tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38074634416707190782024-03-13T22:39:10.292-07:00Brittany's BlogHere at Brittany's Blog, I write and share poetry through #napowrimo & #the100dayproject
You can follow my 100 day project on my Instagram handle @bone_to_ash
I look forward to hearing from everyone.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.comBlogger352125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-31490848400655627162022-04-16T09:53:00.004-07:002022-04-16T09:53:41.926-07:00Day 16: The Naming of ThingsThe Naming of Things<br /> Curtal Sonnet <br /><br /> Praise be to gas station bathrooms <br /> & halo of piss around ceramic tile. <br /> Truth lies in our bowels & I, oracle, <br /> roll up my sleeves, divine poems. <br /><br /> Do not touch your face with this poem, <br /> wash with soap and water. Words are <br /> disappointment, mirrorless walls<br /> poems, bitter & fleeting, not quite right<div> all this naming as if we are God, but this bathroom <br /> is God, the sink, halo of piss, me, poeming; <br /> all of us God.<br /></div>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-91279334031066656982022-04-09T10:39:00.001-07:002022-04-09T10:39:28.236-07:00Day 9: Nonet<br />Nonet: Sapphire Ring <br /><br />It is my ring, but it is yours, too. <br />Wait and your finger will grow as <br />a tulip lengthens its stem <br />into spring; you’ll love <br />it like I love <br />the treasure <br />of your <br />laugh.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-18690351702255764932021-04-30T14:49:00.004-07:002021-04-30T14:49:33.315-07:00Day 30 NaPoWriMo - How to find my heart after I’ve disappointed myselfHow to find my heart after I’ve disappointed myself <br /><br />Dig under any oak tree, between its two largest roots. <br />Dig with just your hands, let the twigs and pebbles harm you, <br />Dig deeper past large stones, earth worms, cut worms, <br />potato bugs, ear wigs, the white eggs of fire ants. <br />Dig past the smaller roots, cut them if they get in the way. <br />Go further under this heathen loam until you can’t find your breath. <br />Take a left into your body, download the data for breathing. <br />Let your sweat drip numbers down into the widening hole. <br />Take a right into lost, narrow your hands into claws. <br />Dig further until you become an animal that you don’t find in the wild. <br />Become an animal grown from a lab of test tubes, beakers, and regret. <br />Grow scales on your back and broken beer bottles for toenails, <br />long lost candy wrappers for skin, rusted car parts for hips and femurs. <br />Dig further and you’ll find me under a membrane of resin and plastic. <br />Open the skin of my rib cage, root between my computer wire veins <br />and the audio files of my diaphragm and speech. Under motor oil, <br />slit open my cardiac sack and you’ll find my heart, <br />cowering like a mole that’s just surfaced into broad daylight.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-38628106749009567952021-04-30T13:36:00.002-07:002021-04-30T13:36:11.485-07:00Day 29 NaPoWriMo - Paper and HoneyPaper and Honey <br /><br />Some poets write with ink <br />others with their blood. <br />I write with honey <br />to invite ants to march <br />through my sentences, <br />twitch and leave <br />their footprints <br />along the page. <br />I write with honey <br />to attract <br />the unnoticed things, <br />the small ones <br />no one looks for. <br />I write with honey <br />as if it were my finger <br />guiding your eye to see, <br />look at the world, <br />its sweet details.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-61104075945965823482021-04-28T21:24:00.002-07:002021-04-28T21:24:25.070-07:00Day 28 NaPoWriMo - DisturbiaDisturbia <br /><br />Can I have another life? <br />Can I have another wife? <br />Can I wish for a knife? <br />Can I wait to make it right? <br />Can I pause and roll the dice? <br />Can I count to one, two, thrice? <br />Should I give her more time? <br />Or should I sing her to sleep with a nursery rhyme? <br />Can it be ashes to ashes, dust to dust? <br />Can I sign her grave in iron and rust? shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-32573801660766013032021-04-27T22:21:00.005-07:002021-04-27T22:21:31.419-07:00Day 27 NaPoWriMo - Occhiolism<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Occhiolism</p></div><br />I am a worm, a flea <br />a fly on the wall <br />a mote of dust <br />floating in a sun beam. <br />I am a singleton <br />one brain one body. <br />I have two eyes, <br />but I only see <br />through me. <br /><br />I can’t walk <br />in someone <br />else’s shoes <br />and I can’t borrow <br />someone’s body <br />for a day. <br /><br />I am me and me, alone. <br />and that is a sorrow <br />to only exist as one, <br />never able to dip <br />a toe into someone <br />else’s world, <br />never to pull back <br />their curtain, look in, <br />see.