Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Day 26: Headphone

Day 26, write a poem in the perspective of someone in the future that is looking at an object that we use in our current day and age.

Headphone

They hung them from their ears
Some small, others like large hats
Hung them and decorated
Their auditory senses with colors
And high definition sounds
Cords dangled from them
Hooked into their lifelines
Into voices and music
Into universal tones
All shaped into a thin
Plastic rectangle
Filled with electrical
Impulses
Scattered across
The mother of boards
That moved and sparked
Music up to their hungry ears
They listened to themselves
Speak and sing over and over
Voices repeating a generation.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Day 25: Quiet Distance

Day 25, write a poem that talks about a space, small distinct spaces.


Quiet Distance

You contain words
And hold them as long
As you keep them
In all your floor boards
Cherry stained
Dark red wine
And your stacks of books
You contain words
In your walls
And space within
Space within 
Space
You hold universes in your cubbies 
And wooden grooves
In the spaces that dust creates
The borders that book
Spines and objects create
You hold the spaces
Between words
And the spaces
Between
Each letter
And all the margins
That circle the ink
All of it is space
With a quiet distance.

Monday, April 24, 2017

Day 24: Marginalia

Day 25, write an ekprastic poem based off of the marginalia of medieval manuscripts. This was so much fun! I chose the following marginalia...



Marginalia

Laying eggs is not difficult
The same sensation as the trickling down of breast milk
Need and nurture
The sacrifice of body, soul and time
Not difficult to feel the urge
To gather nests about me
Lay and not be bothered by
The passage of time
It is not difficult as I stare at nothing
Warm in my red cape
Warm in my fatherless body
My breath rises and falls
I gather my insides
To offer up as golden offspring
My body bare for all to see
It is not difficult to stretch
What most cannot stretch
To tear over and over
The agony is all for you
My golden offspring

Day 23: Moon

Day 23, write an eleveny poem...

Moon
Works best
In the sky
Without clouds to obscure
Luminance 

Friday, April 21, 2017

Day 21: This is India

Day 21: Write a poem from something you overhear someone else says....

This is India

This is India,” Twinkle said.
A catch all catch phrase.
No need for an introductory phase.
This is India,
She didn’t say with her arms wide;
She didn’t say with a sweeping gesture.
No. This is India.
Matter of fact and hands on hips,
Her black hair ragged and her brow drips.
Sweat so sweet from every pore
Until the body can dry no more.
This is India.
115 degrees and the sun keeps beating us down.
The Taj Mahal gleams, but it’s all sweat now.
This is India.
Week long weddings
And vermilion bindis.
And white tiles black with a blanket of flies
And mounds of garbage yea high.
This is India.
Dancing to the beat of the dohl,
In the street
With the rain showering us all,
Yelling, screaming, we’re alive!
With the heat and your dark eyes.
This is India.

Day 20: Ping Pong

For Day 20 of NaPoWriMo, I wrote a poem with sports word and I had to choose ping pong....

Ping Pong

Bent in a low crouch
Blade in my hand
Red and black
I
Ping pong
With pips
And rough
Rubber
I
Ping Pong
On and off
The ball falls
Flat, curves, spins
I
Ping pong
Shuffle
Attack
I
Ping pong
And whack;
The ball
Cracks

In half.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Day 19: First Human

Day 19 of NaPoWriMo and I have been tasked to write a creation myth. Don't know if that's what this is, but the prompt took me into an interesting place.

First Human

Someone threaded the first human
out of old carpet and recycled plastic
molded her into 10 fingers, 10 toes
injection mold without sink holes.
The carpet fiber was for her hair,
eyebrows, and eyelashes.
Her organs were 3D printed
out of hard, breakable plastic.
But the devil was in her details;
her finger tips held moon shapes
and her ears echoed ocean sounds.
Her nose could smell snow coming;
she just couldn’t see herself.
But she could feel her way to salvation;
She could bend if someone bent her.
She could speak if someone spoke for her.
She could pray when someone prayed for her.
But she could smell fear
All on her own.

