getting dressed in the dark

june 17 - survivors chant

2009-06-17T02:10:00.007-04:00

today's prompt is to write a chant.
Because thighman82 lives on the darkside of town, this particular chant is written for all the troubled youth of the world that escape into fantasy and daydreams to shelter them from the realities they face daily. Thighman82 was a fan of intergalactic travel and all the options the universe has/had to offer in times of trauma.
a simple chant like a nursery rhyme will stick with a soul in turmoil.
in free verse, 7 lines, 3-4 words per line.

Runaway child, runaway.
Look to the sky
Where you’ll be safe
Even farther than that
And you’ll find a place
In the coldest caverns
of a lonely space.

june 16 - inside the throat

2009-06-16T18:17:00.013-04:00

today's prompt is taken from the introduction of Macho Sluts by Pat Califia.

2 separate quotes from this introduction really jumped out into the lap of thighman82.

"our desire learns to curb itself, and we come to depend on the strength of self-repression for our safety."

"we know we are ugly before we have even seen ourselves, and the injustice of this, the falsehood, chokes me."

INSIDE THE THROAT

walking down the street
i am suddenly awash
in a cross
Between despair
and adrenaline

From within the throat
my desire wages
A coup detat
In response
to the repressive sanction
Of a swallow

As my eyes water
In defense of
a passionate codex
I awaken
To realize
I am running away
From myself

lost
in the vacuum of time
no longer responsible
for others ideas about
who or what
I am

Entranced by the
Vicious evidence
As it is rises
to the top of my throat

I want to rip my own flesh apart
as the adrenaline overtakes me

my desire is chasing me

Demanding that I feed it
Gnashing its teeth
Strangling me from
The inside out

Choking on adrenaline
I am taken by the image of myself
Leaving earth
Soaring through time into
A fleshy sun

as I burn up
upon entry
the strands
of my existence
snap undone

having been submitted
by my own body
i
submit myself
as an offering
to my own desire

june 15 - the power of touch - a cinquain

2009-06-15T22:00:00.004-04:00

today's prompt is to write a cinquain about one of the senses.
thighman82 decided to write about touch.
For thighman82, being a queer and trans writer is an irrevocable experience with touch. Touch is all about understanding and intention. touch is soul based. touch is power based.
please enjoy this cinquain - which is a 5 line stanza that consists of the 2,4,6,8,2 syllablic structure.

the power of touch

You can
Feel that when they
Touch you, that they have no
Knowledge of what this is, nor want
To know.

june 14 - Sonnet

2009-06-15T21:59:00.007-04:00

today's prompt is to write a sonnet. a classic theme of the grand poetical form of the sonnet is LOVE. A sonnet is 14 lines, each line comprised of 10 syllables. the structure of the poem varies and can be performed as an octave (8 lines) and a sestet (6 lines). Because irregular line breaks are near and dear to the heart of thighman82, the following sonnet is constructed of 3 quatrains (4 line stanza) and ends with a couplet (2 line stanza).

sonnet of a forlorn gigolo

I’ve loved thirteen women in my young life.
Broken down into categories, then
subdivided by genre. Though hard to
predict where and how the next affair may

go, all I know is that half my life has
been spent with ladies. countless hours of
devotion poured into the spectacle
of love. Attractions explored until it

became apparent they existed no
more. Another year becomes a woman
I’ve swallowed down hard, eyes watery and
In need of someone else to gaze upon.

Is the point of life to love? Or is it
Learning how to talk about what’s happened?

june 13 - pantoum for the piers of alvin baltrop

2009-06-13T21:11:00.018-04:00

today's prompt is to write a pantoum. a pantoum usually has 4 - 6 stanzas of quatrains. 2 lines from each stanza repeat themselves in other stanzas until the final stanza is written (which is a culmination of the first 2 repeating lines and the last two). it sounds trickier than it is, but thighman82 has numbered each line of his pantoum in order to better illustrate the form.

and today's pantoum is inspired by the photography of alvin baltrop.

Where the smells are overwhelming 1
Unwashed men roost for hours in the sun 2
Sweat streams down slender necks 3
Hands ruddy from repetitious actions 4

Unwashed men roost for hours in the sun 2
Sizzle lips with rolled cigarettes 5
Hands ruddy from repetitious actions 4
Call out to each other across the highway 6

Sizzle lips with rolled cigarettes 5
Throwing glances laden with desire 7
Call out to each other across the highway 6
Step through a torn fence to join the party 8

Throwing glances laden with desire 7
Eyes are blinded by dangerous skin 9
Step through a torn fence to join the party 8
Find a history of public secrets 10

Eyes are blinded by dangerous skin 9
Sweat streams down slender necks 3
Find a history of public secrets 10
Where the smells are overwhelming 1

june 12 - ritual poem

2009-06-13T21:11:00.010-04:00

today's prompt is to write a ritual poem. Thighman82 used this basic outline for his ritual poem:
1. decide what you would like to have occur.
2. examine all aspects of the subject.
3. think of actions to illustrate some of these aspects.
4. write each action down as a command.
5. number the commands.
6. let yourself go.

this poem, though written on the 12th was entered into the challenge on the 13th, hence 13 commands, because we all know how obsessive compulsive rituals can be.

