STATE OF THE ART

this is his daily brag
all that he owns
all that he hopes to own
is state of the art
nothing less will do
he’s been around

he knows
what’s good
what’s bad
state of the art
nothing less for him
he’s hocked

his mother’s jewels
he’s cashed in
his father’s Krugerrands
so he can buy
state of the art
electronics

the latest hi-tech toys
he flashes
like kings flash
opulence
toys he plays with
toys that soon weary him

he says he’ll put them away
somewhere safe of course
he says he’ll wait for
what comes next
the newest rage
and he will accept

nothing less than
state of the art
in a state of
high excitation
beaming like
a ring that glows

he says
it’s coming soon
I’ll own it all
top of the grade
state of the art
you hear me?
State of the art!

#

state of nothingness

amazing,
how it comsumes
everything,
yet leaves no trace
of itself
but a dull ache
you can't
identify
or explain.

STATE OF GRACE

This was always enough for me:
to place my head lengthwise along the ground and see
how the pawprints of dogs in the mud froze
overnight into mountain ranges, Sierra Hormiga
blessed with grass and weeds and quiet saxifrage.
And to stretch out my hand and feel along its furrows,
know the pleasure of the Earth and its momentum,
to keep the destruction caught up with heart's rigging
leaving fingers hesitant as butterflies.

And this was always enough to say:
let no more and no less be extracted from my tongue,
underground rivers thick with lime wrung from my spit
that stings unpalatable as it singes your earlobes,
I'd rather lie and save a life than
waste one, make attempts to do what must be done
rather than stride emptily upon the infinitesimal
geography I've only just discovered, in the name of
the clouds that go by many other names.

And here is where I find myself:
somewhere outside of myself, observing the
slow precession of eclipses and the St. Elmo's Fire
tickling the ropes that lead from vena cava to vena cava,
a careful ergotism crafted bonsai-fashion on the brain
where plump-cheeked angels pity to tread,
they leave me to my own devices, and what devices
leaving blackthorn hooks in the layers of my body
but with this new intelligence it doesn't bother me.

State of disGrace

he thinks there is a time for everything
but spends an hour
scraping the blood from beneath her nails
while the dinner she prepared
grows cold and rigid on the bathroom floor,
the Eggs Benedict fusing with the tiles
in a way the grout never could.

Later he'll give her a bath and wash her hair
with drugstore shampoo –
generic and untraceable –
and leave her body in a motel room
under an assumed name

but first he has to get the blood from beneath her nails
where she scratched him.

STATE OF VULNERABILITY

Inside my core, my being
screams warnings; visions
pilfered in plain sight.
How can we trust? Internal
spy bots planted undetected.
Words willed by inspiration
being thieved by innumerable;
random "Dick" and "Jane."
From whence comes my consolation?
Faith that my gleanings are protected.
I guess so...words alone in a room
have little joy...love with nobody
to share with is a lonely sort of love.

STATE OF DISREPAIR

Inadequate shoulder,
bursa sac missing,
Colon cancer cells in check,
(thank God for remission)
two bum knees,
arthritic fingers,
irritable bowel,
dehydration lingers,
bad slumber, it teases,
Sleep Apnea in control,
for forty winks
I'd sell my soul.
Blood pressure going
through the ceiling,
if one more person asks
"How ya feeling?",
I think I'll scream,
though glad they care,
there's plenty sicker
folk out there.
Cholesterol
is getting weird,
there's too much gray hair
in my beard.
My belly done lapped
over my belt,
this has got to be
the worst I've felt.
No wonder friends
all stop and stare,
alive and well,
in disrepair.

ALL five of you above...excellent writing today!! Robert, Salvatore and Chev,
Joseph AS USUAL exceptional...Rachel creepy written well...

Side note...my piece today was prompted by a fb spybot I detected last night...

HAPPY WRITING EVERYONE! Smiles to all!

Walt...I'm sure it's not as bad as you say...we're are own worst critics you know! Hope your week is going well. :)

State of Mismatch

Here in the state of mismatch
Commitment is the name
Sink or swim, fun or not
Running fast or lame

He says down, I say up
He says edges, I say center
He says all or nothing
I say just a little better

He likes it hot, I choose cold
I want to have fun, he likes to rest
He enjoys saving money
I like spending it the best

He‘s fond of music
I like watching a good show
He’s allergic to grass
So I’m the one who’ll mow

He likes being around people
I prefer to stay home alone
I love to read and write
He likes talking on the phone

I enjoy working in the shade
He likes lying in the sun
If there aren’t two ways to do things
We’ll invent another one

There’s only one thing we agree on
And that is God is good.
Concerning long-term marriages
We’re one of the few in the neighborhood

STATE OF THE ONION

Consider the onion…
Allium Cepa be thy name.
A bulb of the garden variety game.

You are the veggie on the table.
You go underground to shoot for the sky,
pungent you are, bringing tears to my eye.

In your job description: a garnish,
on your own, I wouldn’t bite into you.
But, I thoroughly enjoy you through and through.

You are very well traveled,
aou have quite the lineage,
the reason for your wide-reaching mileage.

Egyptian or Welch,
Spanish or Vidalia,
for medicinal value, I’ll gladly regale ya!

The more that you ‘stink’,
your benefits incline.
There isn’t a value as helpful as thine.

If we met on the street,
a handshake would suffice,
for your breath smells like onions, and it’s not really nice.

State of the Union

The romance was long and sweet
The courtship – loving and pure
She longed for the day when
He would hold her in his arms again
But knew it would be too long
The state of the union was short
Too short for love to grow full
Too short for their life to grow strong

The wedding was beautiful and white
With fragrance of love in the air
He longed for the day when
She would take his name
But knew that for now had to do
The state of the union was short
Too short for his name to be hers
Too short for their life to be one

The marriage was short and harsh
The ending – such a surprise
They never knew the day would come
When their hands would no longer touch
The state of their union was short
The state of their union was sweet
The state of their union is done.

State of Stillness
By: Nikki Markle


Everything
I think I’ve ever
Wanted is waiting
Just beyond
These empty,
White pages.

