A tanka for a little brother

Scheming little boys

I will be hiding 

From scrubby ten year old boys 

Who seem to have fun

Telling tall tales and stories 

To avoid brushing their teeth 

The un love poem

Sorry for slacking these last few days but here you go

There's something about eraser shavings

 that just crawls under my skin

We just brush the off so casually 

and they disappears 

only to reapers in sweaters and socks

 but what happens to those shaving, 

do the disintegrate to dust? 

Do they serve as a fuel source to other countries? 

Or do they simply fly off to their own colony

somewhere far away and procreate 

sending their children to hatch 

in clingy sweaters and ratty socks 

You and me, we'll were like and artist and her eraser shavings. 

Your useless and irritating 

whereas I am the embodiment

 of aesthetic perfection. 

But I guess if you disappeare ,

 I might spend a bit too much time fretting

 over something's insignificant

 as the mystery of eraser shaving. 

I hate waking up

Early this morning 

I said good bye to good night 

And the octopus under my bed

Grumbled to me grumpily 

Sleep for five more minutes 

Cinquian

It's the fith day of napowrimo so here's a cinquian 

Two O' Clock in the morning 

Blankets 

Warm us all from

Bone chilling nightmares and 

Making caves for book-lights to dwell

Comfy 

My sarcasm hold the world together

Slipping into sweet sadness

My despair like a cradle 

The only thing that I know 

Will be there when I come back 

From my happy delusions 

Its the bandage that keeps 

My heart from writhing 

Some call it pessimism 

 I call it steady reliability 

From Kansas to Kenya 

I am chapatis and sweet smuggled sausages

Wearing red, black and green

 like peppers,  olives and flags 

Im a self proclaimed foodie and a big eater

And frequenter of the bolivian deli

 where raw lumps of meat hang like Chandeliers 

I am from farmers markets and dirty gravel roads

With dragon fruits, cactus pears and Cow stomach soup 

I do all this in fluffy hand stitched dresses

On a too-high cacti porch ( of doom)

Where I learned I learned bake pie and ice tea 

Poem one Tuesday

Tuesday mornings

I'll try and start a fire in the ocean 

to try and draw you out

Maybe you'll drown in my direction

Take the slip into insanity 

Or maybe try to hang onto the sand 

Will you play the broken viola 

while I dance a syncopated step 

And I'll sing for you in blue green chords 

A song all our own, taking notes for granted 

Leaving the sand behind 

And I'll kiss your lips blue 

and you can whisper a tune 

about Tuesdays and turtles and thorn apple flowers

And I'll chuckle at our failed attempts at normality 

But we're  as normal as one can be when chained to a tide 

Hey it's April which is national poetry month so ill try to post something everyday