Dinner Party

Have been working on the novel, but this very rough draft of a poem popped up tonight...

Dinner Party

We do not know the creatures

with whom we feast, not really,

using the correct fork,

keeping the napkins in our laps.

Underneath we pulsate like novas,

pant like fish out of water,

beat like drums before a sacrifice.

The temples of our bodies glow

with secrets that make us

as warm as the firelight.

We push down our wildness,

hold our raucous laughter in check,

drink wine with our pinkies up,

speak in soft tones about what, we will forget.

But underneath we are feral,

sniffing in the woods under a jaundiced moon,

gushing forth like waterfalls in spring.

We keep so much under wraps,

the good china of our souls,

the dust-covered boxes of our minds,

the birthmarks of our desires.

It is too much to lay bare

on this linen-covered table

surrounded by polite company,

so we serve ourselves up in sample portions only

and wonder why it is never enough.

Last day of April poems and thank you!

Day 30: I cannot believe it's here! Today is a free day to write on whatever we want. I just want to thank everyone who read and commented on my work. Your support gave me the push I needed to complete this challenge. Thanks to Poetic Asides and Writing Vein Playground and most especially to Read Write Poem for the various prompts. This has been a month to remember and I hope to keep poeming from time to time on this blog. A special thanks to National Poetry Month for making April such a magical time(:

A few poems today--the first loosely based on the RWP perfection prompt:

Perfect Insomnia

In the darkest hours of morning

those yet to be born

whisper in your beloved's breaths.

You count how many times

your heart beats

between the plaintive queries

of an owl.

A far off train's call takes you back

to wide awake childhood nights

safe under soft heavy blankets

watching the shadows

of passing cars on the wall.

You amble among more memories

as though on a walk in the woods,

finding daisies and bird feathers,

arrowheads and volcanic glass.

Seeing the clock numbers change

is like being able to time your wishes

to falling stars.

Your eyes do not feel heavy

until sunlight pierces

the slit between the curtains.

Only then do you surrender

to dreams.

And a haiku:

At the Museum

Cracked clay bowls, knives, combs

Still speak of people long gone

Dust under our feet

A cleave:

Awoken

Looking back I hear

So many words

magical spells whispered

being softly

awoken spoken

invoked truth

And an acrostic:

THANKS!

Thirty days of poetry cannot begin to say

How fun it's been to write and play

All of April has gone so fast

Now it's time to wrap up this last

Kick the cobwebs off the book

So farewell Napowrimo, so glad you took!

And Suddenly We Grew Brave

Day 29: Today's RWP prompt was to choose news headlines and work elements of them into a poem. I chose headlines from the science section (online) of The New York Times. They were:

Like Origami, Pollen Grains Fold Just So

The Search for Genes Leads to Unexpected Places

Found Alive: The Loch Ness Monster of the Northwest Prairie. Alas, it Disappoints.

I also used the Poetic Asides prompt, which was to begin the title of a poem with, "And Suddenly."

And Suddenly We Grew Brave

For many moons, we cowered in the tall grasses

Of our hearts, afraid.

Our truth was as elusive as the Loch Ness Monster,

So somewhere along the way we stopped looking.

We mastered the art of folding ourselves up

Into pleasing forms, like origami

And only unraveling on sleepless nights

Or in quiet rooms with the blinds drawn.

We were purposeless

as pollen grains carried by the wind.

And then one day the wind whispered words,

The echoes of our genes, stories from our ancestors

Long forgotten. We dug our hands into the earth

And drank falling rain. We doubted everything we

Had been taught and believed only what we felt.

We wondered again why we were here.

And we set out once more across

the vast prairies of fear,

millions of fireflies on a cloudy night.

This time we were not disappointed.

Road Trip

Day 28: Almost there! Followed the Poetic Asides prompt today, which was to write an end of the line poem. Here's one about not wanting to come to the end of the line...

Road Trip

Somewhere in Nevada,

Tumbleweeds racing along

Either side of us,

The desert wind robbing our breath,

No one ahead or behind for miles,

I turn to you with your sunscorched hair,

Sunglasses grazing your late afternoon stubble,

And say, “Let’s never stop.”

And you laugh and say,

“Ok.”

In Amish country, we counted carriages,

In Cincinnati, we sang our way

Up and down the dial.