Yet
Here I sit,
Resting semi-comfortably
On my laurels,
My ego feed
By the faith of people
Who assume
I have the ability,
Despite its restful
Rusting in my mind
The past decade.

I try to hide
My lack of drive,
Driven by the fear
Of uncertainty and
Failure.

But the stillness
Of the keyboard
Gives me away.

state of the blues


a not-so-sovereign state,
the blues,
issues no tourist visas, stamps no green cards,
gates no happy-triggered guards
a visitor, you come and go the way you choose
the time and day and route fit your routine
you peruse no warning signs
in languages of desperation
you’re only dropping in
an evening for the music now and then
the border crossing’s easier than stepping out to get the mail
it’s leaving that’s confusing
when you lose the tourist way,
and stay
one day, you find you’re standing centered on an empty road
blank portfolio in hand
no key no lock
no door no border
wondering which state is home

State of Fate


Fate-
a ripple effect,
choices made,
serendipity
and lemonade;

highways travelled,
detours taken,
battles fought,
never mistaken;

fences mended,
words unspoken,
love now gone,
promises broken;

loving life,
ignoring hate,
accepting, forgiving-
state of fate.

laurie k.

Bravos to Nikki, Barbara and Laurie K. All have found similar emotion to fuel them. Nikki, I suffer as you do. Are we as good as we're told? Are we as good as we believe? I'll say yes on both counts. Barbara, you always find a way to pique my interest. The blues sometimes lives in a broken heart. Not a great state at that, but it's home...for a while.
Laurie, your work lately touches like no other. I live on the periphery of those thoughts and have for a while. You're not alone. I find that using those dreaded emotions to write, does heal in its way. Even if only for perspective. I love your work. Keep your head up. We'll be all right.

STATE OF JAZZ

That last week of summer,
down on the river before it turns to slough,
just past the swelter of September,
everything a little mellow
before the zing of fall, oak leaves tattered
but swaying on the trees like
old couples to Texas swing;
Finagle Fingers on the bluesy keys;
the Hot House Brass Ensemble
jazzing up the marches in their blaze-red
uniforms and epaulettes; soul-scat
amply segued into every
end-of-season breeze; music ripening
all evening, sweet enough
to make the stars lean down
a little closer just to listen, maybe
pluck a chord –
What’s a kid to do when he’s spent
his whole allowance?
Can you buy a ticket with just
dreams?

I must be comin down with the melon-colic

state of perfection

knowed a man that allus had the blues
said they come in with his molar teeth
never thought a man could choose
to be one way or nuther he figured
that he might as well stay on his horse
and hunt the dog he come with
as to change so late in life as twenty-six

Taylor, love where the blues took you. Now, that is a state worth visiting.

Walt, glad your interest was piqued, that's easy acupuncture for the aches and pains.

State of Mind

Late winter angst yields
To peace of mind-- all because
The sun showed its face

STATE OF THE ESTATE

“Come home”, they say,
“We’ll take all day,
Shifting through Mom’s old stuff”!

“No time to play,
Make plans to stay,
Until we have done enough”!

Will be a challenge,
Walking to the edge!
A task that must be done!

She wonders can she hedge,
Or by TV simply “veg”!
Perhaps, at least, there will be some sun.

She braces herself for the worst,
Remembering how to “do family”, well versed.
And not to undue any apple carts.

As if it has all be rehearsed,
Following sisters, although she’s first,
She will have to be somber, to avoid the darts.

She fears it will be a game,
Where other siblings take their aim,
Grabbing what they feel is their right.

For this she has a name,
She’d rather her view be tame,
She must remember to trust her insight!

There’s the oldest, the only brother,
Who was extremely close to their mother,
Along with her and her two younger sisters!

Instead of being clear with each other,
The competition with one another,
Has overshadowed the fact they still miss her.

Once home, she’ll have the task,
To unpack boxes and carefully unmask,
Her mother’s jewelry, paintings, silver and crystal!

Laying them out to openly bask,
In some pattern no need to ask.
All polished up with no hint of dull.

Overlooking they all know what’s there,
She assumes they might already have their share,
This fear makes her sit still and hesitate,

Then she recognizes that’s what is in the air,
A paralyzing, contracting panic that distracts from simple care.
Just the notion itself that there is a deliberate pre-set fate!

Then a smile comes along,
Almost bursting in song,
Realizing that before she goes, she is just fearing an attack,

Her family is where she did originally belong,
This concern in her thinking is what’s wrong,
In truth, she just wants her mom back.

It’s never been about her mom’s things,
It’s her loss that still tugs at the strings,
She loved her mom so deep in her heart.

It is the angst a visit like this brings,
That cries foul, making deep issues sing!
Before she goes, her perspective has a new start.

It is time to let go and to trust,
Returning home now is a must,
Because she knows what is hers will come.

Clearing and cleaning off all the dust,
And releasing all that is old off of us,
Creates the wholeness of all not just some!

Joy returns before she leaves tomorrow,
Even though she will face some inner sorrow,
She is clear there will also be love.

Even though her thinking became narrow,
In truth they can always borrow,
She knows her mother left plenty of,

Assortment of memories for them all to choose,
Of handbags, scarves and shoes,
Each one a fond memory of her!

There will be sharing and no time to lose,
With family wine and humor to eliminate the blues,
Is why their time together will endure . . .

And that is certainly good, good news!

STATE OF NO WORDS

HMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
AAAHHHHHHHHHHH!
UUUMMMMMMMMMMM!
OOOOHHHHHHHHHH!
UUUUUGGGGGGGGG!

:(

This limerick is a kernel of an idea I may expand on:


ST8 of Language - A Limerick

“My GF’s a QT – she’s GR8!”
sd the txter, “But 2nite she is L8!
I’ll IM & Twitter,
& try not 2B bitter,
but WTF, this was a D8!”

ST8 of Language II - Another Limerick

When texting his long list of chums,
Josh’s cell phone practically hums,
but his grammar and spelling
is less than compelling;
when writing, it seems he’s all thumbs.

