So that's it!

Congratulations to those who finished! I am not joining you in the winner's circle this year, sadly. Too many other desires and demands conspired to prevent my poetry. I have, however, completed a 24th poem this morning dedicated to my falling short, "failed."

Please submit your 29 poems to me for verification by link or by email (annakissmm at gmail dot com), and I will send you your winner's badge and printable certificate. Which means, I suppose, that I should run off and create those.

So glad, myself, that February is finally over. Cheers!

failed

no matter the pressure applied,
nor the incentive entailed,
the wings do not open
the sail does not spread
and i am plunged
in free-fall,
sunk to my neck,
embedded deeply
in the cracked, barren earth
that having lacked,
perpetually after thirsts.

13 hours left

The countdown has begun. We have 13 hours left to finish all our poems. The clock is ticking! Good luck everyone!!! Patty from slowlearning.org emailed me last night to say that she hadn't written a single poem and wondered if there was still time. I said sure. I hope she churned out a dozen or more in the wee hours of the morning!

I have six poems to write today and we're going to the zoo and the bank, so we'll see how well that all works out!

3 new poems

Jeannie's Horses

I ride jeannie's horses and pretend they are mine
like I have pretended things
my whole life long

pretended to not care when
the old, large, ethnic lady at the corner store
said things about a backwards young girl
too shy to speak
and i heard her words
not really understanding
but, somehow, knowing

pretended to be part of a crowd of girls
I couldn't even recognize
outside of their
Catholic school girl uniforms
and stuffed bras,
smoking cigarettes on a playground

pretended to want men that I barely knew
just for the reward of, just maybe,
possibly, being held
for just a little while
those fleeting moments
of pretend caring,
after the sex was done.

Insomnia

I fight them
the demons in my head
come out to play
as what is night
peaks
at its middle.
they ride a coaster
in my head,
sometimes, trains
or fast cars,
jets leaving a trail
across my sky.

eventually,
I am left without a choice
but to stumble down stairs
I fight the bit
for as long as possible
till the inevitable

,
the pacing begins.
I am working on two
different tracks
wearing the tiles,
paths through the
oriental rugs.

I am convinced
of my wickedness
my weariness
my pressing state
of insanity.
there is no wiping this
slate clean
no return
to a less-complex
Self
a less-troubled
Being
a child,
worn tired from homework and play
eager to dream.

the ritual
of bedtime
the sameness of it
now i lay me,
guardian angel,
watch over me,
Hail Mary,
full of grace,
our father who art in heaven,
stay with me always

till my prayers are
the mumblings of a mad woman
delirious,
heart racing,
peaking,
exhausted,
finally,
inevitably,
the window
the silence
sleep.

Sometimes She Spins

sometimes she curls
up in a ball
knees to breast
arms wrapping knees
head bent, neck rounded
rolls herself up and around
in the spacious king bed
in bedclothes of satin and silk

sometimes she becomes
a dervish and spins around the room
sometimes she is a top
hers colors spinning so fast
onlya blur and the music of it, she
dances around the finite space
dizzying herself with her own kaleidoscope,
falling, clumsy, to the floor on boney knees

sometimes he says
I need, I need, I need, I need
and she turns up
the humming in her head
finds a closet
closes the door
opens her silent mouth to speak
then
watches how it mimes a scream

sometimes she wakes up
in the daylight
without memory
without apprehension
without fear
and begins again
and again and again.

karensaint

Day 23 anna kiss

sweating bullets

anxiety comes in waves
the twitched and upturned palm
the frenzied rush through rooms
heartbeat all a'quiver
darting eyes and too lax limbs
the cornea cascading over everything
flooding
the brain a disaster
for anything but unease
there lurks no quietude or unsensed calm
just frozen flames
licking neural pathways
clogged with thought
and all becomes but
a head turned over shoulders,
searching for an answer
not knowing the question.

new poem

Friday Night

she'd been waiting all week for just this night
this particular night
the chances she'd take,
the chance to wear something other
than her "mom uniform"

waiting to feel him, this man she called
"husband", nearer to herself
maybe with his hand on her knee
maybe with his eyes following the
length of her legs as she stepped
out of the car

into this night
with it's skyful of stars
and meteors and planets
and things so far away, they were
strangers

now she was choosing a lipstick
trying on her entire wardrobe
costuming herself for this one night
once, twice and then choosing shoes,
tucking her house in for the night
stepping out
and, only for a moment, remembering,