Ritual for writing poems for the 30 day poetry challenge

1 sequester self in bedroom, sit cross legged on a milk crate, open window.
2 remove shirt, tilt thinking cap to the right, water bottle to the left.
3 nudge door into place with one hand: master placing boulder in front of cave.
4 lay pens down by photograph of self, aged 7.
5 write for ten minutes, another ten and another ten. Stay up late.
6 stare at that spot on the wall, no not there, next to it!
7 lean forward, crane neck, round back, erupt words.
8 straighten out, look up at that spot again, swig water.
9 gather snippets from free writes, journal entries, random receipts.
10 rock back and forth, talk out the window, pretend they’re watching.
11 stare into the screen, fingers snatch at old memories.
12 rocking back and forth, kiss lines with rhymes entreatingly.
13 rejoice, re-read, re-read, go to sleep.

june 11 - avoiding writing

2009-06-11T23:06:00.013-04:00

today's prompt is - avoiding writing. what happens when one avoids writing, avoids committing to the page, avoids putting some work into it.
Thighman82 struggles constantly with the discontent that fuels avoiding writing. To properly and succinctly get a hold of himself, and end the avoidance to writing, thighman82 has assembled a triolet of direct verse.
A triolet is an 8 line poem with 2 rhymes and 2 repeating lines. the 1st line is repeated as the 4th and 7th lines, and the 2nd and 8th lines are the same.
as an added bonus thighman82 has included the mix behind the triolet,
part inspiration part damnation = transference.

triolet of frustration

avoiding writing
resigned to go unheard
waste time with things of no matter
avoiding writing
serve nothingness on a platter
tedium utters not a word
avoiding writing
resigned to go unheard

june 10 - what matters

2009-06-10T14:46:00.004-04:00

Today's prompt is to write about what matters.
For me, thighman82, what matters is friendship, love and coffee.
please enjoy the following two pieces over a cup of joe and in the company
of someone whom you appreciate dearly.

PERCOLATION

Italian coffee with an Italian friend
Beans instantly ground
to jangle around
with anise and cardamom
bubbling atop your stove
percolator overlooking the view from six stories up,
welcoming all of north Brooklyn to engage in your aroma

a hot yellow mess,
fried egg to accompany
sausage made at family gatherings
where old world knowledge is celebrated
and
encapsulated in a sweaty process
known as meat grinding

pine nuts in a cast iron skillet,
even burnt things in your kitchen taste so delightful

a small glass of grapefruit juice
vitamins, chlorophyll, pieces of atmosphere
that aimlessly float up to this palace,
this small cabin in the sky
I am home whenever I visit you here
Whenever you share with me your coffee
Whenever we are engaged in the morning together

FRENCH PRESS

I miss your coffee
So full bodied and rich in my mouth
The product of special rituals
performed by elegant hands
in illuminated hours
when the day has already settled
when the challenge to rise is allayed

At night, while our bodies sink
into a mutual agreement of rest
The last words to leave our lips
before the soft
voluminous clouds of slumber
scoop us up,
are usually

I cant wait for coffee tomorrow

We sleep to wake
And wake to begin something new
all over again
Everyday

You are like a partner but
actually a co-conspirator
Plotting to intercede in the chaos of worldly affairs
With a reason to sit and gather
Awareness

Your coffee is why I love you
eager to share this ritual with you
whenever I can
a bragged about fetish
that I practice on my own,
although apt at executing this event
successfully by myself
The thought of you in your kitchen,
assembling the instruments
Grinding the beans,
Pushing the filter
And
Setting the cup to your lips
I am awake in the stillness
Stirred only by the spoon
You use to dispel
The monochromatic moment
Of the potion reaching consumption

june 9 - Cosign

2009-06-10T02:56:00.007-04:00

Today's prompt is to choose a word or phrase you find yourself saying often and write a poem that is actually the opposite. (COSIGN)

it usually doesn't strike you
til a few years later
when the moment has passed
and you have a funny taste in your mouth
that indicates the onset
of an epiphany

and you realize
that you squandered
an opportunity

to fuck
to connect
to partake in the sincerity
of another

when all signs pointed to
HELL YES

your compass was throttled
and innately you were
caught in the crosshairs
of your own muddled excuses
as to why this would never come true

friends exclaim enthusiastically
that people don't send packages
via snail mail
unless they want something in return
other people seem to
understand the business of making eyes
and throwing nods of appreciation
in all the right places

but outside words of widsom
fall deaf
for the socially dumb
and
the agreement
is left
partially anointed
as you didn't have the insight
nor gumption
to cosign
in the first place.

june 8 - who denise foolin'?!