Oops- here I am writing about bad grammar, and I say "grammar and spelling IS" instead of "ARE" - LOL!

"State of Roses"

Twilring tall a willow tree
hands out to sky, red hair
long and floating, skirt
spinning. A rose sails
in a graceful arc. That
night, a kiss under
constellations makes her
laugh and turn when he
kisses her hand. Tomorrow,
a willow back, walking
away. She never stops.
The delicate centre of the
red rose spins to the stage,
reflecting light and shadow,
and in that moment, lives.

Maybe one day I will be able to create a poem without a neat conclusion, but this comes from the details culled from two pastors who recently formed the group Churches Helping Churches. Hope is still there in the horrible stench and the rubble. The poem tended to write itself.


The State of Rubble

Even the government is not intact.
Missing persons’ reports would be a joke.
Most policemen are missing themselves.
Stones and bodies alike litter the streets.

Scooped-up bodies by ten thousands
are pitched into dumpsters to form
a new city dump. No one knows
who they are. No time to think.

The still-faithful pastor cradles
his youngest son in his arms
with his three other sons close by.
Their mother has is now with Jesus.

The church buildings are rubble, too,
but not the trust of those who love God.
They shelter and care for others
as they face their shattered lives themselves.

How do I state the state of my heart
when the word _heartbroken_ seems so tired?
I think that weathered phrase of state wants
to be left alone because it shrugged
off my approach. Then _brokenhearted_

turned away and _heartbreaking_ turned up
the volume on some daytime talk show.
They’re feeling their age, but I wanted…
I don’t know…their touch in my torso,
tight with longing (but hardly airtight).

I’m leaking steam with the wish to know
that everything’s going to be okay
when ancient words like these cross over.
How will my daughter’s granddaughters pray
for her when she’s evaporated?

Their hearts will break. Bless us all, clichés.
Our states don’t change with the passing days.



DA

Bruce! Nice limmies!

State of Mind

It must have gone off the bridge in the fog
They theorized but, there were no skid marks
And the break in the railing was as clean
As a surgical wound, as if excised by a scalpel
Just wide enough to let a car, or a life, or a soul
Slip on through, soundlessly, in the foggy night

Somewhat cynically, the officers watched as
The coroner peered over the edge in the bright
Harsh morning light, knowing he was looking
To see wreckage below, knowing also there
Would be nothing to see – that anything that
Hit the river last night would be long gone
Downstream, or resting heavy on the silty bottom

Finally the death delver gave it up and turned
Asked them if the next of kin had arrived
Simultaneously noticed the sobbing man
Getting out of another squad car, frantically
Moving toward them all, the scent of loss already
Rolling off him in waves – at once they were
A team, confronting ‘the public’, tried to
Catch the man, hold him before he fell over

In his panic, trying to see what had happened
The cops, as kind as they might want to seem
Were also sizing up the husband, just in case
You never knew after all – it might not be what
It seemed on the face of it – the coroner lost
Interest quickly and they knew he would not
Regain it until a body surfaced, but all had the
Same question for the survivor – it was only
A matter of time before someone said it aloud

It was the guy from the morgue, oddly enough;
Just before he climbed into the meat-wagon
He turned suddenly, walked back to the group
Touched the man’s shoulder, almost respectfully
Asked with what seemed like feigned indifference
“May I ask you this sir?” The husband looked up
Expectantly, one might even say hopefully,
“When you last saw your wife, what would you
say was her state of mind? Did she seem upset?”

It was, as they say, right then when things started
To go south; the husband crumpled as if his legs
Had suddenly turned boneless, and would have
Hit the ground if the cops had not been paying
Attention and grabbed him under the arms,
Physically holding him upright, trying to urge him
To stand up, to control himself, to get it together.

The man started to keen; the noises coming from
Him were inhuman ones and everyone within hearing
Started to feel unwell, started to fear for their own
Sanity and wondered what the police could be doing
To the poor man – the cops wanted nothing more
Than to drop him off the bridge but ended up
Putting him into a squad car, then getting the coroner
To sign an order for the mental hospital so they
Could deliver him there for evaluation – it seems
They felt they needed to examine his state of mind.

Line number twelve in my poem should read,

"Their mother is now with Jesus.'

When I changed the words I left an old word in as well as adding a new one.

State of Mishap

The sky decided to rain down
Incestuous drops of indecency,
One before me,
One after,
A few in between
We've all
Died the same
Death

Thanks, Walt- I appreciate it!!

State of Kate

Whirlwind
Dervish
Devilish bleachy hair
Devil-may-care
Two boys who dare you to (...)
They live on tater tots and MTV

Kate
an independent contractor
Business contracting
Customers lacking
Constricted by her own slacking
No dedication
No time given to contemplation
No medication
Nor meditation
But she's sure Jesus will sort it out for her
Til then, she's
in a state

Amy Barlow Liberatore

PS I love my relatives, but our DNA is like primordial soup!!!

The State of Belief

The state of belief is beleaguered
by people who cannot dare
to let themselves trust in others
without burdening their brains
to seek illusive answers to
questions of motive, angle, measured
gain, or what lies steeped in darkness
inside the head of that other
person, who speaks plainly, opens
a heart and mind, offers merely friendship.

The State of Her Perception

The heart’s connection, at times palpable;
At times as distant as the miles between us.

State of Disarray

Her hair was going
in too many directions to count;
Her shirt had been buttoned
for a hopscotch game;
One pant leg was up
the other down;
One sock was blue
the other neon orange;
I stood on the street corner
wondering what her story was;
Homeless and down on her luck
or just a lady needing her
morning coffee?

State of the Eart - A Pensee

Van Gogh
lost his left lobe
in a Gauguin delusion
but found it at Arles' Lost and Found.
In sum, go Van Gauguin.

State of One Past

In another life
which was actually my own
I feared an exit
by one who did not merit...
yet, it turned out for the best

Great work, ALL!

Chev: You hit the heart and soul of it.

Joseph: I’m embarrassed to admit that one was way over my head. I’ll read it again, each time I visit PA this week, until it clicks. :)

Sweet Hannah: Beautifully expressed, as always. The first thought that came to my mind is that your words in the mouth of any other are not the same.

