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 |  A new book to house this year's (and future years) NationalPoetryMonth's daily poems. |
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I'm writing once again this year. This book is my special event place for thirty special poems. Here for National Poetry Month in 2018, I'm participating but life has not been kind in the last 15 months, so I'm not always in writing mode. |
two naked bodies, sweat glistening, snowfall the room is sparse, the season is now light filters with a golden sheen through bamboo curtains two naked bodies, one hand caressing a thigh snow covering the trees, sparsely lit candles a glow of the fire from a corner chimney no warmth, a sense of leftover destiny two naked bodies, lips posed on a shoulder a simple high-backed armchair placed before the chimney a ghostly figure does not slump two naked bodies, her hair close cropped it is summer, a ceiling fan rotates slowly her simple dress is too thin, decades of wear hands folded in her lap, she does not sleep two naked bodies, their kiss, a first farewell in a flicker of light, her voice, "this scene is my life since that day of the bomb his hands outstretched in terror" two naked bodies, four arms entwined her life changed in the flash of love destroyed by the sound of fire she sits facing away from the window two naked bodies, his hands touching her face moonlight shines through the window illuminating, like a madonna, her face her hand is limp, almost touching the floor Hiroshima, mon amour [2014.12.4…a] Prompt: Cinema: a strongly cinematic poem, a poem about a particular film, or with a film allusion |
once again we replay a farewell to arms as you leave before dawn I will return to this place of every day shadows always waiting for Godot you are my life the poisonwood Bible the book that broke my heart I have spun around your destiny like Romeo and Juliet its sap leaks like december’s chill slowly I breathe of your deep absence, choking on these grapes of wrath for I blame only myself the idiot for depending on your love coldplay [2014.10.4...a] Prompt: Include a literary allusion |
voicelessly, we shifted through a generation of papers I bristled when I found gran's cancelled checks all made out for my professional studies years and years of them as if she wanted me to finally acknowledge I would never be good enough for her own daughter even through the silence of the paper shredder we spoke no words, no one had ever broken her speak-when-spoken-to rule finishing our task like vowed nuns in an afternoon meditating hate then she would retire for rest before her nightly tradition of wining and dining in fancy places dancing till dawn with strangers she never dared to bring to her boudoir I’d sit in front of the telly, alone five thousand miles away from my home eating junk food she always thought I liked useless as I had always been the wait of it all [2014.9.4…a] Prompt: Create a tense mood with the poem. |
remember me each time this gold caresses your neck smell these roses from the gardens of our mutual intent let us travel to paradise islands to sip rare wine and wander through our dreams until I kiss your lips and our desire stretches into sleep let me offer you my life with love’s symbolic circle watch my devotion as I hunt for treasures more precious than your smile and each morning, my dear accept these small handwritten notes of three unending words instead of love poems [2014.7.4…a] Prompt: A love poem |
| A very hard poem to write. I have been held captive groomed into an emotional cripple I know poverty’s wiles hunger and shivering the mockery of a leaking roof and absent fellowship youth ignores what little wisdom I once saw blossoming in my soul, words of invisible ink, written in a language only I have learned to speak and I am alone in ill-lit rooms abandoned like a ghost of my own tears that do not comfort the betrayal of my aching bones the sleepless nights when fright seizes me more than being buried alive or the mornings not granting my wish to have waked in my casket I do not hate this destiny having grown into only a speck of dust but what I once loved has sewn no seeds for a smile beyond life [2014.7.4…b] Prompt: A hate poem (instead of a love poem) |
muddy ten-year-old hands digging deeper than the roots of life to replant a rose bush pulled up accidentally like other weeds he hadn’t yet catalogued in Latin in sunlight’s sweat he squinted as something shined a gold charm she lost one day, too hurried to put on gloves while cutting fresh garden blossoms he knew the tale certain it was tall as a white lie he looked daily among those weeds this four-leaf clover was his now the rose bush [2014.6.4…a] Prompt: Bring in the theme of luck or a lucky number. |
alone in a single armchair the screens blink messages urging me to belong where does the truth glimmer while these would-be actors dance instead of sunlight inside my four windowed walls I am a small fragment uprooted from life unnoticed sunsets trail behind your shadow where I walk, look at me through dismembered branches don't let me fall into forgetfulness like a tear, what love illuminates beyond these dark nights is not a trophy a twig [2014.5.4...b] Prompt: Incorporate a twig into the poem somehow... |
