A Poem a Day Rip-Offs

'Sunflower' courtesy of Pixabay.com A sunflower life reaching up to the highest point before falling back down again and being painted back up to balance of the tips of a  brush. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, January 2019 Inspired by  'Death to Paint Us' , by  J. Michael Martinez.

'Cucumber' courtesy of Pixabay.com If I sliced it into twenty slivers and sliced each sliver into a sluice of a slush I would no longer have a cucumber Just a soup that once consumed would slither through my inners and slip out into the sewers sloppy Copyright owned by Jay Cool, January 2019 Inspired by the 'last cucumber from the garden' by Giovanni Singleton.

'Bubbles' courtesy of Pixabay.com The conception of bubbles Mango masses for ever Forever bubbles that pop and disappear into old age One-off bubbles momentary Did I dream them up? Copyright owned by Jay Cool, January 2019 Inspired by the poem 'Hair', by Franciso Aragon

'Sleepy Sitter' by Jay Cool How 'tis to be - by soft brush swiped with chocolate shades of Christmas; to feel one's cheeks, once so milk-white, wiped out - by melted orange? Copyright owned by Jay Cool, December 2018 Inspired by the poem 'False but Beautiful' by John Rolin Ridge.

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com At night, I dive into whirlpools, slip-sliding and twizzling round and down, round and down, on pillow-seat into the depths and the coils of my mattress springs. At night, I spring into life, into my real existence, into my mortal world. If my mother were to meet me here, would she know me? At night, my toes grow deep into myself, into my roots. By day, I am nothing. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, November 2018 Inspired by  'Self-Portrait as Semiramis' , by Mary Kim Arnold.

Expiration is not my desire. 'Autumn Tree' by Jay Cool To don an orange wig is not to wear a portent, or to be tree laden with oranges midst autumn leaves of speckled brown, muted tan or luminous yellow; a sign of the seasons, confused, muddled and merging into one. For years and years, I have grown wild, have come close to splitting the stitches that bind me to the wishes of others, of people not my own, of people not myself. There is bewilderment as you read the thoughts of an eccentric, as I reach out and grow my tendrils around and beyond my crumpled purple hats, so that my fringe is tentacled to the electrifying clouds of rainstorms. How hard it is to carry scores of the critical corrections of cowboy bosses on my back, and still to stay compact, within the seams that contained my compulsion to crackle on. Nonetheless, there is a place above the rainstorms, where my crusty poetry lives and grows, a place still inhabitable by the parts of myself t...

'Books' image courtesy of Pixabay.com You need to start thinking , my good husband said. You must make a plan; you must think ahead! All of those books that you know you possess The kids will not want them - they'll just make a mess! I realise he's right, and I do start to think. How many years, before my brain starts to stink? I've lived more than forty. Can I double it? Sure! There's still time to Google for bookshops galore! You need to start thinking, I helpfully said. You must make a plan; you must think ahead! All of those casings and computer parts. The kids will not want them, so please have a heart! He knows I am right, but he still fails to think. How many years, before his brain starts to stink? He's lived more than fifty; wants a card from the queen. And with skips up for hire, my face starts to beam So I've made up my mind; have had time to think. Connectors and cables; when thrown out, will clink! All of those no...

'Hand' image courtesy of Pixabay.com Let me go to the window Where the rainfall sloshes from joint Of broken pipe Down eggshell-cracked rendering Of outer wall Let me feel a little life Where my teardrops slip-slide from whites Of bloodshot sight Down eggshell-cracked rendering Of outer skin Give me a lover O you gods that sit and give The old new wonders. Give me passion, lust and steam. Don't shut me in. Let me out through the window To join in with the dream-shapes of fortune. So that I might use my wit and my cunning To break the long loneliness. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, November 2018 Inspired by  'At a Window' by Carl Sandberg, as featured on  Poem-A-Day .