Walt: State of the Onion is so clever! State of Disrepair may be sad commentary, but it sure is well written. “No wonder friends all stop and stare; alive and well, in disrepair” is clever, and rhythmically draws me in.

Julie, I like your take on State of the Union.

Nikki: Amen to Walt’s comment, in general. Specifically this is an excellent piece. I particularly like your opening and closing. Nicely done.

“Hot House Brass Ensemble” … right up my alley! ;)

Janet, Bruce, and RJ: Thanks for making me laugh tonight. I needed that!

Thanks to Hannah and Marie Elena! (and don't worry, it was over my head too ^_^)

Rachel: absolutely chilling, I'm glad that we had complementary titles back to back :)
Barbara and Taylor: love your musical takes on the theme!
Bruce: very clever, though I prefer the second one... easier on the eyes
Marie Elena: succinct and lovely!

STATE OF LOUISIANA

The Spanish moss is draped like my veils
In a most exotic way
Over the weeping willow trees,
And the bayou ambles lazily along;
I am greeted at the airport with Christmas colored beads
In February
And I get called both "Ma'am" and "Honey";
I wear only my Renaissance Faire finery
On these elegant happy days,
And I dance to zydeco
And hear an elderly gentleman's jazzy rendition
Of Jesus Loves Me
On the streets of New Orleans;
Louisiana is
Exotic and elegant
Joyful and Somber
Musical and Peaceful
A state and a state of mind!

Amy Barlow Liberatore! How wonderful to see your name on this site again...your CD has not been out of my player since it arrived in my mailbox...it is sweeeeeeet.Now I am in a state of bliss...

The State of the Union

Scissors
Bright, shiny, sharp
Cutting
Scissors

It was only an earring
It was in the car
It wasn’t hers
Scissors!

He comes home late smelling of whisky
And cheap perfume
He thinks she’s gone mad
Scissors!

He buys a new tie on the way to work
All his good silk ones cut to shreds
What is her problem?
Scissors!

She’ll never know ‘til its too late
The innocence of her victim
No discussion just cutting
Scissors!

Soon there’ll be vultures
Picking at the spoils
Dividing the blame with
Scissors!

Ten good years
Sliced into memories and spite
Because they forgot to talk
Scissors!

Bright shiny scissors
Cutting up their marriage
All because of an earring
Scissors!


Iain

Funny, how real estate develops personality. Beautiful, Katrelya. I will read this one to my daughter tonight, if she is up to it. She LOVES New Orleans, but Katrina washed away her life there, including precious artwork and beloved pet.

Iain: YIKES!

Joseph: "It was over my head too" put a grin on my face that I'm sure will pop up more than once throughout my day. ;) And thanks so much for your kind words. It lifts my spirits when you find worth in my words.

The State of No Return

Naples, though your beautiful,
you weren’t my cup of tea.
Though my yard was fruity-ful,
and Gulf, a site to see …
Keep your clammy, searing heat;
and your outlandish pests.
Spiders, roaches, bugs replete,
as large as robins’ nests.
People shopping in attire
suitable for beach.
Not a place where I’LL retire.
End of this short speech.

The State of My Piggy Bank

The state of my piggy bank
to be frank
is blank.

OOPS! CRIMINEY ... EMBARRASSING TYPO. REPOST...

The State of No Return

Naples, though you're beautiful,
you weren’t my cup of tea.
Though my yard was fruity-ful,
and Gulf, a site to see …
Keep your clammy, searing heat;
and your outlandish pests.
Spiders, roaches, bugs replete,
as large as robins’ nests.
People shopping in attire
suitable for beach.
Not a place where I’LL retire.
End of this short speech.

RJ, as Hannah would say, "Wicked cute!"

Here’s a penny for your thoughts,though they are worth far more.
Your piggy isn’t rich, but has a cent more than before. ;)

-♥-

And also - I love The State of No Return! You write so funny!

-♥- ! Thanks, RJ! Ditto back to you the comment you made on Micro. You make me feel good about my work. In fact, have some more of these: -♥- -♥- -♥- -♥- -♥- -♥- -♥- -♥- -♥- -♥- (teehee!)

STATE OF APATHY

Affection can steady a sinking ship,
and ardor can carry the day.
Fervor fueled by a fire within,
puts your passion on full display.

But some in the world are disinterested,
lost in their own self-import,
blinders appear shielding from ear-to-ear,
their very own island, of sorts.

Standing firm on their impartiality,
a mountain of stone against love.
Not taking sides; with no feelings of pride,
no compassion to leave them unmoved.

How can you not care, for your brother?
The indifference is truly quite maddening.
Just a moment of time could make things so sublime,
but instead your demeanor is saddening.

For a moment, release insensitivity.
For an hour suspend disbelief.
For a day or a week, find compassion they seek,
For a lifetime you’ll provide some relief.

Take a stand against loathsome neutrality,
fight the fight that your sister can wage,
be a soldier of trust, give your all if you must,
and your wisdom will come off as sage.

Are you so unconcerned to not care more?
Has you heart and soul withered and died?
Are you jaundiced and callous, with stone cold malice?
Reach down deep and release what’s inside.

Your affection can steady that listing ship,
and your ardor can rescue their day,
spark a fervor, a fire, a heartfelt desire,
to not put your compassion away.

WOW. So seamless. So sincere. So insightful. So Walt.

The State of Silence

Silence articulates.

State of Denouement

"Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it." - W. Somerset Maugham

I agree.
No death for me.

STATE OF AFFAIRS

Johnnie we hardly knew ye,
but through time we have come to know,
you lousy unchivalrous bastard,
you’ve let your dishonesty show.

Pursuit of high office enticed you,
with your perfect hair and bright smile,
and a suffering wife meshed in servitude,
who’s cancer was cramping your style.

When beating the campaign trail,
volunteers coming out of the boards,
with Beth standing by with a cynical eye,
you were canvassing the attractive hoard.

Your dalliance authored an off spring,
through adamant denials all the way.
But, your smarmy defenses were making her wince
with the truth trailing not far away.