| Prompt: "Fingers, all five." he ruled a creative life with paint brushes, a harpsichord and a fountain pen he sanded a humble bed for his death, a eulogy penned three mourning hymns bore his name nine strong fingers humbled his path to eternity a normal man [2014.4.4…b] A Sevenling poem a defensive fist before love’s conquering caress to teach the innocent to count and soon to write of life its uncountable directions five fingers [2014.5.4…a] |
my demeure is a tower smooth round curves with a spiral staircase lined with leather-bound books only the windows portray right-angled rigor although they face the four cardinals of time and space straight walls and their abundance of shadowy corners better suit ill-omened tales where fright is born in iron barred cells as light disappears here pages float, free wind-born clouds delineated by mountain snows and tomorrow’s invitations unlimited view [2014.3.4…a] Prompt: A poem with 4 walls in it (a room, a fort, a shack….) |
| Two texts for this prompt. Placed in order of creation. I mention no favorite. The Prompt: A poem about leaflets three, or a blossom that has three petals (like spiderwort or toad shade) a single stem, seven exotic buds a crystal vase, decorum for other people not vagabonds, nor the withered nor refugees chased from other lives they search three-leaf clovers wild flowers [2014.2.4…a] A Sevenling poem his eulogy, written on three leaflets, is placed like a quiet prayer on each chair he willed silent meditation in this sacred place that does not welcome sadness the garden extracts color from the season and drains all but red from their eyes with bleak smiles, the mourners cannot yet discard their own suffering a long shaking illness took his hands first his paints dried into still lives perhaps he has earned his place among the ethereal and will cover sunsets with cloudburst a ceremony [2014.2.4…c] A Triversen poem The Triversen is a six stanza poem of three lines per stanza. Each stanza is a complete sentence. Naturally, the stanzas should be related but ideally they should be independent thoughts. |
her shards of words hurled as bold thunderbolts electric chairs and molotov cocktails gave me no added padding wrapped me in no warped sense of humor nor stalked me with same cruel streak they merely shattered the light in my soul sharp edges [2014.2.4…a] Aurhor's Note: Poem written using the Sevenling form. Basically a seven line stanza, divided into two stanzas of three lines, each presenting a list of three things, verbs, nouns, adjectives, etc. and a final line should sum up the poem in some way, much like the third line of a haiku. An interesting link: http://home.comcast.net/~jpdancingbear/apj_sevenling.html |
i followed her through a labyrinth of shadows beyond death, beyond her ultimate gift of eternal poverty, beyond my barren tears hoping one day i would find other treasures among my hopes and disillusions the phoenix [2014.31.3…b] Prompt: a one sentence poem. |
| I have known richness and poverty renewed by the curse of life I had thirty gold pieces bequeathed from a shipwreck in my youthful days of piracy they burned holes in my pockets I have no taste for luxury but survival costs more and more my library had as many original manuscripts, ancient words bound in the finest cages engraved with unpredicting prefaces I could never read their translations they too were lost in exchange for poems I never published and love I never let submerge me when I thought like every man to be partnered in eternity’s embrace my walls were adorned by thirty seascapes the masters' visions of turbulence or tranquility, like an afternoon nap by a calm fountain in faraway places some sought in dreams not ending in insomnia others purchased from get-away specialists the currency rates were never favorable for saving money, and after thirty days my imagination turned silvery and sappy I won't say there is nothing left my photographs were colorful still-lives traced civilization’s majesty quiet corners of abandoned gardens or ornate portraits in black and white baroqueness, ornamented like my harpsichord and rare scores thirty of them, that I perform for my private candlelight thirty priceless pewter epergne with half as many up-turned arms, saluting music for every day each month, I improvise with modest mastery to end the odd numbered ones delicate creations that defy time's presence her songs are all unique jewels of sound but always insistent, like a second hand pressing on my fingers like the silver rings I have sworn to never sell, for you see my soul sold to the devil thirty times now still needs to sound the depths of every ocean and touch the elite, limitless skies seeking a wholeness that only these simple circles can bring while I wait for the last day of rain to begin a new cycle of thirty days of whatever destiny brings patient, I have enough to trade this for that, fine wines for precious stones, a single grain of sand bartered for a loaf of bread the powerless hands of the clock sold with joy for a few more years of hope thirty days [2013.30.4...a] |