In Kansas, we got homesick

For the jaggedness of NYC.

In New Mexico, we watched for UFOs.

And all along I enjoyed the ride.

But it is here in these great open spaces,

Sun set to broil,

Cacti reaching their prickly mitts

Toward each other,

Rushing toward the coast

Where you will leave and I will stay,

When I realize I don't want this trip to end.

One day many years from now,

I will be in a quiet room,

That you and I may or may not share,

And I will think of this moment.

I will not remember the nettles still stuck

In my shoe from our morning hike

Or the patch of sunburn on my right shoulder

Or even the Eagles song playing on the radio.

I will only remember

How I wished I could drive forever

On this road with you.

9/11/01

Day 27: Today's RWP prompt is to write an acrostic poem, using some word associated with us. Each letter of the word starts one line of the poem...

9/11/01

September for me meant sultry end-of-summer

Evenings, blushing leaves surrendering to breezes

Pinstripes making the diamond sparkle, headed for

The playoffs, amber-colored lights on the

Empire State at night, and planning things to do,

Making promises anew to make the most of every line,

Before that birthday when the towers fell.

Ever since, it's been as well a month for

Remembering those denied the gift of more time.

1

1

Playing with Fibs

Day 26: Feeling exhausted today. No prompts inspired me today so I decided to experiment with a short form called the Fib, where the syllable count is based on the Fibonacci Sequence in mathematics. It's a six-line, 20-syllable poem with a syllable count of 1/1/2/3/5/8:

Remember

I

know

you still

remember

no matter how you

try to show me you've forgotten.

Destiny

You

me

three words

wedding bells

till death do us part

it's not too late for destiny

Volcano

Steam

ash

lava

shooting high

before Earth breathes deep

and blows out its birthday candle

Muse

Day 25: Decided to use the Poetic Asides prompt today, which was to write a poem inspired by a song. Here's mine, inspired by When I Dream of Michelangelo by Counting Crows:

I wish I could dream

of Michelangelo

or at least of women

talking of him,

But when I awaken,

I futilely grab at fragments

like one who is drowning

reaches for air.

And when I gaze

at the waiting page,

I think perhaps the Muse

is not my friend

because there he goes

inspecting cracks

in the ceiling again.

Misunderstood

Day 24: I cannot believe it's Day 24! Today's post was to use the Phrase Finder website to inspire a poem. Lots of phrases and their derivations to choose from. A tough but interesting prompt...

Misunderstood

We are not amused

By the way you refuse

To laugh more quietly,

Stop talking back,

Accept our labels

For what you lack.

We will have no more

Idolizing ambitious bovines

Who insist on leaping

Over celestial signs.

Nor can we accept

the way you arrive

Signaling merrily

With lighthearted chimes.

Too often your p’s and q’s

Don’t pass the test

And your consumption

Of salt is alarming at best.

What’s more, you never keep

the black bird in sight,

when you finally show up you sing

of far green slopes and crimson night.

There’s nothing about you

That we can understand

So you’re on your own now.

Good luck in never-never land.

Napowrimo

Day 23: RWP suggests combining a speaker and event that normally don't go together. This may have been an obvious idea but I had fun with it(:

Napowrimo

Feeling dull around the edges, listless, uninspired? Have you run out of ways to describe your lover’s eyes? Do the stars just look like white dots in the sky? Do you see a hummingbird without even thinking about starting a haiku? As we get older, the stresses of too many Powerpoint presentations, e-mails, bills, minutes on hold, and unspoken words can radically reduce our levels of childlike wonder and imagination, increasing our risk for excessive literalness, old fogie-ness, fakeness, and even soullessness.

Now there’s Napowrimo, which has been proven in clinical trials to provide a sense of purpose, stimulate creativity glands, and dramatically increase levels of accomplishment. Napowrimo works by sending concentrated doses of alliteration, rhyme, and rhythm to the metaphorbellum, the part of our brains that makes things interesting. Just one dose a day for one month a year is all you need for tigers to Twitter and dragons to exhale clouds.

