Today’s prompt: “write a poem that … incorporates wild, surreal images.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-one-4/)

Dancing

If the oceans rise to fill the land,
and the land inverts to swallow the
oceans, and air leaps to the heights
of space, exiting orbit, flying off toward

Saturn, we’ll dance rings around the rings:
those glorious, incandescent, iridescent,
idiosyncratic rings girding the failed
star like a girdle straining to constrain

The rolls of fat around your uncle’s
midsection, holding together while flying
apart, a give-and-take of gravity and
aesthetics, the two-step cha-cha foxtrot of

A dancing Universe, banged out in conflicting
times, as we roll over and over and ’round
and ’round, as we fall to land to sink into
oceans of salt and magma and we come back

again. It’s the cycles, do you see? The
rounds of rings and the ebbing of tides
and the way the land subsumes and eats
itself. From the Biggest of Bangs, to

The smallest of whimpers, the upheavals
and sublimations, the sublime and the
mundane: the Universe shimmies and shines
and we dance along with everything.

Today’s prompt: “write a poem grounded in language as it is spoken.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-6/)

Yard Work

It’s all too easy to mistake
a trash panda for an ROUS
and we can’t tell which birds

Are hawks and which
are falcons. Something to do
with how often they flap?

Or with how pointed their
wing tips are. In any case,
best to keep the small

Yappy rat dogs out of sight:
too easily seen as prey.
The whatchamacallit isn’t

The same as the thingamajig
and never mistake it for
a whatchamathingy. You’d

Best not try to use the
zoopy-zoop to do the job of
the swingy dingus. Nor can

The dingle dangle, nor the
dongle dingle. Why did no one
ever tell me yard work

Was so confusing? Which isn’t
too say yard work is the same
as gardening, which isn’t

The same as tree planting nor
hedge trimming, though all
these go together to make a yard.

A lawn mower, a leaf blower,
a weed wacker, a hacky thwacker.
An ax (or is it axe?) and a hatchet

And an adze and a pickax(e).
The big belly shovel, the long
skinny shovel, the pointy shovel,

The hand trowel. Farrow furrows
and long lines of plants. Blood,
sweat, tears, and lots of curse

Words.

Today’s prompt: “write an abecedarian poem—a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-nineteen-4/)

Time

About around this time
but not until later when,
crashing like a meteor,
dust settles around the
edges of reality and a
fall of sun light
greets the day.

How wondrous, then,
is the morning!

Just in time to
keep the birds singing
long into the afternoon,
multitudinous and raucous,
never too late.

Oh, how languorous is the
pulchritude of the afternoon!

Quieting as time
runs slow, winding down,
slipping toward dusk.
Tide and time wait for all
until darkness stills the
vibrancy of mind, pulse, breath.

Wonder and sleep. The
x-y axis of consciousness
yonder the downward slide, the
zone of dreams.

Today’s prompt: “write an elegy of your own, one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-eighteen-5/)

Back Scratcher

I’d get an itch, right in the
small of my back, perfectly
positioned where I couldn’t
reach it. Sharp, insistent,
irresistible. You always
knew: something in the way
I sat, uncomfortable, trying
not to wriggle. You always
scratched it for me. Reaching
over, your playful intuitive
fingers never failed to find
the exact spot that needed
to be scratched, never failed
to know the exact right
amount of pressure to use,
of speed to apply, when to
rely on fingertips and when
to deploy the nails. You told
me you could read the subtlest
of small muscle twitches, that
my body told you what it wanted.
Your playful, nimble fingers
offering deep relief. You always
scratched my itchy back for me.

I bought a back scratcher
today. From the corner drug
store, a cheap metal telescoping
kind. I got an itch, right in the
small of my back, perfectly
positioned where I can’t
reach it.

Today’s prompt: “write a poem that … presents a scene from an unusual point of view.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-seventeen-5/)

How to Approach

It looks like violence:
teeth exposed,
bared to view.

It feels like aggression:
advancing face-to-face,
direct eye contact.

It sounds like danger:
Loud, high-pitched,
overly excited.