Day 18: Lean Mean Veggie Queen

Another day of catchup! Trying to write a poem with made up words is harder than you'd think...

Lean Mean Veggie Queen

I traveled vegan and lean
Mean and weened
From the suckle of beef
Ate lentils and beans
Medley of veggies
I stuffed my mouth full
Of fiber and steamed greens
It was philosophical
In intention
But catastrophical
On my innards
Sudden health made me
Unhealthy
My body rejected and resented
Spasmodic and shivering
I contracted a healthful-fever
My temperature spiked
As my body broke down
All of these new green
Carbocomplexities
Brown rice and grapefruit
Sprouted grains and prunes,
I ate myself all of the way
Into the bathroom!

Day 17: Night Moments

Playing catch up for day 17. I posted day 16 directly on NaPoWriMo's comment section since it was a short poem. For Day 17, the prompt was to write a poem similar to a Nocturne (a poem set at night and melancholic)....

Night Moments

I glide into your mouth
Along with your cigarette
Smoke. The cylinder of white paper
And tobacco sucking
Your wet tongue
Dry with heat and cinder.
There are no peace pipes between us.
I want to cry the black night into stars,
Connect tears into our names,
The curves of our faces.
But no one will write us into the sky.
Our names and bodies
Masked and stifled by time,
No one will remember this moment,
Except you and I.
Only tears and your smoke,
In the air,
Impermanent,
Will signal the future
To come a little closer

And proceed.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Catch up Post: Day 15 NaPoWriMo

I'm playing catch up. Even though I hand wrote all of these poems the day of, over the weekend I didn't have a laptop to transfer them to my blog.

Here's my poem of in between for day 15 of NaPoWriMo.

Green Card

after we wrote with black ink
on each form
wrote out the check
notarized prints and copies
gathered leaves and leaves
of paper, bound them
together
after we packaged
and sent them
we waited
between uncertainty and doubt
between yes or no
between after and before
waited with our maybes
our fear and hope
prepared ourselves
to help with the waiting
busied ourselves
to pretend we did not wait
prepared ourselves
for giving up
prepared ourselves as if
our bodies both teetered
on the edge
of a canyon
we waited days and months
in the after and before
for status
authorization
for a stamp of approval
for a card
not green
but with a barcode
with your face
your name
your new
beginning

Friday, April 14, 2017

Day 12: Alliteration

Day 12: Alliteration

I'm getting to day 12 two days late, but alas I did write a poem!


wild water
woman
weeds the winter
wind
out of dawn
while
she whispers
grass
sounds into
summer
and sings
rain
clouds into
the sun

Day 14: Tweet and Trump

Day 14, write a four lime poem, a clerihew. A clerihew most often is used to write about a famous person in a funny way.

Tweet and Trump

Donald Trump
made a lot of promises
to "Make America Great Again,"
but now he just tweets and gets audited.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Day 13 of NaPoWriMo: Write a Ghazal

Day 13: I wrote a 7 line ghazal for today's NaPoWriMo prompt.

Her Night

Armies gather in the crossroads of her mind
As she tosses and turns, lying awake at night.

He lights a cigarette to calm the edges of his anger,
Counts how many women he can take at night.

Her body strangled by sweat and rigid dreams.
Her limbs wrapped in sheets and snakes at night.

He walks with his head down, bent against the rain
Wags his tongue at any woman that makes him ache at night.

Her eyes shutter open and watch the flash of traffic lights;
She lays silent and listens as her heart breaks at night.

He follows the click of her heals down the alleyway,
Slams her into the wall as she fights and shakes at the night.

She walks past me her face covered in pale tears.
I touch her hand and make the day break her night.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Day 11 of NaPoWriMo: Without a Compass

Day 11: Write a Bop Poem

A bop poem has the following stanza form, 6, 1, 8, 1, 6, 1. Each single line is a refrain, similar to a song and the long stanzas follow the rule of a sonnet. First stanza, introduce a problem, second stanza develops the problem or discusses, and the third stanza resolves the problem.


