Each month, write a new collection.
Thank you so much for these amazing prompts! Your generosity as a writer is wonderful!
Thank you Stephanie!!
This is my first time doing 30 Days, great prompt. My Neighbor and Her Mechanical DoveDear Woman,On summer evenings around the same time, you and Iused to share cigarettes on our balconies. Several dozen yards away, facing each other across the courtyard. You’d leave the door open to watch jeopardy through the screen door,And through that same screen door, if the lighting was right, I’d catch glimpses of it, spinning in circles around your livingroom. A flurry of flapped mylar wings and a body tethered by string to a central point high above, retracing the same flight plan, day out, until it’s batteries gave in. But I never saw its batteries die, and I never saw it stop, I only saw it spin. And I only saw you smoke, and wait, looking out across the courtyard with the same look of resignation signaling that one day was pretty much like another. I wondered back then then if it had meant something to you, that little plastic novelty bird, that drugstore dove that you kept alive, always flying, always spinning above the linoleum and couches and formica table. If there was a reason why its wings always reached for the next stroke of wind, why you kept it going even if it was only in circles. Now I think that maybe it had to do with the way you looked out into the horizon with me, when the sun was setting. And even then, even from a distance I could see that gleam from the sunset catching in your eye, that faint tell of a want for something. Desire and longing silently hushed by blue collarrealities and opportunities missed. So now, when I sit in my balcony, looking across a different courtyard, sometimes drift off and think ofand it, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s still soaring in circles the way we left it when we last smoked together all those years ago. And I wonder if it still brings a glimmer to you face to see it, batting its wings, with no fear of crashing to the ground.
That's a really beautiful poem man! I wonder what Klee would have thought of that kind of bird
I met a friend At a bohemian tea house Tucked away in downtownBetween a Jiffy Lube And a pawn shop I drove my Chevy down that streetAfraid I'd see Marcellus Wallace Come running out of a surplus storeI parked in frontOf an auto body garageThe fumes of burning gas and potMingling with the smells Of old garbage and run off I walked into the tea shopSat down at a rickety metal bistroThe kind that started its journeyIn grandma's backyardI was assaulted by the clutterFaded dusty silk flowersStuffed in painted terra cotta potsMist coming off a nearbye water featureCoating the floor like dewThe shrill of Four Non Blonds & Toad the Wet SprocketPiped in on tired speakers While a sea of 20somethings swayed Keeping time to songs that said nothingBut meant everything I focused on the muralThat covered the walls up onto the ceilingNaked mermaids and court jestersSwimming in an ocean of royal blue paintI smelled the left overs of patchouli incenseImbedded in the threadworn cushionsWhile algae floated lazilyIn a forgotten dog bowlI waited an hourMy friend never showedI let the chai tea go cold
Molly, I think this is your strongest yet! There is so much going on in this poem, and I love the reference after reference.