| in a very high mountain range too secluded for men to venture there was a valley of small limpid lakes populated by the blue-gilled nightingale a survivor of dinosaur creatures his turquoise and sapphire scales made him quite dragon-ish, reflecting light while his tail propelled him like a fish in the sun warmed waters where he ate bubbles of colored gas left over from mussels and snails in the depths below him, and when released above by the horizon's changing hues he sang songs of starlight as he took wing on a journey of darkness that self-rejuvenated him through the excessive beating of his heart he had no other earthly needs he did not sleep, nor did he dream content to exist and appease his twin nature a unique link in evolution untouched by the rest of life's diversity in uncharted places [2013.29.4...a] Prompt: a specific kind of fish |
| young and innocent, I painted walls blue, like the summer sky so that from every perspective I could ward off the gulping solitude that came living in a colorless house with shadows of black-and-white people who simply didn't relate to the concept that I was born unique and free today I watch the clouds and stars on their midnight hued backdrop proof that this constant revolving is what keeps us reaching out and not becoming the mountains we all are destined to move destined [2013.28.4...b] Prompt: the color blue |
we have almost reached the end and mountains weep dust springtime has returned though no forest has grown green rain falls unmeasured by twisted winds and sunlight blinds with no warmth the air is impure and pungent a stench of smog laced with half-lives we have all prayed a thousand times and been abandoned as if there had never been a god who cared there was no greater force to slow the imbalance and gather it towards renewal instead of destruction weep, while we still have voices to mourn our ashen memories while we still have the voices [2013.27.4...b] Prompt: it's almost over |
| I do not see the world upright head tilted to the left listening to life advance silently like ladybugs I imagine one word from two my right ear is deaf I hobble with a cane, favoring my unbalanced feet I lost toes in the war where I learned there is no truth but only unstudied opinions lately I see everything through a haze imprinting detail on my soul like Monet, or worse, like Picasso clarity has vanished frazzled and worn, tender at heart when first love darts against convention and my arms tire, juggling one heavy bag of postcards that tell me where I've been on my uphill travels to heaven's gates a private perspective [2013.26.4...a] Prompt: slanted |
| after broken bones and stolen books we try to have faith that bullies and thieves have done with us, we wait until our hearts implode at death's call or a lover's mistaken choice, the explosive allergy after a chocolate binge or a week-end of drowning sorrows to discover first hand the emergency room, emptied of childhood souvenirs we are lost without those postcards from the past, we fail at exams because every day we start over the sun does rise each morning so, like the electric storm interrupting our favorite program, we press the reset button, confused by what we lost and we resume our watch, believing we'll understand, each day until we die until we die [2013.25.4...a] Prompt: we resume |
best behavior brought no smile never even blackmail, bring home top-notch grades for a new bicycle I walked two miles to school adult chores for pocket money she expected perfectly cleaned lampshades, doorsills, windows and no fluff under the carpets I went penniless, affectionless loveless, I was deemed worthless, clueless every -less I found in the dictionary was my reward for being not good enough, try harder, don't stop I don't owe you anything when I was your age I sweat, I bled why can't you be like me [2013.24.4...a] Prompt: there's something due |
| I don't understand anyone their murmured babble zeroing in on irrelevant details like the latest YouTube of who? they were, and might still B -- like Shakespeare's eternal question do I know anything -- one of the greatest rock groups not collective meteorite samples nor mama's precious emeralds that some prefer sapphires or rubies is irrelevant and proves bad taste isn't it "to me or not to me" self-centered youth laughing at the necessity to earn anything Google it, I mean "hello!" you know who doesn't have a smartphone? I decline their offer and retire to my boudoir with a thick book of Latin grammar no, I really don't know anymore [2013.23.4...] Prompt: (WTF?) You know who. Actually, once I found my angle (negating the prompt into "I don't understand anyone") it was a piece of cake! |
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