i knew that i had to steal you with thief-slick
hands from the brilliant light that held you away
from me, like a breeze blowing a butterfly away
from its flower, caught between the shadows of
life and the shine of a thousand rainbows waiting
to glide in some sun sliding after the rain that wakes
you from a slightly softer whisper than sleep and
finding you fallen from dreaming into my arms
for a little milk of flesh stirring flesh and
honey-dropping-mouth-tastefullys like a kiss
resting on the clumsy continuum of the cascading
curtains of your hair, waiting for me to touch it again
with a tickle to the face, a torch on the spine,
just to breathe its air again,
just to hear it come inside me like a clumsy crook one
more time,
stealing me under water for crimes and soft collisions,
holding my quiet body under the deep down and dirty
noise of god

A Poem A Day, Poem #11

i can hear her rain
on me with her whispers
of fingers

i can feel the sky streams
dripdropping some melodious
miracles as her hands clutch
deeply--
my hair

and the mayhem left like
mixing milk and flesh is
a crashing so thundered
as to open doors to dreams
after a little drowsy diving
into the deep sex of these
downpours

A Poem A Day, Poem #10

she's got a thing, an elegantly broken thing,
a pose of swirling chaos when she spins a
flight of fingers through her thick hands of hair,
and when the lights lay like a sleeping shush
where drowsy deludes into dreams where those
somber strands fall all down from the open
windows of sky climbing where beds are clouds
and blue is the water we drink in this cool clumsy
daydream,
and she shakes gold from her shoulders like
growing a new glowing where flutes fly like
music mesmerized by the breeze she blows when
she stumbles to snag so simply on a breathing,
and a bird sings somewhere about the
delicate branches of her arms which wrap the
world up like a neat little box called bliss where
she blows bright blind spots all over new painted
nature with the air somewhere far off plotting a
whispering campaign against the colors she
concocts every time she collides with the clues
she provides when she shines so simply with
effortlessly hands concealing eternity like a
smile that hides the mouth from a kiss

A Poem A Day, Poem #9

of all those places you so frequently visit
within me, the afternoon light best reflects
a none too subtle magnificence of memory
with its effortless recklessness to shout a
shine on how bright and beautiful you are
when you make mouth movements like
climbing onto lakes of lips where conundrums
and kaleidoscopes come undone to spill on
some heart stirring or kiss making touches
into love puddles where the sun's brightest
whiteness will protect our perfectly puzzled
bodies ashine with sparks and silences,
sensations and stupefying sex creations,
stumbling onto the stilted stars,
colliding into the curiosity of clouds

A Poem A Day, Poem #8

do you hear she loves you?
(a bird flies by, its wings a fluttering
song that skip the heart like a stone
skimming the waters she wears like
happening a hesitation death, awash
with chaotic kissing)
do you hear yourself loving her back
with your voice?

your hands?
your lips?

A Poem A Day, Poem #7

love is a terrible place to plant your wishes
when the heart is a noisy house and harvesting
a little quiet touching is interrupted by old
blood rinsing out those memorable midnight
imaginings to swim in the new bittersweet
wash of kiss-blowing that paints the walls of this hope
called flower the color of something clean and
unremarkable like a girl balancing her flimsy
feet on a string, waiting for the hands of my heart,
waiting for some seeds of sun to sprinkle a little
starspray on the lips of awakening anew everyday,
listening to little breathing you,
counting the petals of my wishes,
washing them with rain soaked fingers,
caressing them with hope stained hands

A Poem A Day, Poem #6

the remembering is a touch that falls
on me so dizzying like a blood swirling
down my brain to my bones for a warm
birth of memory waking from simply
unconscious stupidity to those worlds
i fly though in the dreams where my
fingers slide down your hair and the air
is always good for breathing little parades
where all those new kisses march across
your body like the numbing of the mind
might stomp a song that sounds loud enough
to keep the outside light from poking an awakening
hole into this ghost where our bodies float across
old waters and everywhere just happens to be wherever
you are and everything is alive and dancing to the
melody that climbs the skies of our whispering rhythm