You finally admit indiscretion,
And with piousness, beg her: forgive,
but her battle goes along when she needed you strong,
not the way she would wanted to live.

So now Mrs. Edwards stand lonely,
but through her “assault” remains strong,
and the fear that will find her as a constant reminder
for a husband obsessed, and her gone.

Oh, Johnnie you weren’t hard to figure,
political parlances aside,
and it won’t be quite right when you stand there contrite,
on the day your poor “wife” will have died.

A STATE OF MIND

Being in a state of mind
brings to mind
many possibilities.

While delving into my mind,
I find misplaced marbles,
long-lost memories,
evil pangs of hurts from long ago,
mental photographs of sandy beaches
and refreshing waters.

I also see you,
in the corner of my mind,
secreted away
in the cobwebs
that have formed
for so many years
since you left me.

Packed away in another bit of gray matter
are my questions:
those ponderings of why did you
and how could you?

But most of all,
in the forefront of my mind,
remains the gigantic “thank you”
because of the legacy you gave to me –
my beautiful children
and my absolutely amazing grandchild.

A BLANK STATE OF MIND

As I ponder the prompt on this link,
all my great ideas suddenly shrink.
So I’ll start once again,
with new ink in my pen,
and, perhaps, the next poem won’t stink.

The State of Her Song

There’s a rhythm to her blues.
Restless nights
Adagio days
Lyrics escape her as she sways
Soul swells with ominous tones and
Oboe moments.
She has no words
so tumbled heart thumping dread
hums, instead.

STATE OF DENIAL

It's like Vuja De, all over again,
this stuff’s never happened, my man.
And if it did, it's not wrong that he hid?
he was gone ‘fore the crap hit the fan.

He wasn’t the guy to poke and to pry,
and wasn’t the monster, who fled,
don’t blame it on him, didn’t do it, not him,
he's certain you’re being misled.

So sorry the structure’s unstable,
his building skills aren’t very good.
he's not good with tools, doesn’t work well with fools,
and he won’t take the blame if he could.

He won’t try to act presidential,
though his constituency is tried and true,
the promises made are like live hand grenades,
“How’s this hope and change working for you?”

Not taking the fall when the bullets fly,
don’t give him the arrows of doubt,
desist in your quest, and heed his behest,
for the person who did this moved out.

He’ll disavow any trace of wrong doing,
confession’s not good for that soul,
He’ll cheat and he’ll lie, he’ll deny, and deny,
for indiscretion to get back in control.

So, here's drawing the line at his ignorance,
he's passing the buck down the line,
And don’t fear a thing when the man makes him sing,
If they put him away,we’ll be fine.

De Jackson! Excellent mood and portrayal.

Sharon, thx for the compliment on my music! Check out Ellyn Maybe's site - she has a poetry-read-with-music CD, Rodeo for the Sheepish, that blew my mind! Your thoughts on the sanity of the "one left behind" turns the tables and examines the bureaucracy of death... of suicide... that took some digging. Good work!

Maria Elena, your poetry is like an extremely tasteful treasure trove. Nothing gaudy, beautiful yet spare.

RJ, you crack me up. I'm new to your poems and love your humor

Janet, I had flashbacks to sharing my folks' estate (piddling estate, I might add, but sisters will be sisters) and realized how glad I am we made it past that!

Salvatore, all I can say is I know that guy. And I know he's not you!

"State of a Generation"

They are falling hard and fast,
like an avalanche of stones
pushed down a mountain by sheer force
of time, wind, weariness--
yesterday Zinn and today, Salinger.
Already so many have vanished,
it is hard not to feel deserted,
orphaned, ancestorless—so I pull
books from shelves,
and read the familiar pages again.

Thanks, Walt (and to anyone who’s commented the past few weeks…I just can’t seem to catch my breath yet this year.) Did read today, while I still can. Good work, all. Particularly loved these lines:
Chev Shire’s “leaves no trace of itself but a dull ache you can't identify”
Nikki Markle’s “despite its restful rusting in my mind” oh, can I ever relate

STATE OF EMERGENCY

Today marks the day, an anniversary of sorts
where the Buffaloons roam obsessed with their sports.

The land of the snows famed in story and song,
and ten thousand weathermen can be that wrong.

Thirty-three years ago, right to this day,
Jack Frost came to town and decided to stay.

A flurry was falling, then another one started,
and they laughed at their impact totally half-hearted.

But the winds started whipping, off the lake they were blowing
eeirly, and the snows just kept right on snowing.

Lake effect storms with the wind chill to boot,
you knew before long this will not be a hoot.

Cars were slip-sliding, buses were skidding,
pedestrians got buried, Mother Nature wasn't kidding.

The cars got buried, the buses as well,
pedestrians died, quite the living hell.

Snow drifts to the roof tops, schools and stores closed,
workers were stranded for days in the same clothes.

The mayor begged mercy, the county executive pleaded,
a state of emergency is just what was needed.

An area stir crazy, and bound to their homes,
kicking back six packs and breezing through tomes.

Caught in a way station, between heaven and hell,
how long this thing lasted, no one could really tell.

But the birth rate increased nine months to the days,
population explosion, a new baby boom craze.

In Seventy-Seven, the snow gods declared
those Buffalo people should stay well prepared.

The Blizzard of '77, a part of Buffalore,
had hammered city and township, like it never had before.

They talked on the news, and on national shows,
Johnny Carson had gagged about the bad snows.

The Buffaloons got offended, they cried "dirty foul"
when the blizzard had ended, a perpetual scowl.

But the fact of the matter, and it goes without saying,
if the weather gets so bad, why the hell are we staying?

State of Stasis


She cannot feel her fingers
Knows they are here somewhere
Hasn’t misplaced them, really
Just perhaps neglected them.

They no longer long to tappity-type
Scribble-scribe, make her feel alive
Just thumb-drumming on desk
Waiting for some sign, catalyst, beginning.

She cannot form the words
To describe numb limbs, tired heart
Phantom ache of poems past penned
Wondering when ink, breath, tears, will flow again.

