NaPoWriMo: Day #25

25 Apr

Hey guys! I am so sorry I wasn’t able to post any poems for mostly all of NaPoWriMo! I hope to do much better next year! I had finals and shows I was playing all these past two weeks with my band that gave me zero free time… But now that’s all over for the time being, and I am going to try to send this last week off with a bang. So I wrote a poem for yesterday… and then my computer died… And my boyfriend had my charger.. So I’ll give you the one from yesterday today, and another will come later on. I wrote it for the anagram prompt.

Self Portrait

I inhale

My mouth

An inlet.

 

I am thin

Like the warmth of a fire on a hot night.

I have gone here to my outer limbs

To the rim of myself

To feel full again.

 

I am opening

A lion laid out on a table for dissection.

Will you be the teller of my stories

When silence bites my lips?

When a moth flies in on a breeze

Through my teeth

And molts its wings?

 

I hinge on belting all my blame

At the eyes on the metro.

Relighting my guilt and rambling forward.

Heel to heel I count the lengths between us

And wonder

When will it be a long time?

 

Time to know who I am without supports

Trembling naked without a bra.

 

Will I ever be legible enough to you

For you to know the words

That leave me hanging by my toes?

Like a heron perched at the top of a dive?

 

Here I am behind bars.

Afraid to leave home.

 

Could you turn for a moment

And rip the brambles from my feet?

 

 

NaPoWriMo: Day #11

11 Apr

I missed days seven and eight. So  I made up for it with three little poems. I don’t really knows if that counts… But who’s counting?

 

Vincent Van Gogh

 

The night sky was blue.

He began to dream of stars.

 

His dreams painted him.

 

Once, his dreams became finite

And he fell into the field.

 

Joan Miró

 

He boldly drew it

Between the sky and the ground.

The escape ladder.

 

They stopped him on the border

And he stared them in the eyes.

 

Yves Tanguy

 

War had awoken

A deadened piece of himself.

Reality walked.

Slowly he went to the north

To reassemble the world.

NaPoWriMo: Day #10

10 Apr

Nights Like These

 

The city sways.

 

Nodding sleepless to the pounding headache rhythm.

 

Tires scrape sideways on twisted frames under the half empty moon.

 

On nights like these,

The boys chase the girls back to their windowsills

A little too far behind

And the wind wipes the specks of night blue from their eyes.

 

On nights like these,

I feel like cacao beans and the lines of an abstract painting, carving me into the grounds left at the bottom of the cup. My life is a comma. A pregnant pause. The gorgeous, hollow ache.

 

On nights like these,

The sun sprints across the sky, falling heavily on weary limbs.

And the men talk of how domes look like breasts, and women peel the skin from mangoes.

And I remember how I loved him.

 

On nights like these,

We would run through the city

We were together the tracks of trains, always careening in the same direction

Almost colliding nebulas

I was in my own galaxy

Watching the streetlight stars dance.

 

On nights like these,

We would listen to the music of the lights

Buzzing softly

We were together the conductors of trains, of symphonies.

Almost colliding harmonies

Never quite finding an ending note.

 

On nights like these,

I remember how I loved him.

And love was a long night

Skipping stones across the empty expanse.

Measuring the distance.

NaPoWriMo: Day #9

9 Apr

Tempest

 

The wind runs through this valley

As if the mountains are a flute.

 

From the eye

It is yet calm.

 

Storms form behind the eyes

Before seizing the surface in an instant

For themselves.

 

If we were behind the eyes

Would we hear the sounds?

 

Would they crash in our ears

Like the point at which two oceans collide?

A cascade of notes

Pulled from the breath of the sea spray.

 

The clouds mute the colors of the city

So we cannot hear them anymore.

 

Hush, hush, hush.

The tires of a car on a quiet street.

 

Listen, listen, listen.

The tires of a bicycle sliding past.

 

The songs do not last long enough to be finished.

Although the calm is fleeting

The tempest is but flitting by.

 

 

NaPoWriMo: Day #6

6 Apr

A Valediction

 

When I am miles away

in the dark

and the sky becomes too crowded

with tears

to see the stars anymore

 

I will think of the day on the hill

And remember your eyes.

 

They were windows to the sky

As if you were floating there

Held by the surface tension

Of the atmosphere.

 

I will think of the day on the hill

And remember your hands.

 

They were flowing river deltas

Wandering up the creases of my elbows

To my temples.

 

A kiss of rain on my desert.

 

And I will remember your heart

Slowly composing a symphony

With the warmth

The wind blew in from the sun.

 

I am miles away

In the dark.

NaPoWriMo: Day #5

6 Apr

Sorry for not posting again yesterday.  I’m finding it to be a challenge just to find the time in my day to even make a post. But luckily, I did write another poem yesterday to share with you. This whole process thus far has been very frustrating for me because my poetry feels rushed and weak in many areas. It is certainly not my best work, and it’s hard  to put that work on the internet where everyone can see it. It’s highly exposing. But, even only six days in, I’ve found the experience to be very rewarding because it has pushed me to be more creative and take risks with my writing which I usually wouldn’t take. I can spend months pouring over a few poems, tweaking. Sometimes, I find it hard to write at all. I’ve been suffering from bouts of writing block for a few years now, and I really want to be able to get past them. And actually, I’ve been surprised with myself in that I have any quality content at all. I was worried nothing at all would come to mind, and yet it does. So thanks NaPoWriMo. Thanks for letting me read so much amazing poetry from all the participants and hopefully we’ll all arrive at a new place by the end.

So without further ado:

Movement in Stillness

 

I sit at the train station

Underneath the streetlamp at the end.

The wind rushes in my ears

As the trains soar forward

To a hesitant rhythm.

 

Feet click past

The swish of a coat

The swing of a purse

A flock of pigeons.

 

The gravity of movement propels me

Forward and around

To look at myself

A still point.

 

I wonder how long it will take

For me to crumble

Back into the pieces

I built myself from.

 

The rain falls heavy to the ground

The sky is tired.

The world is grey

And yet more rich in color.

 

I wonder if I will wash away

Or if I will become a glassy puddle

Only disturbed by

These hesitant rhythms.

 

NaPoWriMo: Day 4

4 Apr

I St. & 12th Ave.

 

The falcons nest here.

 

The sky pours through the cracks in the grove like oil

Sitting neatly on top.

What is the space between?

 

The soil puckers to taste the space

But cracks and crumbles back

Into itself.

 

The sky is bold to hug a thing

So decrepit.

 

The young come

To forget themselves.

 

The old come

To remember.

 

We are all travelers

Behind glass.

 

One space removed.

A pause.

 

Insects crawl through the ivy.

Can we leave our layers behind

Just for the space

Of a pause?

 

Can we look into each other’s eyes

And see the sky

And feel grounded

And not

 

Alone?

 

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