Without a Compass

Little boy will go right up to a car,
There his body will collide
Beg, bang the windshield, scream, cry;
he points at his mouth, only one direction;
he desires is food, food, food,
thin face, wide eyes, hungry dirty eyes.

His body is not a compass, point, and he has no direction.

He runs from feral dogs, barefoot
skinny legs pace the world tempo,
dodges bikes, cars, and everyone’s anger.
He makes his small body smaller,
hides under stoops and inside gutters;
he edges the town like a martyr.
Men and women shoo and hit
point at him, point him in another direction.

His body is not a compass, point, and he has no direction.

There is no direction where little boy
is welcome, north south east west;
welcome has no direction.
All the people smack and shake him
they run after him and chase him,
Throw rocks, point and laugh in his direction.

But his body is not a compass, point, and he has no direction.

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Day 10 of NaPoWriMo: Write a portrait poem

Day 10 of NaPoWriMo: Write a portrait poem

Portrait

A line of oil lamps
flicker shadows
into the mouth
of the temple.
Outside the line of light
all is loud and dark,
full with heat and
cars honking deep
in the valley below.
Behind the water moat,
you stand by the line
of empty shoes
your feet fully clad in the
day’s time and soil.
Hands interlaced
cradle your black hair;
the space between your arms
sharp triangles of night.
Your eyes search
for answers
as the clouds cup
monsoon rains
and flood the air
with ozone and thunder.
From your mouth, not a whisper.
You look far away,
past this temple,
past its silent marble
that you will not walk on,
will not touch with naked feet.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Day 9 of NaPoWriMo: Into the Market

For today's prompt, I wrote a nine line poem...



Into the Market

Chili peppers, rose petals, heat
dust and trucks, sandals, heat
walnuts, guava, and mangos, heat
beggars and car horns, heat
saris and pyramids of dye, heat
tattered rupees, cumin, heat
dung, urine, and jasmine, heat
rickshaws, buses, engines rev, heat
clangs, shouts, and screams, heat

Friday, April 7, 2017

NaPoWriMo Day 8: Sky

Sky

I wrapped your clothes in sky
Sewed them with cloud
Mended their holes with
Thunder.

I wrapped your eyes in sky
Covered them with atmosphere
So you would only see your favorite
Color.

I wrapped your neck in sky
To hide the bruise and then
I fashioned a cloud necklace
Around you.

I cleaned your body in sky
Wrung the clouds like wet cloths,
Sponged off your old sorrow
Rinsed your creased brow
I tugged down the last of the sky
Brought it down around you

I wrapped your body in sky
Tucked it close to your skin
It made you so light that
The wind gathered you up
and you slipped out of my hands
and now you’re gone.

Gone.

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Day 7 of NaPoWriMo: The Penny



The Penny

The penny was hers;
She dropped it here
In the gutter,
Next to the alleyway
Full of vomit, rust,
And wet cardboard;
This place where
even the bricks of the buildings
are worn and sad,
where she walked
In her laceless sneakers 
And tattered coat,
Pushing her shopping cart
Filled with black plastic bags.

She dropped her penny;
She did it on purpose
So I would find her story
Written on Lincoln's visage, 
So I could read her regrets
On the smudge
her thumb left behind,
So I could translate
Her dirt and grit
As if it were a language
Of smells, mumblings, and rhythm;
Convert it into a form
Where people would
Stop.
Listen.
Try to
Try to
Try to  
understand.

Day 6 of NaPoWriMo: The Cascade Mountains

Variations on a theme....

The Cascade Mountains

1.
You reflect the sunlight with your miles of snow, illuminating the valleys, rivers and hills.

2.
You are a silver halo under the moon; you used to be the earth's outer rings, but gravity dropped you to your knees.

3.
Your peaks like wings flutter into the great expanse of sky. You are the silent dove perched on the continental divide.