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-23557353805472657972021-04-27T22:14:00.008-07:002021-04-27T22:14:50.493-07:00Day 26 NaPoWriMo - A day in April<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A day in April</p></div><br />The whirligigs of wind’s delight twirl, <br />their fans, jingle, chime and chung night and day. <br />Flowers push themselves through soil’s tight fist, <br />sun willows the clouds away blue, blue, blue, <br />sky like an ocean to set sail on <br />and the lilacs reveal their purples. <br />They smell sweeter than lavender, grow tall, <br />clusters of button sized flowers open <br />their breath tastes like violets candied in honey. <br /><br />I will take everything from this spring day, <br />create a girl with a name made of spring. <br />She will smell of lilacs when they first open, <br />her hands will dig into the earth and loam <br />and find the treasures of bug, root, and stone. <br />She will make whirligigs to catch the wind <br />and weave it into her own blue blue sky. <br />She’ll wear her name like tulips wear petals <br />with rain and sunlight, she will bloom, bloom.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-26374844458772339652021-04-25T12:01:00.001-07:002021-04-25T12:01:05.141-07:00Day 25 NaPoWriMo - NaPoWriMoToday's prompt was to write an "occasional" poem. I chose to write a poem about National Poetry Writing Month!<br /><br />NaPoWriMo <br /><br /><div>Crocuses are out, cherry blossoms, tulips, <br />daffodils, dandelions, and rhododendrons. <br />April opens its curtain of rain to let the sun <br />and poetry shine through. Sidewalk chalk <br />hasn’t washed away and there are words <br />everywhere in the air, verse and stanzas <br />clouds and stars. This is the month of poetry <br />the time of propagation, creation. A time <br />to gather your words into spring, write them, <br />read them aloud to invoke the weather to change <br />and bring on the heat and berries of summer.</div><div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-57650607722511983202021-04-25T11:59:00.004-07:002021-04-25T11:59:29.828-07:00Day 24 NaPoWriMo - Curtain FoxCurtain Fox <br /><br />The curtains dig burrows in the sand <br />And adjoin to other curtains in tunnels. <br />The curtain’s fabric is prized in the world <br />with 32 chromosome pairs of exotic. <br />Curtains live in packs among the window rods. <br />They are straw-colored with a black hem, <br />tapered tassels like a dog’s wagging tail. <br />Curtains explore sand dunes and vast treeless areas <br />and prey on lizards, skinks, birds, eggs, and tubers. <br />They have the spine of a vertebrae. <br />Captive curtains drape themselves over one another <br />in a mating ritual when windows are open. <br />Their young are made from the weaving of sand <br />and air and the beige fur of foxes. Turning fabric <br />wild and exotic, trapped in the spinning wheel <br />of breeders, capture and disappearance.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-2698428728318195772021-04-25T11:58:00.002-07:002021-04-25T11:58:38.907-07:00Day 23 NaPoWriMo - Cut in the butter<p>I followed the Prompt and chose to respond to Ellen Bass's poem "Marriage". This prompt took me on a journey through my immediate morning and the feelings that I was having. I've chosen not to share this poem as it is one that I plan to submit.</p>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-19177088646257751602021-04-25T11:56:00.001-07:002021-04-25T11:56:40.943-07:00Day 22 NaPoWriMo - Himalayan Blackberry<div>I wrote this poem in my notebook on day 22, but just got around to typing it up.