My poem formats

All of the poems I had posted on here have turned themselves into prose format on their own accord. That is weird and cannot be explained. I will provide no explanation nor waste the time it would take to fix them all. I am sorry.

Curtsies and Climbs

Kristen never quite managed

to pull herself over the bar

Dad stuck between the trees—

the ones we used as goal posts.

She hung and swung and

kicked her legs with a grace

she thought she needed—

Mom so wanted a gymnast!

 

             I used to climb and sit

             on the limbs of that tree

            that taught me of angles.

 

            I watched as her arms

buckled and gave like

the curtsey of a ballerina.

On the day my limb snapped

Mom pushed her up where

momentum should carry her over—

tired of watching her fall.

As I flew past the bar

her arms bowed on the edge

and dropped staring over the yard—

how kind to curtsy my passing.

Your Black Dress

She's best without heels,
looking up to find me here--
her wet eyes waiting.
Your loose dress beckons a touch,
probing what it is I'll find.

The New Bank on the Corner

The floorboards groaned under Papa’s shuffle in the end. In the years before the slippers, the sharp clack of his heels called for attention, The floors quick and poised, creaking like they should. Nannie never liked to tell the story of the time, When two boys who thought they didn’t have to pay, Backed down the porch steps under the point of his barrel. Later, the store sat on the corner where the road opened up, Papa’s pumps moved back to make room for their sign. Only once I thought of the floors beneath the tellers’ feet, Groaning away without the sharp clack of Papa’s heels.

Half-hearted Swipes

It is good to see chalk boards again. The lessons given semi-permanence through the medium of chalk throughout the years strain to hold their vitality, peeking up from behind the half-hearted swipes with the eraser. How many hands have touched this desk, copying those heiroglyphs on the wall? How many people have hung on to a quote that could have changed their lives? Where is that line that turned P__ into a lawyer, that led M__to her affair on her husband? What were those words? I can feel them, the burning embers smouldering beneath the ashes of the fire of education. There are no clean slates. There is just the half-hearted swipe and the smouldering embers poking through.

Winter Lover

This is a Tanka, a poem I hope to write everyday. Dawn bites on the neck, The rays at noon are sweet tongues, Dusk tickles your back, Midnight pinches where it can; Winter days are cheap foreplay. 5-7-5-7-7, for those of you who want to do them also.

I wake up with poems starting in my head

I wake up with poems starting in my head. But not everyday. Sometimes it's a song. At one point in my life, I was able to turn those songs into ones that people could actually hear. I used to have this old tape recorder that I bought at a silent auction for three bucks or something like that--the price of one of the six batteries it took to power it--and I would sing the melody into the tape recorder, hoping to be able to fish something good out of it later. They usually just died there, though. I have no idea where those tapes are, either. Anyway, a couple of days ago I woke up with a poem starting in my head that I actually started to write down. I continued it at work (everything takes me a few days because I have a problem with overstimulation--I can't do one thing for too long without needing to listen to some song, watch some video, play some game, usually all at the same time). Here's how it starts, but you really need to read it as if you're listening to someone roll around in bed while they say it: Oh no, what's this? I'm now awake? I was dreaming and it was great! I'd done something worth an award and I was hoping to get a sword, or something that shines oh so bright-- just anything used by a knight. The people had all gathered round and none of them could make a sound, except the man who tried to cheer, silenced by those huddled near. "Shh," they said, "we want to hear and can't with you inside our ear!" The king and queen of some great land were standing ready to shake my hand. Attendants stood all in a row to make sure things were--just--so. And boy oh boy, the robes I wore, well they were just almost to die for! So please, oh please, turn out the light and let's pretend it is still night. I want to sleep straight through the banquet, so come on in under the blanket. Snuggle in up close and tight. You should want to, I am a knight.