poem by me (Pismo Beach quote is Bugs Bunny’s; ‘Now the work at home begins’ is from “What’d I Miss” in Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda)

The text (because it’s so tiny in the photo):

We stand below
(no matter where you keep
your TV
your computer
your radio
we’re always standing below for this)
and side by side.
(Hi there.  Hello.)
There are so many of us,
not cheering
or applauding;
linking arms and watching.

So here we are
(Pismo Beach and all the clams we can eat!)
Line (in the sand) crossed, marked by
the star-studded (oh, wait) event
in the cold, by that hand
(nope, not going to say it)
on that Bible.

Months of what if
(maybe it’ll be
who knows
makes no sense
no predicting
totally predicting
worry
fundraising
anger
grief
what the actual fuck?)
are over.
Now we’ll see.
Now it starts.
“Now the work at home begins.”


This is part of the Every Single Day Challenge, to raise money for the ACLU. You can donate any time; if you can’t donate, please feel free to signal boost.

Today we have a work in progress, due to a migraine and resultant brain-fog. I read an article recently talking about Lazarus the musical and when Bowie starred in The Elephant Man, and I’ve had those Bowie lyrics in my head for a day or so.  I’m happy with that image of thinking your bones into a new configuration, but I wish the words were better?

Ah well, I’ll poke at it again tomorrow.  (Also I wrote as notes the stuff I usually just think as I write, so you get the full effect of my writing process.  My actual notes to myself tend to be things like “add image here” or “make this make sense.”)


This is part of the Every Single Day Challenge, to raise money for the ACLU. You can donate any time; if you can’t donate, please feel free to signal boost.

Oh god, we’ve resorted to limericks and it’s only the 15th.

poem by me, stick figures of the husband and myself.

This is part of the Every Single Day Challenge, to raise money for the ACLU. You can donate any time; if you can’t donate, please feel free to signal boost.

The text, because it’s long and comes out tiny:

(The Queen of Carthage, cycle 12, after the War)

He came back from the War
empty-eyed,
broken
(they were all of them broken,
their sect,
like Orlande’s body
at the bottom of the reactor),
banned from Engineering,
good for naught
but cutting hair.
As she, working
in the Kitchens
during the Hard Times
(Biohusbandry and Hydroponics
signed on headlong
with the losing side,
lost people, files
stock,
seedlings, notes–
because farming is easy
right?
Well, they found out,
everyone living on
root veg and
rats, maybe a cat),
remembered the Barber
from before;
beautiful zealot’s eyes
(even lovelier than
their Orlande’s
as he fell
and crumpled,
no zealot now,
just blood and meat).
They think him broken
and he is
but she filled up his eyes again
with colder things
than ideals
and filled the bellies of the ones
who broke him
with the meat
that will break them.

poem by me.  This is one of the Sweeney Todd AU poems.  It’s set on the same generation ship, but later than the Ophelia poem on my blog.


This is part of the Every Single Day Challenge, to raise money for the ACLU. You can donate any time; if you can’t donate, please feel free to signal boost.

Today in “scenes from my marriage.” poems by me, inspiration from Scott.

Just too lazy to get out the laptop.  It’s been that sort of day.


This is part of the Every Single Day Challenge, to raise money for the ACLU. You can donate any time; if you can’t donate, please feel free to signal boost.