</div><div><br /></div>Himalayan Blackberry <br /><br />It was the blackberry that Eve ate, <br />not the tame apple. She wove her hand, <br />cut it on the thorns to reach the sun <br />warmed morsel. She didn’t bite it, <br />no. With tongue and roof of mouth, <br />she pressed it, gushing out into a nectar, <br />filling her mouth with wild revolution. <br />Purple dribbled out her mouth, <br />and like an animal, she licked it up <br />quickly, not to waste a single drop. <br />She plucked more, each one like <br />a string on an instrument, music <br />of her hunger, collecting them <br />in the palm of her hand. She wanted <br />to give them to Adam, have him try <br />their violent flavor, but she ate <br />every one of them herself. <br />When all the berries picked, <br />she found him sleeping under <br />the shade of a willow tree; <br />she kissed him. He licked his lips <br />tasted sweetness and it was enough.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-72815812046041830932021-04-20T22:40:00.004-07:002021-04-20T22:40:40.745-07:00Day 21 NaPoWriMo - FillingFilling <br /><br />Blood can fill a vial. <br />Vials can fill a hospital. <br />Hospitals fill up with sick people. <br />Sick people fill up the beds. <br />Full beds and not enough workers to fill their needs. <br />Workers can fill an emergency room. <br />An emergency room can fill anyone with dread. <br />Dread can fill the halls of hospitals with our dead.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-16753937864668224942021-04-20T22:25:00.003-07:002021-04-20T22:25:37.025-07:00Day 20 NaPoWriMo - Sijo to SpringSijo to Spring<br /><br />I slipped on my sandals to take the garbage out to the curb.<br />There, on the stoop, sat a fat bumblebee, powdered in pollen. <br />It groomed itself with spring, I too wanted a taste of yellow.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-11222513253870429772021-04-20T22:08:00.005-07:002021-04-20T22:08:40.401-07:00Day 19 NaPoWriMo - How can I help you today?How can I help you today? <br /><br />I dread calling customer service, <br />dialing through the menu options <br />taking time out of my day to listen <br />to a robot tell me all of the selections <br />that do not fit what I need help with. <br />A robot that thinks it knows what I need, <br />a know-it-all robot that is too happy <br />and tells me that it can’t take me <br />to an agent until it has more info, <br />and when I yell at it, it doesn’t react. <br />Instead, it tells me it didn’t understand, <br />can you please repeat your service request? <br />After the third attempt, the phone disconnects <br />and I never actually talk to a human.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-61409232445166637912021-04-18T09:46:00.001-07:002021-04-18T09:46:13.887-07:00Day 18 NaPoWriMo - PoemfishI can't believe we're already on day 18 of NaPoWriMo. This month always seems to fly by. It's been a gorgeous week here in the Seattle area, plenty of much needed sun. <br /><br />For day 18, we had to take a chapter heading from PoemCrazy by and use the heading as a title of our poem. I chose the header Poemfish and ended up writing a poem about Pacific salmon, Coho and Chinook, and their life cycles in the tributaries of the pacific rivers. They're whole survival and lifecycle is poetry.<br /><br />Poemfish <br /><br />I can write its mouth to speak and eat <br />and take a pebble from the river bed <br />and suck on it like hard candy or place <br />it in a quiet eddy next to more pebbles <br />next to the bring orange globes, suns, <br />like clusters of berries lying deep <br />in the water, no stems to pluck, <br />no branch or leaf, just the branch <br />of the cool river, like clear milk. <br /><br />The shadows in the globes move, <br />fins and large eyes, they swim <br />in their capsules, moving, moving <br />their strong bodies against a current <br />of orange. The large fish comes back <br />with another pebble, then another, <br />labor after labor, its once bright scales <br />dull as the gray rocks of the river. <br /><br />Its fins lined with scars, but like one muscle <br />it powered against whitewater, jumped <br />over waterfalls, bashed against the concrete <br />of every single dam and fish ladder, <br />to finally make it here, in this tributary <br />of a tributary, to spawn, to build its wall <br />of pebbles around the roe of its body, <br />to gather, create, protect, and send <br />forth downstream as its own body decays, <br />dies, floats belly up in the gentle current. <br /><br />Its death feeds the roots of trees and <br />they open their leaves a little wider <br />to shade the banks of the river <br />to give safe passage to the young fish <br />as they move like rain clouds in the water, <br />as they move like poetry in the water.