Check with your doctor before trying Napowrimo if your willpower is weak, you have poor internet access, are on vacation or are planning to go on vacation. Napowrimo is not for everyone. Do not use Napowrimo if you have never come to two roads diverging in a wood or are unmoved by the thought of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

In rare cases, serious allergic reactions have occurred. If you break out in hives or have trouble breathing while on Napowrimo, immediately step away from the keyboard and divert your mind by channel-surfing, working on a sudoku, or updating your status on Facebook.

Side effects include unwashed dishes, missing morning staff meetings, forgetting to eat lunch, listening to more rap music, unwatched YouTube videos, drowsiness, smiling for no apparent reason, and extended periods of self-indulgence. Alcohol may increase the potency of Napowrimo. If you experience a poetry-writing session lasting four hours or longer, seek medical assistance immediately or risk permanent damage to your ability to return to the ordinary.

Even if your outlook has improved, do not stop using Napowrimo until you’ve completed the entire course.

Remember it’s not too late to seek a newer world. Ask your doctor about Napowrimo today and see the world through saffron-scented, reverberating tendrils of unflinching fierceness.

Caution: Napowrimo can be habit-forming.

New York

Day 22: Today's RWP was a wordle, and we were encouraged to use one or all of the words in a poem. Here were the words: reverberate, rust, tomorrow, pepper, saffron, flinch, crow, emporium, squall, fierce, dizzy, tendril. I'd been meaning to write about NYC ever since seeing the Poetic Asides Day 12 prompt. Here goes:

New York

You never knew how well you could smell

until you walked these streets,

fresh ground pepper and saffron rice,

rain and urine,

incense and grass

all mixed up in a schizophrenic potpourri.

You find beauty in the oddest of places,

patterns of rust on light poles,

the magenta and green sheen of a pigeon's neck,

discarded fliers whirling

like dervishes in miniature squalls.

The reverberation of the approaching train

is as sweet as thunder on a hot day,

and you crow to your friends about

getting the last seat.

Everyone is fast and fierce

and it's two for flinching,

so you don't.

You make plans for tomorrow,

next week,

and five years from now,

all negotiable.

The days are an emporium of dreams

and the nights are living, breathing,

drawing you out with a million

tendrils of temptation.

You dance and lean in to hear

smiling strangers who touch your elbow

and ply you with drinks you've never heard of.

And when you make it home, you lie in bed,

dizzy and happy as a child

after a day at the carnival.

According to Their Years

Day 21: Had a tough time today. Ended up trying to combine the prompts from RWP (exploring flaws and perfection) and Poetic Asides (starting a poem with "according to"). Here's the first attempt:

According to Their Years

She is old. So is he.

They walk,

Brown spotted hand in

Varicose-veined one,

Crackling leaves

Under sensible shoes.

Her blue eyes are milky now,

The skin between her fingers rough.

He cannot wrap his hands completely

Round her waist like when they met.

There is a limp in his gait,

More hair in his beard than on his head.

He can’t hear her

whispering in his ear anymore.

But according to their eyes

the one that walks beside them

is a mirror,

the only one either wants

to look at anymore,

because each reflects the other's

perfection.

343

Day 20: RWP asks us to write about heroes. I automatically think of the brave firefighters who rushed to the Twin Towers on 9/11/01. These haikus are for them...

Rushing up the stairs

as the towers crumbled down

taken by angels

Your brave sweet faces

smiling from shiny red trucks

like the phantom lights

Delicious

Day 19: RWP asks us to write a poem about a light-bulb moment. This effort might not be exactly on prompt but it's about the same feeling. Am thinking I may have poetry for a midnight snack(;

Delicious

Poetry shifts the senses

like first love

or a shot of tequila

after too much red wine.

You eat roses for breakfast

and spoon clouds into your tea.

Trees sing of the bodies

pressed against them,

bare limbs reawakening.

Knots untie themselves

Pie crusts roll themselves out

Letters long lost find their way home

You drift through days

with the pulsing luminosity

of jellyfish

and realize you have synesthesia

the same way you realize

you have been hungry your entire life

Sunlight smells like your mother's hair

The moon on the waves sounds like sax music

Your lover's voice looks like fireworks

In a dream you put a poem in the microwave

Awaken, fumble for the light

and find it waiting for you

warm, ready,

and delicious.