2010 STATE OF...

Billy Joel
Used to sing about
A New York state of mind

How did everything get
So UP IN THE AIR
Like the movie

What is the global state of mind
The national, continental

It's not just one big city
Anymore.



Poetically Aside: great reading! so many states of mind out there!

Peppermint Patti

The State of The Onion

It's a sad story, the state of the onion. The closer we get to the core, the more we cry. Walt celebrates its' healthful gifts and celebration is definitely in order.

This poem about says it all. Very concise and fully formed, it presents itself to the reader a glimpse that expands to a large picture. This poem reaches me as few others do.

Will return later to comment more, but just have to say a very humble thank you to Amy. My goodness, what a lovely compliment. I'll carry it with me through the day.

Also, missing some voices, including Daniel.

For those of you who enjoy reading flash fiction, my new book FLASHING MY SHORTS was released today! 165 flash stories of all genres.

ORDER YOUR PRINT COPY FROM

http://www.allthingsthatmatterpress.com/buynow.htm

"With dry humor and a deep sense of irony, Salvatore Buttaci has delivered a book of sparkling gems. These quick stories make us laugh, think, and at times cry. They take us to the core of reality and at other times to the wonders of fantasy."
--Kenneth Weene author of Widow's Walk

Salvatore Buttaci masters the short form in his new collection Flashing My Shorts.  The stories here are spare but powerful, and each is injected with Buttaci's quick wit, sharp insight, and the sort of emotional depth that causes a reader to pause, for just a moment, before reading on, wanting more.  
--Jen Knox, Author of Musical Chairs

http://www.allthingsthatmatterpress.com/buynow.htm

CONGRATULATIONS, Salvatore! Sounds like a blast! Ordering mine TODAY. :) de

STATE OF CONCERN

We join our hands poetically,
and share our hearts and minds.
Giving all we have to give
to let our souls unwind.

We read the work presented,
and take others thoughts within.
At times the words are heart felt;
sometimes they make us grin.

But, there are times our heart strings
are given quite a tug,
you want to reach right through the screen
and give you friend a hug.

To read of problems encountered,
or maladies acquired,
written in a metered form
leaves more to be desired.

Although we choose to use our muse
to stoke poetic pyres,
we can’t refuse the words we choose
to make them sound less dire.

We see ourselves less worthy,
a victim of our fate.
We look at others before ourselves;
our problems have to wait.

For once accept our kudos,
give weight to our concern,
be thankful for the “friends” we’ve made,
and all they make us learn.

I worry for your computer woes,
they silence your expressing,
I feel for your writer’s block,
it can sometimes get depressing.

Times are tough all over,
but it’s truly no excuse,
those lack of funds can be undone,
don’t feed your self-abuse.
If unemployment’s your concern,
(and trust me, it’s been mine),
hone your skills and ride it out,
be positive and you’ll be fine.

If you’re viewing life from in a tunnel,
Glaucoma, your affliction,
continue seeing with your heart
to offer some correction.

A mental stress may bother you,
through paranoia; doubt,
please know our thoughts go with you,
we’re here to help you out.

This age progression affects all,
there’s no escaping time,
but, share your fears, we listen here,
a kinship in our rhyme.

The cancers that devour us,
do take a toll, it’s true,
just keep your trust in all of us,
and faith will help you through.

If your hands no longer feel,
succumbing to the numbing,
again, keep feeling with your heart,
your “lyric” will keep coming.

Then, we come to love undone,
emotions lost and found,
accept yourself as your best work,
new love will come around.

Marriages may come misaligned,
their ends all frayed and tattered.
sometimes for reasons you’re unsure of,
your heart will know what matters.

And distance is a gaping hole,
that runs through many hearts,
attempt to bridge these chasms wide,
hearts grow fonder when apart.

The wisdom written comes to roost,
yes, silence DOES articulate.
Take solace there, we truly care,
it’s really not too late.

STATE OF SLUMBER

A starless night sky
enshrouds the room with a black, velvet blanket.
Beneath it, the tranquility of sleep eludes me.

My mind focuses on everything
and nothing.
It spins around and around,
trapped on a carousel that refuses to suspend its cycle.

Promises shatter like crystal.
Hope drowns in a quagmire of deceit.

A crack in the curtain, denying daybreak’s entry,
leaves me longing for something,
anything,
that will weigh down these eyelids
to find refuge in that blissful state of slumber.

Good luck Susan. Had another sleep study on Tuesday hoping to find why after 8 years on CPAP nothing seems to work for me. Maybe they can find how I even function on approximately three hours a day(night). Feeling your frustration.

Walt, that's way too long to be functioning without a decent night's sleep. I hope the sleep study finds a way to resolve the problem. For me, I think I'm just on mental overload. So many projects, so little time. I'm behind on everything. As soon as the AAA guy checks out the dead car in the driveway, I'm on my over to micro poetry. I've missed so much!!!

And have been equally!

Salvatore: Big time congratulations!

De Queen: Our creative mind sometimes bows to the evil forces of life's stresses. It's a temporary thing. You still wear the crown, in my book. Hang in there, sweetie ... still praying.

Susan: See ya at Micro! =)

Walt, you are a total gem. A TALENTED total gem.

(Odd code: B4NYC. WHAT Before New York City? Hmmmmm...)

Enigmatically
Full. Broken. Worried. Thankful.
The state of my heart.

Friday thought:

Big news on the November '09 front!

Congrats to all in this amazing community who submitted manuscripts.

As an aside, have to say that I did not have the stamina to complete such a task myself. One monthly stretch was all I could manage but, I have to say, I felt great to work my way through April '09 and have made a small navy chapbook of my daily contributions to commemorate achieving that particular goal.

For those who made it to the 2009 November list of 21--wow! You did it!

Peppermint Patty

Well said, Patty. A great big congratulations to everyone on the list!! And to all who stuck with the November challenge, I applaud you!!!

Congratulations to the 21 who made it to the chapbook list of the best. You should feel honored. We here at Poetic Asides salute you!