<br />shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-53498087315111357912021-04-18T09:38:00.003-07:002021-04-18T09:38:22.470-07:00Day 17 NaPoWriMo - Lodestone<p> For Day 17, I followed the NaPoWriMo prompt to write about the moon. Alas, the moon is one of my many inspirations, and I tend to write about it too many times, but I also can't resist. I wrote the poem "Lodestone" in honor of the moon and it turned into a 14 line sonnet. I won't be posting here, but I hope to publish it eventually.</p><p><br /></p><p>Thanks and happy writing!</p>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-31388613896463788752021-04-18T09:35:00.004-07:002021-04-18T09:35:51.774-07:00Day 16 NaPoWriMo - Memory<p> Hello all,</p><p>I'm not behind in NaPoWriMo. Instead, I've been writing each day and making poems. For Day 16 I wrote a poem to Rattle Magazines monthly ekphrastic prompt and decided not to post here on the blog because I will be submitting it. Currently, it's going through revision processes.</p><p>Happy writing!</p>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-53165703051923242882021-04-15T11:02:00.002-07:002021-04-15T11:02:45.110-07:00Day 15 NaPoWriMo - The Stubborn in Our MouthsToday's prompt asked us to think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents, and then to write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit, before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit.<div><br />The Stubborn in Our Mouths <br /><br />She sets her jaw, the two parentheses <br />on the left side of her mouth, open, <br />facing the same pathway. <br />She thinks hard and her lips move <br />to the side, crooked, concentrating. <br />The passage between her eyebrows <br />narrows like the Suez Canal. <br />Nostrils flare as if she were a dragon, <br />ready to flame the world. <br /><br />In study, discontent, or anger. <br />It always starts with her mandible, <br />the mountain peaks of her teeth grit. <br />Sometimes there is no anger or thought, <br />she just stares out the window <br />watching the rain pour over the gutters <br />as if her body was not there, <br />just her soul reaching outward, <br />escaping the mortal weight of being. <br /><br />I too hold my feelings crooked in my mouth. <br />My parentheses like the moon shapes of fingernails, <br />lips offset as I stare at her staring out the window. <br />Together our shoulders and bodies <br />curve and slump like parentheses, <br />pointing in the same direction. <br />Both of us cannot face the other, <br />an endless wound of space between us, <br />we won’t close ourselves with forgiveness.</div>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-67676043968925278052021-04-13T23:18:00.004-07:002021-04-13T23:21:08.444-07:00Day 14 NaPoWriMo - Brittany, What’s in a Name?Today's prompt asks to write a poem that delves into the meaning of my first or last name. I chose to write about my first name Brittany.<div><br /><br />Brittany, What’s in a Name? <br /><br />I am a region, Breton or Briton, <br />it mattered in the past, but it doesn’t <br />matter anymore. I am a name and <br />nothing else, Brit-tah-niy, an ermine, <br />soft fur, black and white against the sea. <br />I am a dialect and language, not yet dead. <br />Tristan and Iseult took a love potion, <br />inside of me, they sometimes live, <br />sometimes they die of their own grief <br />depending on which version you read.<br /><br /></div><div>Brit-tah-niy, in all its variations, <br />There is only one Brittany in France. <br />As poetic as that may seem, <br />the paparazzi still fight for pictures <br />of Britney, or Britni, or Brittnie. <br />Nothing matters in a name anymore, <br />only the camera, lights, and action. <br />Lovers do not take their poison <br />and women do not shave their head <br />without the whole world watching.</div>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-50513283256733672432021-04-13T22:53:00.002-07:002021-04-13T22:53:07.164-07:00Day 13 NaPoWriMo - Fields of Tulips Refuse to Stop BloomingToday's prompt instructed us to write a poem in the form of a news article you wish would come out tomorrow. I wrote about tulips that will not stop blooming. Because we all need a little spring in our life, no matter what season.