we played a game at our summer solstice party. each poem had two contributers. one person wrote out four words (or so), spaced them out over four lines, and drew a box around it to make the margins. the second person, the poem writer, had to start on the left margin and use the words the already written words as they fell on the page and into their new lines. the bolded words are the ones written originally.

Uhaul Moving Paper

Come contain me. Spend your week
with me and my spider. We love to
flop around and climb trees. We
can take my car and drive to the
mountain. And then pretend to fly.
alexf

I brewed inside your belly. To become the
grown monster I am fully capable of
being. Please drink me up so I can
spend time with you. You cow, you.
alexf

light slips off your face as the sun sets low
and I can only smell how close you are to me.
I reach my arm over, but you throw forward your chest
and you begin to throw the sheets off, too. And I can't see.
katet

Well, my skirt is supposed to stay
down. But, I was on a trip that went wrong.
Body wrenching, mind going, heart
sweling. I was wild of the thought of you!
alexf

record muppet
bat up
hip hop
toe bop
philipb

Wonder how to put the top of a mountain
into words, to spell the width of a redwood tree
how to hum the sounds of a river on the strings of a cello.
The world's crisis is the desperate effort to make
things one, just lay long and full of air and float.
katet

The delicious dirt melts in my
mouth. It's gone in grassy lands.
kindly , I got it back after
licking my dirty lips. And throwing up.
alexf

You, toss
out the
slippery one, yes?
The river was nice.
Hello, cigarette?
anthonyn

"Call me Ghostman," he whispered into the ears of
everyone at the party. He
stripped down, from neck to ass and danced
naked. Then he stopped, deer in the headlights. "If
the pictures from this party show up on
facebook, I'll kill you all!!!"
katet

Your smile. A sultry
crescent pressed upon my neck. True love.
Freedom to create space between your
world and mine. Do believe in love at first sight.
stephaniec

Through the tunnel, I slink down the hole...
Come, quickly!
Foxes await. Let us
share a bitter beer.
emilyt

When I'm in this house, inside these
walls, I feel
more freedom than when I'm
expected to dance in the tulips, to lay
under
the sun. I'll show you what it is
that I enjoy...
katet

Say you'll grow old with me. Let's laugh in
fields of lillies and dance like
a child. Freedom
to bother the mundance patterns
of the word.
Let's bear hug 'till dusk and romp like lions
'till dawn.
stephaniec

Touch my arm,
colour me green
smell me,
and hold me tight
philipb

on a table a
fat woman fell
and now my jenga
will
never return.
somoneattheparty

Jimmy legs are the legs I dance with.
They are gonna dominate your
pink Floyd Albums. I wish
you were here. why?
emilyt

What is making this ruckus?
Model trains whistle and shriek
a turn too fast, fire erupts,
caboose is chipped. All is lost.
johnl

Woman Prophet, Prophetess

Give me a bite of that thought,
I'd like to grab on for a while.

        But you've got to put down
        that daffodil, girl.
        Put down your flower
        to stomp with these boys,
        take of your shoes to
        walk in this grass, girl.

I can tell you about these
mountains, sure, take you
there no charge. I can throw
my voice into the canyon,
hop scotch that thought
across the river
and call it back to your
feet. Give me a taste
and I'll chew it out.

        But the sun in on its
        way down and we
        are stacking up logs.
        Girl, sit back and
        warm your mits.
        Let your jaw at
        rest and sit by the
        bonfire, girl.

Boys, I can keep my own hands
warm. I can
start a fire. Boys, I can
see the sun slip off and
walk barefoot
all along these trails.
I'm going to
chatter my teeth on
that thought while
you're around those flames.
Listen to me and
let this thought
sink deep under your skin
and I know you'll
get up and dance.

http://gaylord.ou.edu/poetscorner/test/thompson.html

Taken For a Ride

You’ve got some pretty legs
but you don’t have to move them for me.

      JP takes his spot against the wall after bumping into my chair,
      and locks his wheelchair in place,
      brake, brake.

Ain’t goin’ nowhere now.

Is anyone eating this bread?
The birds will love this,
hungry little fuckers.
I bet they’d rather have oatmeal,
those precious little birds.
The don’t take up much room,
and they sure are a joy.

There aren’t many obstacles between
me, that fence, and those little guys
and I seem to be hitting every one of them today.
Ah, well, beggars can’t be choosers,
can you little finches?

      Woman hops out of a truck cab and stands at the
      curb looking at the friend who dropped her off.
      What do you want? Jeez, what are you waiting for? under her breath.
      What is she doing? in my direction, or to JP.

Wanted to get one long look at your ass
before she left.

      You’re in great form today, JP.

What?
I was just wondering why I’d still be sitting there.
Hell, I am still sitting here.

      brake, brake.

But I used to drive a cab, about 11 years.
When I started out, no experience,
I had lots of interesting stories.
Then the people stopped seeming
so damn rare and fascinating.

I thought about driving again
but my legs don’t work,
as well as I bet yours do.

I am crazy about birds.
Birds with little hopping legs.

Cracker Jack Ring Finger

I pawned my tick-tock-stopped watch
for some quick petty cash.
I’ve got want
but lack
to please you.
More want,
less lack now
with the change from my own wrist.

I want to buy you a ring,
or some swinging pendant
to fit on your rib cage of a jewelry box,
clavicle lid lock clasp a string of young girl pearl.

I want to find you a dress,
or some rich mess of garment
to pin up over your shoulder blade hangars,
hip bone belly pleats a slip of sheer silkish pearl.

I’ve saved some cracker jack trinkets
in a box in a stash.
But you have want for more than those
and I feel lack to please you.

Deal maker, deal breaker.

Glowing in the dark
is a deal maker.
I could handle it if he howled
like a wolf when he opened his mouth to laugh.
Screaming in the shower is another maker,
mostly since it’s not a breaker.
Since it’s a hypothetical situation,
I suppose I could love a man
who squats only and refuses chairs,
or grows facial hair in quarter inch strips
Carrying eggs in his front pockets
is a maker.
These are all endearing quirks
and between loving it and leaving it,
with the man of dreams,
I would stay.
He can’t ever kiss me, okay.
He loves country music,     okay.

The one that makes the game seem
like it’s not fun anymore
is hard to say with any dignified sense of humor even.
He is better than me at everything,
that’s the breaker.
If?
Even if he were gracious and humble
and pained by it,
his being better than me,
especially if.

Keep the Suitcase Open

Mama needed a weekend.

She left lasagna in the oven,
instructions on the counter,
and departing words on the doorstep.

Mama needed a day without pearls.

She packed only two outfits for her trip
and took quiet pleasure
in the wrinkles and creases.
She wouldn't touch an iron for a while.

Mama needed to wake up one morning without the boys.

She drove quietly with the windows down.
She left the radio off, humming instead
with the engine.