Day 7: Poem~ Epic Cocktail Party

Day 7: Poem NaPoWriMo
But I have to ask them you say, almost spilling a dirty martini
I have to know- what they would say, of shaking planets and seas
possessed with taking. Joan of Arc leaning against the Paris skyline,
overhears, takes Antoine’s glass, his last sip. To live is to believe.

This is Day 7 of the 30 poems in 30 days NaPoWriMo challenge. I took my prompt for this one from Jack Edwards who suggested being a fly on the wall some place.  I chose a wall of my studio- crowded with photos of historic legends, art, and quotes. At a friend’s party.

But I must ask them, you say, dangerously tilting your dirty martini
I have to know what they would say- of shaking planets and seas
possessed with taking back.   Joan of Arc leaning against the Paris skyline,
overhears, takes Antoine’s glass, his last sip. To live is to believe,
Living things shudder.

Che offers a cigar to Buddha, reclined on tres lounge, his Voysey serpents
slowly swimming to pectorals,  No thanks CheI’ve had enough.
And to you~ No one saves us but ourselves.  Don’t take it personally.
Frieda, shouldn’t we call it a night

But wait. Really Che, Kurukule challenges, leveling her red bow just over
the Himalayas, be realistic; everything is impossible, yes?
Ah! Thank god he wasn’t Buddhist!  Shrieks Edith, raspy voice booming under lizard drunk eyes.  And that death does not exist.

And what of revolutions ignited by hunger, you say, defiance spilling into the streets,
our hearts holding their fear-

the room falls silent.
Geronimo lights his cigarette with a match.  Night falls.
While living, we must live well. The world is our oyster.  Antoine slowly refills his glass.  It is impossible to live without poetry, color, and love. Che stands up, catches the butterfly about to land near Winston,
Never, never, never give up.

copyright Tara Linda 2011

30 poems in 30 days: NaPoWriMo

A classic red cruiser: the Schwinn Phantom. Th...
Image via Wikipedia

I just realized that this, being April, is National Poetry Month- and so the NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month challenge is ON! “Participants attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.”   i like how they say “attempt.”  How gentle.  😉   I’m going to do this one,  though I’m 4 days late.  I hope you don’t mind- I may throw in lyrics occasionally too- as I am supposed to be finishing 3 songs this week before recording next.   Ah  yes, recording… am finishing my CD this month too!  Taking this on will be a true challenge.   But I put it off year after year, and this time, I want to do it.

To catch up, I’ll first post a poem that I just edited/finalized- though I didn’t start it from scratch today.  I do promise to write and post 30 from scratch this month though!  This one harkens back to my days in Sacramento, riding my favorite cruiser, and being passed by a siren of a girl riding her cruiser too  😉

Grrl Cruising

Brunette beach is rolling in ~
no faster than a single speed
can crest, its smooth mint frame
and chrome shiny handle bars
grabbed wide for laying back
riding low and just before beyond,
behind everything that once


Phase un-phasing, cycle un-snaking
sinoidal.  Unflappable, she rides

~ oscillation onyx ~

hair waving, turning wide, leaning into
the red, the highlight, the backside of creshendo,
apex basking in slow motion glow.

She rides in pocket & groove
between bell & basket
assailing swells on panting pavement
the magnanimous magnolia
& its julep on a cruiser~

polka dots scream- jumping from her dress
to mine, this thirst, this rhythm
this hands-free life.



Rain Poem

Standing in the street today
drinking you down
mouth open to the sky
to corral the tiniest of gifts,
each one tasting of
cold front
Ions abandoned mid-air
somewhere far
over a lightning sea
now falling on me
past parted lips,
into one celestial

All this after counting leaves
(only red) on the left side of
the street, near trees whose secret purple
berries lie dangerously ripe
against the gray sky, with all
the childhood that escaped once-
now spinning wildly inside- into an almost scream
running uphill, eyes closed
I meet the rain that has finally
come to bathe us


Filamentous dance. Curious, fully extending into

the blue. Trust, beyond their variegated halves

splits them open, taking-in whatever

passes by. Present

(or what does it mean to process the world through poetry?)

Not words.

Not the brain directing traffic

(even as amorphous mass).  Just bivalves

just opened, their minute antennae reaching out

waving.  Filamentous dance.  Curious, fully extending into   

the Blue.  Trust, beyond their variegated halves

moved to take-in whatever passes by.


in good time~   edgy electric, spiny sweet succulent

or bad~    passing shadow, memories,  stinging cells

that may slam them shut.