2009-06-09T00:21:00.008-04:00

today's prompt is to write a response to "The Secret" by denise levertov. Why denise levertov you may wonder? why not? denise and i, thighman82, had a fling many years ago back in my collegiate days. we also have the same birthday, october 24th.
anyhow, check out the backstory on denise levertov.
p.s. - chicago currently houses a different denise of grand poetical stature who is also a 30 day challenger. woop woop!

I want to know as well.
These 2 girls are nothing more than one person
Split down the middle, playing air guitar
Eyes closed and heads swaying

Thinking about the secret and racing
Into other people’s conversations. I
Could never behave like that and get away with it.
Touching the back of her head, other hand

On my alarm clock, smacking it into submission
For another 15 minutes to peter out
Whenever the day comes, whatever the season,
I’ll be found there, laying face down with my best ideas

Engorged in the wee hours, wishing for another 15 minutes
Wondering why they show up at that time anyway
And fantasizing about all the things I’ll get done that year,
Until two girls show up and point out something I missed.

june 7 - walking poem

2009-06-08T03:56:00.011-04:00

today's prompt is a walking poem.
it took me some time to upload this one because i had to get the form right.
the form is 7 stanzas of unrhymed quatrains. 7 stanzas because of the date june 7, quatrains (4 line stanzas) that are made up of 3 lines of 2 words and the last line of 4 words. this technical note is here just to illustrate the control i utilize for the form of the poem. enjoy!

walking poem

2 men
are visible
hands holding
separate histories
that follow one another

i havent
done this
before nor
thought that
i might one day

your presence
alights a
struggle i
have dealt
with for many years

in the
street i
am challenged
by my
privileges and subtle fears

what would
your mama
say or
furthermore what
would my mama say

on our
backs blows
a warm
summer breeze
without a destination ahead

you and
i are
navigating this
new terrain
bodies acting as beacons

june 6 - fibonacci sequence poem

2009-06-08T03:10:00.006-04:00

today's prompt is to write a poem in the fibonacci sequence structure.
fibonacci poetic form. i.e. in the syllabic sequence 1,1,2,3,5,8....

the
pains
that are
imagined
are usually worse
than the actions of everyday

june 5 - i found a poem in my journal

2009-06-06T00:55:00.004-04:00

today's prompt - a found poem created from today's journal entry.
As a device for controlling the form, the poem will be exactly eleven lines, june 5 = 6+5 = 11.

Hellified today/
The experience of no umbrella/
Desire fashions itself around/
Abundant internal mystery/
Walking in the rain/
Throwing stones at tanks/
Because they can recognize what I am/
Certain things that only cameras can capture/
Words do not fail, so much as flail/
Hadn’t expected anyone else to get/
Its amazing to be seen

june 4 - a date with a tanka

2009-06-05T00:56:00.003-04:00

today's prompt is to write a tanka about a crush.
the tanka is a japanese form that predates the most popular and renowned form of syllable poetry, the haiku. a tanka is a 31 syllable poem broken into 5 lines that contain the 5-7-5-7-7 syllable structure.

Your hand, cool and smooth
Clutches mine tight underneath
Layers of shyness
Thighs pressed against vinyl seats
Shifting to receive your look

june 3 - acts of faith

2009-06-03T22:06:00.007-04:00

today's prompt is - acts of faith

Bottle caps, used matches, smoke and dust
Crinkled brown paper bags
The lining of this nest is starting to accumulate
Unwanted grievances

Late in the afternoon
When the constant struggle of the day
Is shelved temporarily
I set to my task
Lining the bottles up
In groups of five, six, seven
Retrieved from under beds,
In between sofa cushions
And windowsills that have forgotten
What was once invited in
From the other side of the windowpane

Losing count is of no distress,
More so necessary
When transporting these hollow bodies

Rendering the bottles unto shards
Undoing the 22 ounces
until the weight of the shards
is laid out, like a mulch over the nest floor
and the true tests of strength can be performed

walking barefoot backwards into the nest
holding ones breath,
trying to discern
whether or not what’s felt is really
bottle caps, used matches, smoke and dust

June 2 - Secrets

2009-06-02T22:44:00.005-04:00

today's prompt is - SECRETS.

Secrets are the air bubbles
that blister this family,

after a few years spent unraveling the intuitions
that were shoved aside,
those moments marauding as meaningless,
the burning sensations that would receive no relief
are later categorized correctly,
when certain substances rise to the top
of the ambiguous admixture
of our history.