<br /><br /><br />Fields of Tulips Refuse to Stop Blooming <br /><br />The tulips won’t close. <br />Their petals haven’t fallen <br />two months after blooming. <br />They collect dew and sun. <br />They hold the moon. <br />Tulips in salmon, lipstick, <br />velvet, cloud, butter yellows. <br />Their stems won’t droop, <br />their leaves won’t brown. <br /><br />They won’t return to the earth <br />instead they are open like eyes, <br />watching the sky for a sign. <br />We don’t know how long they’ll last, <br />through the heat of summer <br />or the chill of autumn. <br />Through the seasons, their flowers <br />will hold so much sun and moon light, <br />they will be pregnant with sky. <br /><br />The flowers will not die, <br />we need them in constant prime. <br />We need them to hold up the earth, <br />keep the sky from falling around us, <br />the fires from torching our ignorance. <br />We need them to keep watch <br />as the seas rise and threaten to drown us. <br />We need them to watch <br />for the next era of our passing, <br />witness our souls moving upwards. <br />Our guardians, they will not close, they watch.<br />shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-10319383584226361452021-04-13T11:40:00.004-07:002021-04-13T11:40:35.562-07:00Day 12 NaPoWriMo - The Story of AntiopeThe Story of Antiope <br /><br />Zeus arrived on earth in the form of an android, <br />titanium & recycled plastic, face molded <br />in the shape of a man. How cold his hands, <br />his touch like ice. She felt inside of her ice. <br />& she exiled herself from her kingdom <br />as her belly grew with his strange twins. <br />She grew & grew, wandering the countryside <br />consuming bitumen & berries, hunger <br />never satiated. She chewed on the asphalt of roads <br />& the unskinned meat of the deer. <br />She ate the world, natural & manmade. <br />She stripped plastic chords of wires, <br />ate them like strings of licorice or noodles. <br />She collected grocery bags caught <br />in the branches of trees. She fished in the rivers <br />for salmon, fishing line, & bottle caps. <br />She could feel her twins, metal & plastic, <br />resinous & moving, sharp elbows & <br />titanium toes. Made of the materials of Zeus <br />& the within the body of her time. <br />They tapped inside as if she were a ripe watermelon. <br />& so, Antiope found an abandoned car lot, <br />& labored into the early morning pushing out <br />the amalgamates of her children, their newborn <br />bodies like so many small parts of a machine. <br />She took a wrench to them & put them together, <br />Her hands making form & shape, mold & tool. <br />& when the last screw & nut was placed, <br />they screamed aluminum, tinny & sharp. <br />From one of her breasts leaked amber gasoline, <br />& from the other, tar oozed. Her children <br />ravenous, latched & drank her. Oil on their lips, <br />she looked down at them, her manmade creations, <br />gods & monsters, product of her hunger.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-82357170357610397512021-04-11T09:54:00.009-07:002021-04-11T09:55:10.113-07:00Day 11 NaPoWriMo - Epistolary<p> Emily,</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The wind blows like a tapestry through the power lines; they
crackle like a blanket with static and I am without direction. I sit on a rock
contemplating time, the commodity I have so less of and soon will have none. If
I spend my life giving to others, I will diminish like a chord, fraying. I will
be undone, unwoven.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What advice can you give me except to live? Stop living in a
future that is not here. I can only give it a voice here with you on these
pages and hope that you have some words, poetry or not, that can bring me to
the present and braid me back into place, maybe a chord looser than before, but
in some semblance of order and balance.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I hope you are well and are finding peace and contemplation
among your things.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With Love & Poetry,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Britt M.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Britt,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I cannot say the future nor divine it with cards, tarot,
dice, or tea leaves. The wind blows here as well, but it blows past daffodil petals,
crocus, and cherry. Spring did not want to come, but it came. Slow, dragging its
feet. I think of you as the spring. You are so in love with the dark and the cold
of winter, that you must be coaxed out of your cave, reassured again and again.