No matter.  “Water

never navigates the thermocline

the same twice.”  Soothes vertical.  And hunger

always erasing, invites, opens

the animal again in hope.

Just looking

for something good

to eat.

Seemingly Was Never So

In the movie “code 46” a man loves a free-spirited girl, the innocent criminal
he has come to arrest. The one who teaches him to feel in the span of

a 10-hour day. He cannot help himself. This pixie is unlikely. But her Spirit overrides. When She sees him, She see’s what the others can’t [The Dream] and proceeds to verify.

In the movie “Code 46” a man falls in love with  a free-spirited girl, the innocent criminal he has come to arrest.  The one who teaches him to feel in the span of

a 10-hour day.  He cannot help himself.  This pixie is unlikely. But her Spirit overrides.  When She sees him, She see’s what the others can’t [The Dream] and proceeds to verify.

But their post bio-engineered society won’t have it.   As with so many things, enabling temporary cover in matters of state, by State,
There is inside; cool industrial, crowded neon.  Belonging with Certainty.
Tastefulness. A time- tested and even fate.   Sanitized Safety.
And there is outside; the multitudes struggling~ filth, poverty, constant cycles of  uncertainty.

Fear.  And it’s almost Inverse.

He chases beyond innocence and nonsense, until he finds sound & sane, but then
fatefully, looses her.

So off he goes, risks Reclassification to find her again, moves against the Order he is
paid and programmed to keep. But how he must pursue…
to feel alive – something unfelt in years,
Uphill and high speed against the genetically altered authors of morality,

Implanted sensors and satellites locate the subjects in violation of Code.  Locations are mapped.  A chase ensues.

He is the Bait by which they locate Her.    [THIS afterall, a man’s purpose in the Creation of Order & the End of Mystery]

And so first they torture her, erase her memory of him- which, of course, tortures him wildly beyond any edge of pain that has ever suspended him in Time.

Who was it that said “it is better to have lived only 5 minutes of true love in a lifetime
Than to live a lifetime with less…”
Writhing in the anguish of the Fear of Being Erased
from her great Heart’d Mind~  Ego trumps Empathy onstage.

And then they catch him.  Erase his memory of  this brightest lightest love
Her face, her voice, her tears,  yearning in words, her soft porcelain skin.

Fast forgotten and fast forward.

When he returns from the hospital, his wife is pleased.   Regardless of misadventures, he is safely returned.  And with the Removal, gone is the Deviant’s essence.  Slow motion return to a new marriage (Same woman).  [postcripted shadow inserted here;  the vision in satisfaction hues, portending the day a restlessness will override the Code;  an instant of taste- reminiscent but  unfathomable.]  Precious.   Pretty strangers pass on the street.  A splitstage destiny; lonely in relationship and half-life hues.
We forgive him for the ignorance he must forebear. (He is handsome.)

Another  character~ shadowed, blond, comes close- to demonstrate that a taste,  though unidirectional and self-generated, [unshared] is somehow All one life needs.  Presents another kind of predicament.  Man in sole pursuit of self satisfaction= the Man in Denial, shares the experience of  the lobotomized.  Memory/Joy are both self-medicating or forcefully erased.

And when memory is drilled out, and the brain drained of its felt senses.  Proteins (hunger stimulators) keep returning to the same Cells (joy synapses) only to find the hollowed-out spaces of Memories-in-Waiting (pangs) unfired.    Just chemistry.

And bad wiring.

Is this love?

When/how  Should they be replicated?  Keep clones coming nonstop (the human condition bathes in desire) or let us deny the perfume of nihilism.  Allow the full spectrum of pain [it’s full brilliance.]

Tibetan Buddhists would say, ‘you must have loved someone this way, Once;

The hand of slight [corrections] and U-turns.  Get-even Karma, the hand that knows  is the Eon that remembers in stone (and will always return for payment.)  Essential evidence, and the actions you must Revive.   Karma trades then for now.  Rests the brain in the Presence of Payment Due, moment after moment.  While here & now are soothing the heart, Present Perfect,
[makes me remember] splits the pain in two, half of yours is mine now- or worse, if it’s a well-traveled cold; builds to a dramatic end, then rends  all

You can purify the rest.  And all the parts
that say “Seemingly was never so.”

tara linda                                                                                2008  Copyright