Rydia's Repository

#12 Benjamin Bumblebee

Bumpety numpety,
Benjamin Bumblebee
always a-fumble, he
Sat on the fence.

When addressed cautiously,
what might the matter be:
“Incomprehensible
doesn't make sense.”


A/N: Not a great attempt, but I need to get some sleep.

#13 And on the Seventh Day They Died

The world was created in seven days
but destroyed in six:
they couldn’t take the day to rest,
though they would have liked to.


A/N: I can't decide if it's finished or not ^^

^ Nix the title, change "they" to "we", and call it a day.

Let Go

I felt it in my gut,
it was going to be a good day - but
I got fired. Terminated, let go
like too many ladies with their breasts bearing low
they get tired
of looking after you when you're old.

It's a hard pill to swallow
and the birds flying South in the face of Apollo
are dew, adieu and you, left behind in the wake
of too many short skirts and they're taking a break
in the lieu
of staging careers (an act hard to follow).

You've got to be quick on the draw,
shake the apple cart, find a way to even the score
and lie, until you're dry, or tell the truth through a needle's eye
with a stitch in the hem and you're thinking of them
when you try
with your best to implore.


A/N: I'm too tired to finish it. I'm not actually sure what it is, other than some kind of congestion of corporate phrasing and idioms.

One day I'll come back and read these all but I really love that last one. The language is great, the tone and imagery are great. Reminds me a little of Plath's "The Applicant".

Thanks Jas!

On Monday I scraped together this:

#15 Aries

I am the first to navigate Mars,
to engage the planet, establish the stars.
I am the first to record active life


A/N: I had a few vague notions of where to take it but had already fallen out. Do the 30 poems have to be complete? Maybe I'll try a different form later in the month...

#16 Outside the Box

I was born outside of the box
and every attempt I made to enter
it, resulted in next week's horoscope.


A/N: Monday was really not a good day for poetry.

#17 Now We're Hitched

In the winter of our love you took
a nail and pinned two paper dolls like conjoined twins,
one dependent on the other
like we were patchwork lovers together
stitched

but

in a summer heatwave we were hitched
and bells rung crisp like china,
unbroken through the walls
and nothing could be finer than the break
of broken falls

but

on a placid purple evening when the skies begin to bruise
I cut out paper people and I give them paper wounds.


A/N: Tuesday was a little better! Let's hope the improvement continues...

#18 If This is Spring

If this is spring, I don't recall
the ivy growing on my wall.
These brambles did not lie in wait
when last I ventured from my hall.

If this is spring, well then she's late
in stepping through my garden gate.
I had begun to think she might
not call on me


A/N: I'm beginning to think I'm too stressed for poetry. I was reading Frost and really wanted to write a Rubaiyat Quatrain like one of his, but I'm just not feeling it.

#19 The Shades of Green

There are days
when you can't tell the gardener
where to plant his seeds
and he sews in arduous rows
but forgets
to fill in the corners.

Then you see them, benchmarked,
but it isn't your fault
that someone gave Isolde
too many pages.

Then you try to read the books,
but they're dipped in Greek,
the verdigris of copper
suffocating on air
and you can't keep the string straight
when there are too many filaments.

There are days when melanchite
builds up in the corner like malacholy
until you don't know your left
from your left.

#20 Abacus

Aliens are counting
Byways to Jasper
And fire catches like the
Cold of the boy next door.
Utopia disturbed by delerium;
Sanctum sepulchre.

#21 Tractor

Tornados bulk and rev, the
Rawness dividing like data while
A musician dreams in trebles and quavers of
Cataracts or catapults and
Torpedos. The storm expands like a waist band
Or folds under like the pacific
Rim.