Photo albums and home movies reveal
A speck of irritation present in the participants,
A fragment of understanding
That something was not right
Nor never would be.

Secrets are the tidbits of gossip
that are factual, and filtered of inflammatory inflection.
Secrets are the gossip that stays put between
The ones wielding the information
And the intended audience,
or the projected sites of destruction.

In this family, we have developed callouses
Large enough for us to flatten the prickly
realities that lay beneath the surface of our lives.

We are survivors of our own secrets. that is no secret.

june 1 - the farewell poem

2009-06-01T09:21:00.006-04:00

today's prompt is to write a farewell poem.

I carried a typewriter

I carried your typewriter,
Not very far, but still I did as I was told.

I observe in secret your fingers as they
puncture light with this vessel,
clarify the space that exists in the photographs,
where the subject is turned,
looking away,
Hiding her subjectivity.

I am bludgeoned by my own need to know
where that gaze ends up.
The typewriter doesn’t answer my questions
The way I imagine they should be.
It stammers,
eager to dispel
unnecessary assumptions,
and leaves breadcrumbs
down certain paths,
coaxing me to follow.

I carried a typewriter
Crossing the street with this Mysterious heavyweight,
Wondering where the words will go
when departure arrives.

the 30 day poetry challenge for june

2009-06-01T09:10:00.005-04:00

30 days to the month of june, as i commit to writing a poem a day for the rest of this month. i have collected and am in the process of collecting a wide range of prompts and will either type or write by hand something everyday, and then compile and upload my fruits every few days on "GETTING DRESSED IN THE DARK".
in place of the poem, (before its created or before i have a chance to share it via the site) i will at least share the prompt and/or a line from the text.
that way, people will know what i'm working on and when that magic major upload arrives days later, they will see the fruits of several days worth of prompts.
(i pinky swear no cheating, i will do a new piece each day and only each day will be devoted to one particular prompt.)
let the poetry flow!

what was it you were thinking?

2009-05-11T20:28:00.004-04:00

a love song is ridiculous
when the moment of inception
has ceased to inspire,
has soured
and left no means of verifiable support
to identify just what it was that transpired

no means to raise memory
as a surrogate for the actual melody that
was felled by eventual matters that were irreconcilable

vaguely recognizable
the love that inflamed another
now refused, unopened or better yet
barely considered

this refusal,
registered by
clenched fist of arrows and mugwort,
stalks realms where no logic is needed
where everyone who learned the words initially
is invited back again
appropriate or not

the excess members
bandy around the melody
flailing in between the moments
that swell the places meant for uncovering
and invoke the words
to this battered melody

the lips once soft and sweetened by the melody
are left with an apopleptic taste intact

the melody of our song is banished
the sentiments aging, rot in a cabinet of past affections

pouring honeywine
made on cool spring evenings
out in the gutter,
only to find the song
wet, disheveled and broken

clasped in two palms
the bastard melody is brought back to the cabinet
propped up and
referred heretofore
as a misfired emotion

beating the little hater - jay smooth

2009-04-07T22:30:00.003-04:00

torn netting

2009-04-07T00:02:00.007-04:00

Groan men bloated with ache search out dust,
in efforts to avoid grito.
Grito controls all from inside groan men.
attempted efforts to pulverize ache into dust
will subject groan men to even more grito.

Grito houses ache in the howling caverns of groan men.
Groan men seized by internal entrapment,
bring dagger to sacrum, scalpel to third eye,
razor to voicebox - plunge deep to banish grito.

Grito is wily and ever present,
submerges self beyond layers of ache,
into spinal sluice,
circulates rapidly and teleports
through the fingertips into the waking lives
of all others surrounding groan men.

Groan men, portals to everlasting ache,
submit surrounding others into dust,
deliver unrepentant ache,
achieve nothing close to dust
nor the sound of water in a stream.

Grito transmitted via conduits of historical ache
located within the 1st groan man to walk the land.

The dust of those to come before
had blown swiftly into the line of sight
thus obfuscating all visions of grito release -
formulation of further dust piles.

Piles and piles of dust litter the landscape -
the grito howls cold inside the groan.
The groan man shreds the ache with piles of dust
applied to ever extending landscape -
piles of dust made from others ache -
the dust blows through torn netting -
the groan man is no longer visible -
the shape of ache wavers in the howl of the grito.

the dust slides slides slides down the shape of the mound,
former layers of ache receive bludgeoning caress,
the dust rendering grito amorphous.
The dust becomes the grito's sacrifical wish.
the ache longs for the dust release to nullify grito illiterate.
the grito, shapeless, wanders the winds;
howling dust submits groan men to the ache of the ages.