Don’t they know?
You must hide your teeth,
Approach sidelong,
Eyes sliding off each other.

Don’t they know?
Never start with touch,
nor with loud vocalizations,
nor with insistent demands.

It must start with sniffing
and in silence:
cautious contact.

Only when the tail wags
and the mouth pants:
only then do you play.

Today’s prompt: “write your own dramatic monologue.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-fifteen-5/)

Silence

[Silence]

I never know what to say
at these things.

These forced,
uncomfortable

Things.

[Pause]

My brain:
in isolation so
full of words,
ideas,
ramblings

Goes blank.

[Pause]

I talk to myself
near constantly.

Sometimes even
out loud
without realizing.

But here:
blank.

[Silence]

I do not
speak on command
orate on cue
ideate under pressure.

[Pause]

How is it
I can talk to
myself

But find it
so difficult
to talk to
you?

[Uncomfortable silence]

Isn’t this all
just too precious?

What a contrived
mechanic.

What an obvious
concept.

You should be
ashamed.

The vistas of
my own mind

Are so much more interesting
than this.

[Pause]

There?
See?

This is why
I stay silent.

It’s all too easy
To turn mean.

To growl.
To shout.
To insult.

It’s all deflection.

[Silence]

I never know what
to say.

I have a confession: The poem I first posted for today was something I wrote a couple of years ago. It fit today’s prompt (“write a poem that uses the form of a list to defamiliarize the mundane.”) so perfectly, I couldn’t not post it. But I feel I need to post something written here-and-now, today, for NaPoWriMo. So, bonus poem for today.

The Wonder of Engineering

We learned to control fire
to generate heat
to melt stone
to create and shape metal.

We learned to dig to find oil
to distill and refine it
to control its burn
to harness its energy.

We learned to leverage forces
to coordinate mechanics
to build complex tools
to amplify our power.

Such rarified intellectual feats!
Such leaps of imagination!
Such sophisticated accomplishment!

Need to mow the lawn again.
I hope this rattle-trap contrivance
actually starts this time.

Today’s prompt: “write a poem that uses the form of a list to defamiliarize the mundane.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-sixteen-6/)

The Color of the Universe

I am the rainbowed refraction of light through the gaseous clouds that are the birthplace of the heavens.

I am the twisted distortion that your mind cannot comprehend on the precipice of the event horizon of a black hole.

I am the streaming embers of celestial destruction.

I am the ruddy reds, explosive yellows, and majestic blues of stars.

I am the violent flash of novae, the blinding brightness of pulsars.

I am the muted, dull shades of rocky worlds and the iridescent glow of gas giants.

I am the scintillating palette which bursts forth from life-bearing planets.

I am the swirl of galaxies, the chaotic mixture of all the hues that exist.

I am the Light that blazes to oppose the Darkness.

I am the color of the Universe.

I am Beige!

 

(Inspired by this post: http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap091101.html)

Today’s prompt: “write a poem that incorporates homophones, homographs, and homonyms.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-fourteen-6/)

I See the Sea

I see the sea,
Where the wind blew
The blue waters into
A vale veiled with mist.
I missed the dew-shrouded grasses,
Do you remember?
Where you wear your weathered cape,
And bear the bare ground,
Where you shepherd your ewes,
And ride your winter sleigh
To patrol and protect your flock
Against predators who would slay them.
An idyllic isle, aisled with orchards.
I take to the sea, once more,
To see you again.

Today’s prompt: “write a poem about something mysterious and spooky.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-thirteen-5/)

It Starts

It starts
Motion
Tiny vibration
Echoing out
Into
Space builds
To accommodate
Motion
Tiny vibrations
Transmitting
Quantum to quantum
Atom to atom
Along
Time flows
Built from sequence
Defining
Motion
Tiny vibrations
Wave fronts
Collapsing
Energy to matter
Coalescing
Matter in
Motion
Collisions
Accretions
Matter grows
Time stretches
Space expands
Motion
All matter
Energy
Everything exists
Tiny vibrations
It continues

Continue reading “NaPoWriMo 2019: Day 13” →