When spring finally arrives, slow and hesitant, you never understand why you
resisted at all in the first place. Especially when you feel the sun on your
face. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am not one to change, nor are you. All poets, I fear, are
always trying to stop time, close our hands around it, make it small, so we can
have some certainty. And yet, poetry feeds on change and the state of ambiguity,
poetry rests within and outside of time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our grappling and struggles, our fruitless endeavors, make
poetry poetry. Whatever the future brings, whatever events and changes, they
will make great poetry. And in that, rest assured, that is the giving you must
give yourself, when you feel you have given all yourself away. You are a well, deeper
than you think. There are many buckets that can be taken, but the rain always will
come to fill you up again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have my own fears and insecurities. My own lonely treading
heart. I envy you, your family, your adventures, the noise of children. Life is
simpler than we let ourselves believe. Poetry helps me see this, and I know
poetry does the same for you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With Love & Poetry,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Emily D.<o:p></o:p></p>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-60044420698447851602021-04-10T08:56:00.006-07:002021-04-10T09:15:58.860-07:00Day 10 NaPoWriMo - Your Bag of Wonders I followed the prompt today and used Gnossienne No. 1 by Eric Satie for my song and riffled through my parents junk drawer which made me think, what if my body is a junk drawer, containing so many pieces that must be put together, to be riffled through and upended. Am I an endless bag of useful things or do I need any use, just that I'm there in all of my pieces wandering through time and space? The poem ended up into the shape of a sonnet...<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PLFVGwGQcB0" width="320" youtube-src-id="PLFVGwGQcB0"></iframe><br /><div><br /></div><div>Your Bag of Wonders<div> <br />The smell of rain settling dust into ozone, <br />bringing the air down into the earth to mingle. <br />The hyacinths opening their pink and blue towers. <br />You, your scent of jasmine, climbing through your hair <br />like a green vine with star shaped flowers. <br />I lay with you in our tent and I wander with you, <br />always. You have the pieces of my mouth, my ear, <br />my breast, rib and the butterfly wings of my hips. <br />You collect them like you collect my scent, <br />sweat and citrus, the smell of cut limes and lemons, <br />You hold my brightest parts and keep them <br />in your bag of wonders and adventures.</div><div>And, I must confess, I never wish to be completed.</div><div>Please do not finish me.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-72853264511699065232021-04-09T22:40:00.000-07:002021-04-09T22:40:00.658-07:00Day 9 NaPoWriMo - Preparing the poison applePreparing the poison apple<br /><br />1. Pick up the elm sticks.<br />2. Find the apple.<br />3. Buy a copper pot.<br />4. Weave the white string.<br />5. Tap the side of the pot.<br />6.Circle around the pot three times counter clockwise <br />7. Fill pot with water.<br />8. Put sticks inside of copper pot.<br />9. Tie string to apple stem.<br />10. Dip apple in pot. <br />11. Leave in for three breaths. Remove.<br />12. Give apple to a young woman<br />13. Watch.<br />14. Wait.shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3807463441670719078.post-18104222366447760222021-04-07T23:06:00.003-07:002021-04-07T23:06:43.048-07:00Day 8 NaPoWriMo - LauraLaura <br /><br />The Stellar’s jays came to me every summer <br />and I listened to them each year. <br />I maneuvered through and around <br />my many pots of gardenias and daphnes <br />to reach the bird feeder. I fed them well.<div> <br />Their breasts plump and royal blue. <br />Their tassels on their heads like hats. <br />Similar to the one I wore at our wedding.</div><div> <br />I had our pictures in the back room, <br />but when I looked at them, I saw</div><div>two strangers in black and white.</div><div>Gerald didn’t look like Gerald.</div><div> <br />The Gerald I remember is the one <br />with his hair falling out, wearing <br />the wool hat with the black tassels.</div><div> <br />Every night, I listened to him rasp <br />trying to remember everything he could. <br />When he got tired, he would hum notes <br />of a Sousa march before he fell asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I would always wake before him <br />to the sound of the Stellar’s jays <br />scratching at the earth, fluttering their wings.</div><div>When I fed them, I swear they sang louder,</div><div>but no matter what, they always flew away.</div>shadowprancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370175641666853502noreply@blogger.com4