Still here but having difficulty with this week's prompt for some reason. I hope to have something to post soon though. In the meantime, I'd like to add my congratulations to everyone who participated in the chapbook challenge and particularly to the 21 finalists. I admire all the work I see here; it is consistently thought-provoking and enjoyable. I'm happy to be in your company.

Salvatore: Congrats!

Walt: Wishes for you to be able "to sleep, perchance to dream" in the days to come!

Susan: Thanks--appreciate your comment.

Marie Elena: loved your "Enigmatically" lines--seems to me they come from one who is full of heart!

Peppermint Patty

STATE OF UNREST

Why
me?
Selfish,
uncaring
people make me mad.
No ethics or integrity.

Of course, laws don't apply to them -
only to me. Will
somebody
please tell
me
why.

W

Pep Pat (as Walt has referred to you): Thanks for the sweet and generous compliment. ALWAYS enjoy you out here!

Theresa: Good to see you as well. It seems so many are having trouble finding inspiration. Doggone muse thieves anyway.

(Code: 22TAG ... guess you're it!)

Only time to give a HUMUNGO CONGRATULATIONS to the top 21 Chapbookers!!
YAY!!

W

State of Un-suspense

These days ultrasounds
tell new parents way too much
like gender pre-birth

seems a shame to me
"It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!"
was the best surprise

bringing me to tears
the cherry on the sundae
icing on the cake

Okay, did mine (such as it is); now who's It next?

State of Mind

If ever the soft blush of your love
is not enough,
I will know it is no longer about love,
but about me.
May “if ever” never come.

Amen, Theresa!

State of Mind, II

If ever the liberation of words to page
is not enough,
I will know it is no longer about writing,
but about me.
May “if ever” never come.

Salvatore,
Congratulations, you must be in a State of Euphoria!

Good one, Sara! =)

Marie Elena, your words in the State of Mind pieces struck close to home. I've been thinking about how I've been focusing more on myself and less on what in my life is truly important. Thank you for reinforcing that positive and powerful message!

The state of the
Poet’s gift
Is currently
On hold.
With the walls
Caving in and
The ground
Swallowing up,
Her status is
“Shaky” at best.

But she is determined
To get through the
Aftermath and if the
Past is any indication
She will not let the ruin
Consume her voice.

No, she will do what all
Surviving poets do:
She will find the words
Amongst the piles and piles
Of broken rubble
And one day with
Strength she will

Write again.

Oh, thank you, Susan. I'm glad there was a bit of inspiration there!

As Walt would say, Patti, "Write On!"

Later than usual this week...

State of Being

A fan of the action verb,
of active voice, I cringe
at passive voice used lazily.
Show; don’t tell, I chide,
then model my advice.

And Friday, as I slid home
on the ice-slickened roads,
I planned menus in my head,
jogged my memory for the place
where the snow shovel lay,
for the name of the neighbor
who borrowed our sled.

Up early Saturday, I slipped
on boots, picked my way
out to the road, searching
for the paper I knew I would
not find, the delivery man
skiddish on icy roads.

All day, I cooked and cleaned,
played my mandolin, verse
after verse of “Wayfaring Stranger,”
then read and knitted and napped.

Today, the sky is clear, the snow
is piled in drifts against the window,
I am full of soup and stew and homemade
bread. Today, I will not do.
I’ll simply be.

Patti,
Yes, she will keep writing!

Over the weekend, there were several articles about how Argentine president Cristina Fernandez recommended eating pork in order to improve certain - ahem - 'aspects' of one's life. It was just too irresistible! I felt compelled to write a double dactyl about it...

State of Boar-dom

Higgeldy Piggeldy
Argentine President
claims that Viagra is
no match for pork:

Madame Fernandez says
idealistically
pigs improve sex life, so...
go get your fork.

"Today, I will not do. I will simply be." I'm likin' that a bunch, Nancy!

RJ, you are just such a hoot! =)

State of Insecurity

I don’t recall when I came to be. It’s been … what? Far more than a century, anyway. I don’t know who fashioned me, nor why. I like to think they were a master of their craft. All I really know is this: I’ve been treasured in this family all my life. Across the generations, my family has cared for me as a cherished member. I’ve been relied on to be sturdy as a rock, yet cozy as a soft down pillow, and to lend comfort in times of trouble. I’ve been included in every holiday, and every celebration, as well as daily life. I’ve been the honored one for countless new births … trusted to support, while instilling a sense of love and security.

Now the crack. How long has it been there? I don’t recall it happening. When did I lose perfection? Or was perfection an illusion all along? How will this affect my life? Will I no longer hold my esteemed position? More importantly, will my family no longer be able to rely on my strength? If I cannot support them physically, how will I give comfort? How will I sustain them emotionally? Can a mere crack change my life so drastically, and, therefore, the lives of those who rely on me?

Have I fooled myself all along, thinking I possess anything of worth to give?

State of Indifference

go
stay
can't say
I care much
whichever you choose
my heart will continue to beat
though our screen's gone flat
m o n o t o n e
voice drones
stay
go

The State of April PAD

Robert,

Emotions seem to be all over the map, ranging from indifference, to disappointment, to anger.

In my humble opinion, there is absolutely no shame if you cannot uphold your end of the bargain. Life sometimes gets in the way. I agree with Sharon’s comment in a different thread, “It’s not Haiti, is it? The sun will come up again tomorrow, right?” Absolutely. Let’s keep this in perspective.

However, I cannot concur with Katherine Hepburn’s sentiment of “Never apologize and never explain.” Back in August, you said, “Nearly every day of the April PAD Challenge is narrowed down to the Top 5.” But, other than announcing the Poet Laureate, there has been silence since then. A “still in the works,” or “sorry, but the 2009 e-book has become out of the question” would take literally seconds to type and post. It seems to me to be the courteous and professional thing to do.

I do appreciate your time and effort, and the fact that you have a life outside of PA. And I, for one, look forward to April 2010, and hope we are still “on.” I don't expect to be included in the e-book. It is not about that, for me. It is about the awe I continue to experience in being included in this the wonderful poetic community, the challenge, and the growth.