A Poem A Day, Poem #5

the memory is a busying thing that
revolves around a history of remembering
and forgetting

and i am much too young to lose any of those
movies of people that rotate my brain like a
heart on a leash

and yet someday i'll be too old to remember
who i forgot

A Poem A Day, Poem #4

your voice is a sound caught by child
fingers clutching the lights of fireflies
on summer nights where boundless worlds
reach tiny arms toward the universes of
your speaking
and the stars don't shine like they used to
when you were tired and yawn-sending
like blowing a dream to the places inside
me i hide where whispering means something
slower than sex but stands as still as a finer
rhythm coming unhinged like a door opening
to let all the light out of your mouth for twilight
kisses
but we try to fly our wings farther than
breathing when in the deeper water of
soundless sleeping where boundaries
release, finger by tiny finger, separate
bodies, flesh reaching into flesh for a
house full of dreams and summer
singing like the birds waking up whistling
new kisses, warming up playthings

A Poem A Day, Poem #3

i've been telling her i love her like that
in the wind, blowing kisses and hand butterflies,
like a dream slipping through her fingers,

like writing a poem in the sand

A Poem A Day, Poem #2

spring is a creature that crawls like a
slightly softer whisper than the breath
of a buzzing in the heart where you float
on the air of knowing that your blood is
warm when hands find your hair like fingers
were standing them up on the end of a
sleepy sensation in the snowy reckoning
of a kissable wing so fragile in the storm
of something bigger than slippery sex or
as jagged as drowning to death in the dance
of your elegant tickling arms making laughs
out of the sporting shine from my soul, which
is a conscious thing waiting to wake you up in
a dream for game playing and secret saying

A Poem A Day, Poem #1

the spring is awakening something new and
marvelous in the soil of your soul and the
flowers that will rise from the heat will ride
a wave called whispering waters that allow
for drinking thigh smiles all the way to the
heaven of your hive where honey hovers like
a new bulb floating on the stem of a breeze
called breathing kisses where the sun hides
from the sounds of wondrous hums and whistles
called love's own singing

and a bashful cloud bursts into water waiting to
see the world fall into another paused passion
hiding dreams in the pistils of the saints' most
sunlit soldiers called sex and pouting petals
all the way down the hips of hoping to catch
another taste of your strategic kiss that kills
another crime like a crying were coming undone
in this magnificent heartache of hot tendrils and
vine wrapping kisses like a christmas mystery
coming uncracked in the dry pollination of a
passionate thing,

a delirious song to sing later when caught by the
flowers in the powerful showers of the laughs of
rain

A Poem A Day

I have been toying with the idea of starting a poem a day site for the past several months. The original idea was that I would write and publish a new, original poem every day for as long as I could stomach it. Luckily, I was mindful enough to really think it over and not enter into such an immense project impulsively, without fully understanding the possible consequences on my time and my other writing.

After much consideration, I have decided that if I were to try and compose an original poem every day then that would consume a great deal of my daily creative energy, and leave me with little time to work on other projects. Of course, now that I am between projects, it seems feasible. But what happens when I begin my new novel? Then what would I do? Well, I'd spend all my time thinking about the poem I needed to write.

So, what to do?

Well, at first I decided that I should be much less ambitious and post only a poem a week. Well, that seemed too easy. It's just not as challenging, and one of the reasons I wanted to do this was so that I might push myself to be a more prolific poet.

So, what is the middle ground?

The middle ground is to cheat.

I am still going to call this project, A Poem A Day, but I am not going to post any poems on the weekend days. I suppose I could call the project, A Poem A Weekday, but I think we could all agree that it just doesn't offer the same bite. And let's be honest, five original poems a week is still quite an ambitious undertaking. To put the enormity of a project of this size in perspective, if I were to keep this project up for a full year--that is a mighty big if--then I would have to write 260 poems. That is a lot of poems.

Indeed, it is. It still feels too ambitious.

So, I have to figure out another way to cheat.

Lucky for me, I have a backlog of over twenty-five completed, unpublished poems. The first poem I publish online will be the first poem in this already completed backlog. This backlog will act as a sort of insurance policy, just in case I hit a dry spell. This will give me five solid weeks of material as a head start.

I have absolutely no idea how long this project will last. It may continue for several years. It may go for only a few months. I make no promises. All I'll say is that I'm going to make a go at it and hope that it goes long enough that it pushes me creatively, and that some a few readers find joy in my work.

I will post this first poem on Monday.