Gracelessly Poems

Age Gaps

Cranky crusty Codgers

Skeptical scornfully scowls

Youthful yearning Yonkers

Heartful happily howls

Spurned spiteful Spinsters

Graying gracelessly grumbles

Marvelous merry Maidens

Ravenous richly rumbles

Unbridgeable Chasm

Two of us an unbridgeable dark chasm;
We strike sharp painful words full of sarcasm.

Finger pointing away to the other.
Imperfect we are to one another.

We used to walk amid rhythmic towers,
Youthful dreams and love each other for hours.

Alone and forgotten, gracelessly through
Melodic and rhythmic blankness askew.

Two of us an unbridgeable dark chasm,
No longer share the same enthusiasm.

Winter's March

Winter marches south
blanketing the world in frost
every time you turn to walk away.
Volleys of arrows from
your eyes stop the sun
from thawing out  my hands.
The words roll from your tongue
to he seas teeming
with aliens,  buckling
my  legs as I sleepwalk on deck.
The gates slam their iron
spikes into  my side as you
push away with hands  pink
as embarrassment.
The  birds fall from perches 
in the clouds, tumbling gracelessly
when you close the door
behind you and the
doorknob burns my hand
as I try to breach the house
you’ve set aflame.
The conflagration spirals upward
and the searing current takes
you home, alone.

Hunting

The bird cuts across the sky
slicing the heavens up
like birthday cake.
Its wings acquire the hot breath
of life and it rises higher.
The bullet rips through 
air, sending cake and icing
everywhere and the bird falls
gracelessly, swallowed
up by death.

Did We Go Too Far

Did we finally just push things too far
step over a sign warning us "Avert"?
Roads newly cluttered and freshly tarred
with bodies of those our trodding has hurt.

Did we laugh, throwing caution in the air,
watch it bobble, wobble, gracelessly fall
Caps, but no masks, smiling "I don't care,
freedom is ours, we will march to its call!"

Judges, juries, jargon, jousting, and jails:
none up to the task of saving our lives.
Speaking quietly over loud, angry wails,
reason, persistence may help us survive.

Losing Democracy our biggest dread,
it hangs tenuously by a truth's thread.

sunrise ritual

an early mourning stroll, and hours spent passing through as many neighbourhoods,

and sometimes you sob so
violently that you cannot contain
noises breaking past your lips, sounds
usually repressed. sometimes you can only
sob while pacing the streets, and sometimes you
must spend hours shaking, shaking, pacing the streets.

step after step. you roll your shoulders, gasp;

     i think of making you a playlist. i think about the order of the
     songs so i can communicate to you my witness. oh,
     how precious you are. my Love, we sit on secrets. there is more
     to say, that which surpasses language. perhaps, music could help
     approximate; and Dearest, i digress.

     not a playlist. a poem instead,
     gracelessly splattering ink
     in an attempt at abstraction,
     to bring another viewpoint of Love into focus.
     just for you.

the house gardens contain miracles.

wrong pillow. neck knot. ache.

Axes Dept

Taxing gracelessly 
Axes department

Loaded For Bear, Cocked and Pointed

This vexing pencil in turgid fingers I gracelessly hold
  Sorcerer's lead conjures up casuistic captions, fools' gold

My peripatetic purple pen winks at my commands
  Dancing to a distant drummer on sun-scorched parchment sands

A cunning keyboard mocks me, in cast-iron briefcase locked
  Contrarian bent, loaded for bear, at my Muse pointed and cocked

What with erasers missing and forever low on toner ink
  It's a wonder the poetic process has not driven me to drink!

Ghastly Grave Gathering

Ghastly Grave Gathering 

Gran and grandpa are gone
Giving grandchildren gifts
Generations greedy
Guilty, grabbing for gain
Granted gratis gold goods
Girls grovel gracelessly
Gluttonous grandkids grief 

November 2016

The Pond Called Love: a Sort of Short Satire

Some people do not fall in love
They jump, headfirst, heedlessly
With little thought of where they'll land

Others dip in a toe and then
Either slide in cautiously or
Retreat with great haste, in contempt

Still others trip, most gracelessly 
With much unseemly splashing
And left quite without their pride

Often, its some combination
Of the three above here listed

You Must Set Yourself On Fire

A thousand midnights tread,
Highwire circus acts
Traversing the lavender Horizon-crease;

I memorize such sudden perforations,
Keep them under my swollen tongue
Only to purge them gracelessly
Back into your fist.
Replace my stumbling almost-words
With vastness:
A self-induced universe freckled by
Cauterized cigarette burn stars
And half empty beer cans.

I fill my lungs with feral smog,
You fill your head with smoke;
My nose trickles blood freely.

And if it was not for such ongoing facades--
Psuedointelect, rabid romances,
My world on unstable axis--
We might have,
By now,
Enshrined our Hearts in plaster molds,
Traded our eyes for seaglass pebbles.

The cherry blossoms have yet to bloom under
This hemisphere of the city:
Bare branches claw against dusk
and, in masochistic frost,

You burn your fingerprints into
My back.



"You Must Set Yourself on Fire"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Wanted-Lost Poems

In the endless ether wander aimlessly,
Words and images dying gracelessly
They were creations fondly reared
But on the net they disappeared.

Heartbroken and bereft,I do recall
That one did try Raphael to  enthrall
In my feebly frail  effort to outline
What poetry and painting do define.

The other did lightly glance at the naming of the parts,
More venereal ,rather than the military arts.
Lovingly it was my wish them to draw
To fill my reader with a sense of awe.

My one fond hope is they can truly  be found
To complete the corpus of my writing round.
Should you know where they might be
What great joy that would bring to me.

Watch the Fire As It Dies

Encapsulated, trapped,
  energy reserves tapped,
   vitality gone, sapped,
    lost, though we penned our own map.

From the wings we watch, raging,
  at the play they are staging,
   we attempt disengaging,
    meanwhile gracelessly aging.

Snow is building on the roof,
  we believe, but have no proof,
   grimly pondering lost youth,
    children deafened to the truth.

Watch the fire as it dies,
  astonishing, how time flies,
   yesterday, sang lullabies,
    tomorrow gone, with a sigh.

Graduation

When I look back and see
those bright white lights,
those colored balloons in clusters,
I think about regret.ƒ|
You danced gracelessly,
and I didn¡¦t dance at all. ƒn

Would it have hurtƒn
to tap your fabric shoulder?

Maybe it would have ruined that
night, and the crystal perfection
of our conciliatory wine glassesƒz
the sparkling ginger ale, our laughter
like the rapidly rising bubbles in
our drinks.

I think about regret. 
I regret thinking of this.

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