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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.