_things taken from me by the spiteful one_
a cheap teapot, my favorite pair of panties,
the set of chipped sheep glasses from the
flea market I coveted, the lemon zester,
one set of damask sheets, my three holy
playing cards, the trickster, queen, a five of
spades, some bottles of good Paso Robles
that were holding out for better times,
discs of music (from the trip you first told me
those words that were blown air, asshole.)
and worst, signed books in code from the poet
you were jealous of, the one whose mouth I
sucked all summer one summer I don’t regret.
For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don't have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem.
Again I mention that poems are not autobiographical. I don't want you to think some jerk is out there with a pair of my underwear, drinking good wine out of sheep glasses, zesting lemons bitterly. No, the process is always different. This morning I sat with the prompt waiting for something to hit me. I was staring at a bowl of lemons I have here on the dining room table and realized I want a lemon zester. That is where this started.
Another blast last night at the Whistle though the crowd was fierce and not normal. People must be in town for the holiday and they came out with their big hair and gold chains. Many raised eyebrows all around.
The novel is priority again. I am tapping away at it. The weather is gray, distractions are few and I may just get some real work done.
Here are some sexy voices. Other sexy voices that make my spine sway are Nico, Ely Guerra, Beth Gibbons, Lou Reed, Hope Sandoval, Ray Lamontagne, Javier Solis, Chan Marshal, Nick Drake, Leonard Cohen, and in certain sad face hippy girl moments, Dylan. There are more, I'm sure but it is raining and I have to go be creative in other ways now.
This Mess We're In
PJ Harvey & Thom Yorke