With sincere gratitude,

I count on Mrs. Good as a moral compass. I would be remiss in allowing my silence to not back up her sentiments. I garner fears that P.A.D will come to stand for Probably Another Decade. I, as well, respect the magnitude of the undertaking. But "literally seconds to type and post" was being rather generous. Apathy reigns supreme. Sad state of affairs.
Never thought I express that. Now it's done.

I don't know about this whole "moral compass" thing ... I'm quite sure you don't need my help in that department. But, as always, your words mean a great deal. Thank you for that.

State of Inertia

Too many carbs
too little daylight
hearts lying dormant
sluggish spirits wilting
monotony's torpor palls

Come, spring!

Lengthen dreary days
lighten heavy hearts
lift slumbering spirits

restore the elation
of true animation.

Robert, I see you have posted a status update in the November Chapbook thread. Much appreciated! =)

Hi Theresa! Good stuff here. Keep 'em coming! =)

Marie Elena: Thanks so much for "The State of April PAD" I couldn't have said it any better. You captured the essence of this situation and wrote what needed to be said.

Walt: what to say, what to say...haven't figured out the best ALT-key!

Theresa: Spring is the season for me--bring it on!

Patricia
(some days just don't ring in for Peppermint Patti)

Oh, wow. Thanks, Pep Pat! (Sorry you aren't feelin' much like Pep Pat today, but you're still a treat to me!) =)

Thanks, Marie Elena! Really enjoyed your State of Mind pieces; a message worth hearing
Pep-Pat: Tough waiting out this winter, isn't it? I'm ready for spring if you are.
RJ - Love it.
Nancy - A day to just be; we all need that from time to time. Sounds like yours was well deserved. I can smell that homemade bread.
Salvatore - Congratulations! Looking forward to checking out your collection.

The State of Her Art

…is pending
as she attempts to coax
tiredlazywoundedworriedfrazzledfrightenedunenlightened
muse
out to play.

Nope, not today.

Another try at posting this.

The State of the Weather

I plan to go
If the snow
Ice and cold
Don't show,
Once again.

I seek there
Not to care
For brainy fare
Sweetbreads there,
Once again.

For De Queen

You're feeling museless
and utterly useless,
but who needs their muses
When novelty oozes
and fiercely amuses
and nobody loses?

(Feel better, De!)

State of Decomp
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

Before she succombs
to the place where
light and dark
beckons and bends,
she is distracted
momentarily by
the sound of water,
a single ripple
doppling merrily
between blades of grass
glistening viridescently
above a mirrored surface,
each ring mesmerizing
as the one before it.

Reaching down into
reflections, she
decides long last
to let go of it all
--hurt
anger
fear
unhooking each
from the catch line
like fish
into the ripples,
her essence ascending
with each release,
knowing full well the place
that awaits her,
such human currency
bears no value.

Feeling her body
grow heavy,
she lets it slip quietly
away from her,
first by skin
then by pull of sinew
across muscle and metacarpal,
down into the depths
of liquid darkness
and cradle of silt and decomp,
back to where the marrow
of life first began.



© 2010 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

State of Forgiveness

Misguided words cut like a knife
through softened butter.
But the hurt is the same
were the knife blade dull.
Absorbed by my own inconvenience,
the better part of me falls in the abyss
of selfish indignation.
To forgive these momentary outbursts
and look beyond the pain inflicted
would be impossible for some.
Yet you prove, time and again,
the deeper definition of love
by giving me time
to learn this lesson of forgiveness
and grow from who I am into who I want to be.

Better late than never.

Thanks again Marie Elena for last weeks encouragement.

Congrats Nancy Posey on the chapbook challenge.

This is again another variation on the villanelle

.................................................................

State of Matter


Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it does matter.
When no one cares about all the little small things,
about the indivisible pieces; to the individual beholder.

Solidity is a hoax, a disappointment, a wish to be stronger.
Enough to repel overwhelming forces, or repair the breakings.
Sometimes it’s an unknown shape. Fixed is static, is weaker.

Fluidity is a dream. A useless trait without a worthy container.
I am a product of my environment, of all the failed upbringings.
About the inability, defined. Reacting to exterior, to power.

Gases are invisible. Leaving only footprints as imprint reminder.
They travel the earth too. Elemental vagabonds, those driftings.
Sometimes it is a peace. Restless for contentment, for remainder.

Plasma is a passion. Too quick and energetic for common wielder.
The electrons are free from nucleus, possessing great charge. Arcings,
about the gap between cloud and ground. Hate and Love, and Abandoner.

I feel the fracture of bones, and the pulse of blood. I am the crier
of tears, breather of air. With lightning thought, compelling sparkings.
Sometimes it doesn’t feel like, (but) it does matter,
about the indivisible, pieces to the individual; Beholder.

Susan: Now and then, the written word speaks exceptionally to the heart. Bless you for this.

Thank you so much, Marie Elena. The path to growing up is a rugged path, indeed. And age doesn't make it any less so!

Susan S.: how true!

Patricia H.: congrats!

Aside to All: February blues? Here in Kitchener, it is freezing cold; the wind chill factor is minus whatever but, in the spirit of Yoda, happy I am.
Yesterday, as a Friday feature, my article about bookmaking was published at
http://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/2010/02/friday-speak-out-bookmakingfor-you-for.html. Although I have had some poems published, now, it is neat to be able to construct a home for a poem or story, especially with reusing items that are just waiting for a second chance. It has been a great outlet for creativity on cold wintry days!

Peppermint Patti

Better late than never, and I still have to do the previous prompt! GAH!

THE STATE OF MY RIGHT THUMB


Caught twice in the cuff of a black belts' gi,
I couldn't make a fist at the end of the class.
Forearms turned a squishy blue black after
an hour of hard core conditioning, the slap
of forearms blocking strike after strike
echoed through the small training hall.
Since then, the right has been the weaker
of the two, turning clumsy, pained and lumpy
as the years and injuries piled up – overuse
from griping index finger into a fist, repeated
thumb strikes and locks – and make me pull
my punches short, shy of contact which may
render my right thumb useless for any
thing beyond a limp handshake 'hello.'