4.
Your silhouette is a sharp knife that cuts the night like fabric to reveal the morning.

5.
Your glaciers move like slow rivers, milky cold; the salmon greet you, their mouths open and close, open and close.

6.
You made the valley of the snow melt river, gave these cliffs waterfalls, these salmon water, these rivers momentum.

7.
The sun rises behind you like hot metal and blanches your body warm and red.

8.
I look East from the bridge and see you covered in a white sheet, wrapped tight across your face

9.
I can barely see you from the bridge now, the rain masks your image, blurs your sharp edges into curves.

10.
You are my most frequent dream. Your peaks like spindles sharp enough to draw my blood. Your snow melt runs in my blood.

11.
I look to the West to find you, but you are 3,000 miles away. I look atop hills and skyscrapers, but I cannot find you in the distance.

12.
I dream, you dream. I see you with my eyes closed; I can feel your weight pushing me, pushing me, pushing me home.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Day 5 of NaPoWriMo: Mary Oliver

I've always been an admirer of Mary Oliver...My nature poem...

Mesa

I heard red without seeing it,
directed my ear to the curve
of the cliff face as the sunrise
opened itself on its surface.

I heard it like a swarm of
honey bees in summer
as the night’s frost broke
into a cold pale dew.

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Day 4 of NaPoWriMo: Enigma Poem

Day 4 of National Poetry Month: Write a poem about something without mentioning what it is.

Enigma: Guess what it is...

You can smell it like a storm coming,
can feel its electrons charge in your lungs;
dense and heavy like breathing steam.
And then you see it edge the horizon
like a dark mirage against the desert strata.
A man-made layer of sediment;
barbed wire and tall chain link.
Someone took a black marker
and drew with a zealot’s ink
a new definition of dreams deferred.
But your body is covered in sweat and desert;
you move like layers of sand, over and under.
You come out on the other side,
reborn, with your heart on fire.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Day 2 of NaPoWriMo: Recipe for Revenge

Day 2 of NaPoWriMo....recipe poem


Recipe for Revenge

Spit your spit
Into the pot
Just one spit
Back of your throat
Kind of spit
Greenest phlegm
Your head back
Like a stork
Swallowing
A whole fish
Your chest and arms
Your body shutters
To spit your spit
Your greenest innards
Into the pot
Then stir
Stir
And stir
Add the beef broth
All other ingredients
Ladle it into a bowl
And serve
To your boss

Day one of NaPoWriMo: Friction

Day one for NaPoWriMo.....A Kay Ryan-esque poem


Friction

wind
moves
against
the lake
makes ripples
with friction.
friction twists 
your hair into
impossible
knots
into nests
for birds.
friction
makes your
hair
like time
past
present
future
all
connected.

Day 3 of NaPoWriMo - Elegy

Elegy to my grandfather....who prayed laying down.

Faith

He prayed lying down
with his quiet smoke;
and folded prayers
into his wrinkles.
At the bottom
of his coffee mug, he kept
grounds divined into futures,
none of which were his.
They were mine,
brown bitter symbols;
he would swish them
like rose petals in water.
He taught me how to pray
with my fingers and throat,
how to sing away anything.
So I prayed lying down, too,
into the crooked shade of night,
sent my prayers high up
into the clouded stars.
I cracked any measure of faith
like an egg onto the moon
and set its dial to high;
cooked it into charcoal
and dust, burned it into
something bitter he could taste.
I wanted to make faith
into something I could rub
rough between my fingers
just like when he rolled
tobacco between paper.
I wanted it to brand my insides
just as smoke tarred his lungs.
But that one morning,
he smudged his coffee mug
with his desperate soot,
while he smoked lying down.
I tried to collect his ash
in a tray, tidy it up, like faith I tried
to pick it up, tried to make it stay,
but just like him, it slipped away.