Two More Poems from Trent Alderman.

Heavy Air Hot Sky

"I can hardly breathe."
He meant those words quite literally.
"My chest is tight,
the sun is bright,
and I can hardly see."

"I hate this salted land."
As he held it in his hand.
"It's always dry as death,
it sucks out all your breath,
and nothing can be built out of this sand..."

"I'd kill to burn this place."
He said with a straight face.
"I'd turn it all to glass,
they'd thank me when it's ash.
Burn it all and turn it into waste."

Crepuscular

It never really rains out here,
but I stand with my back to the shower head
and let the water impact my skull,
and it sounds a bit like a downpour.

I never really sleep out here,
but I lay on my back in a broken bed
and stare at the cutouts taped to my wall
until my back is bent to the floor.

There's an empty mountain without a soul,
and a dozen young beauties
staring right at me,
but none of it covers the hole.

I first put it there
just to get some air.
But the reason it remains
is just in case it rains.

“Trent Alderman is a student at Colubmia University in New York City, a veteran of the current war in Afghanistan, and a lazing song/poem/screen writer.”

3 Poems by Trent Alderman.

Warsongs

Dessicate

There's an empty room beside me,
it smells of dusty death.
A man once lived there, lonely,
he often gasped for breath.

He slept in sheaves of paper,
the news print stained his skin.
He scratched at it incessantly,
I know what did him in.

He never left the dim-lit box,
He pissed upon the wall.
I thought I almost saw him once
come out into the hall.

He had no eyes to speak of,
just moved by sense of touch;
the way cave-born amphibians
use darkness as a crutch.

He felt himself quite often,
uncomfortable and loud.
The cattle sounds he often made;
they seemed to make him proud.

They pulled him out this afternoon,
a shriveled husk, and pale. H
e fell apart at touch of hands,
his skin had gotten stale.

A tinge of guilt betrayed me
as I inhaled his dust.
For I had locked him in that room
due to a lack of trust.

I never said 'Hello' to him,
though walls were napkin-thin.
I threw in trash and slanted words
- I know who did him in.

Forced Surrender

I saw a dying rosebush
holding a shredded bag.
It blew in the breeze
like a tattered white flag.

As it struggled to break free
it was ripped by the thorns.
And I whispered to it,
"no use, this place is war torn."

Evening Action

He dragged a dry razor
across his cold skin,
it kind of snagged a little
and he bled again.
He closed one eye
to react to the pain
and just let it trickle
into the worn drain.
A handful of water
turned red into pink,
as dead whiskers floated
in the sea in the sink.
He grinned just a bit,
spit on the floor,
kicked at it quickly
and walked out the door.
The rocks fought hard
against leather boots
as he walked quietly
in his dirty suit.

“Trent Alderman is a student at Colubmia University in New York City, a veteran of the current war in Afghanistan, and a lazing song/poem/screen writer.”

"Three Flarf" by M.V. Montgomery.

THREE FLARF

By M.V. Montgomery 

help me to understand you, vampire

Please help me to understand you better!

When vampires choose someone to feed on,

they don't look for people who are offering

to be donors because. . .?

I found a vampire for you, but forgot

to keep him out of the sun . . . o well.

It helped me to understand you a bit better

to know why you did it, in your own words.

Can you help me to understand you?  Are you

here for my brain?  Oh, yeah!

Can you hold off a vampire with a sun lamp?

sorry dude, no pun intended

Sorry dude, I’m still sad to this day because

he was a big part of my childhood and

I loved him to death (no pun intended).

Sorry dude, but that was dreadful,

all the right notes but no feeling behind

the notes.  But don't fret (no pun intended).

Sorry dude, but you don't have the right

to ruin someone else's trip (no pun intended).

the mighty close-toed shoes

You took one look at me and said, “Oi, you're getting a pedicure,

why are you wearing close-toed shoes?”

Is it that I don't become one of those mightier-than-thou types

who think they are superior?

It's hard to find cute close-toed shoes that I like, so tell you what:

the pedicure is mightier than the sword. 

The kids and I have one pair of close-toed shoes (tennies) and only

a little leather.  Everyday moments:: mightier than a sword.    

“I baptize you with water; but he who is mightier than I is coming,

the Thong.” 

Ironically, she wore close-toed shoes the entire cruise. 

"M.V. Montgomery is the author of two recent books of poetry, Strange Conveyances and Joshu Holds a Press Conference."