Love is a Tiger

Day 18: Hanging in there. Today's RWP is to write a poem about a member of the cat family, big or small(; I thought I'd practice the cleave:

Love is a Tiger

Love is a tiger,

fierce, going for the kill

the bite on the neck is brutally

passionate attacking the jugular

with no thought no hesitation

just the desire for a moment

of life free of regret

On the Pier

Day 17: RWP asks us to write a poem about one of the elements: water, fire, earth, or wind.

On the Pier

Wind on our faces,

standing at the pier,

watching the surfers

ride waves and fall.

We push words deep down

in our pockets, avoid looking

at each other, as if our faces

were suns, hot with a fire

we were never taught not

to play with.

I am eating a popsicle that

is too cold, crunching ice

between my teeth when

you take my hand

the first time.

Even the earth beneath me

trembled a little then,

I know it did.

Rose and Saffron

Day 16: The RWP prompt is to free-write on a scent and use the images to start a poem. Smells evoke strong memories for me so I like this prompt--here are a couple of haikus inspired by it. Hope to use it for a longer work later...

Rose

Crushed, crisp-petalled bloom,

improperly preserved like

all those memories

Saffron

Pujaris marking

idols in yellow powder

Gentle scent of prayer

The Lighthouse Keeper

Day 15: Here is a poem based on the Day 9 RWP prompt, which I skipped. The task was to:

*Use at least twelve words from this list: flap, winter, torch, pail, jug, strum, lever, massage, octopus, marionette, stow, pumice, rug, jam, limp, campfire, startle, wattle, bruise, chimney, tome, talon, fringe, walker;

*Include something that tastes terrible;

*Include some part (from a few words to several lines) of a previous poem that didn’t quite pan out; and

* Include a sound that makes you happy.

Write a poem!

The Lighthouse Keeper

Winter is the hardest,

The long, cold climb with the torch.

It is not just the limp now

But age too that slows him down.

The ocean beckons him like a woman dancing,

All undulating curves.

His beam runs slowly back and forth like a caress.

Once before the war,

Still too young for anything but mischief,

he stowed away on a luxury boat.

Sneaking up to deck one night,

He saw a beautiful girl throw a bottle to the waves.

He dreams of that bottle washing up on his shore now.

A flap of wings startles him.

His arm smacks into a wall

Hard enough to leave a bruise.

A pair of puffins circle over his head,

He opens a glass panel and sets them free.

In one of the mirrors, he sees

his chew-stained beard,

gnarled as an old rug,

He massages the wattle underneath

with hands as rough as pumice.

“Where’d you go?” he asks out loud,

hearing only the rapturous sighs of the sea.

On the waves, the light keeps

searching

for someone to save.

And far below,

an octopus wraps tentacles

around shards of glass.

Precious

Day 14: RWP asks us to do a cleave poem today. It's supposed to read as two separate poems vertically and another poem horizontally. Tough! Here is my first, very short attempt. Might try another one later...

Precious

Standing alone on deck, he thinks of those

buried somewhere far beneath him, precious as the stars

the treasure that no one tries to find

A poem starting with a line from Norman Dubie

Day 13: RWP wants us to use a line by the poet Norman Dubie to jumpstart a poem. I tried two:

The Persistence of Prayer (A poem starting with a line from Norman Dubie)

His chapel fell into flowers long ago

But prayers still hover above the ground

like mist, whispering to tree frogs and dandelions

and searching for masters

who now kneel on higher ground.

Once (A poem starting with a line from Norman Dubie)

My favorite pastime has become the imaginary destruction of flowers.

I dream of eating them petal by petal, like artichokes with butter,

letting the softness linger in my throat like a lozenge,

before swallowing.

Once

I consumed him the same way

but his kisses are too distant now for fantasy,

their memory dissipates like a reflection in disturbed water.

The roses always come back though, no matter what mistakes I make,

opening themselves to me like he never would.

Xenoglossy

Day 12: Bonus poem--another one that I think somewhat fits today's prompt:

Xenoglossy

I woke this morning knowing French,

And now as I drive the freeway

Listening to a book on tape,

I feel Dutch enter through my left ear,

Tagalog inching its way up my right calf.

German makes a beeline up my spine,

While Arabic traces along my fingers.

By the time I get to work,

My stomach is the Rosetta stone,

And I cannot keep down my coffee.

I Google for answers

As Urdu tickles my ribs

And Italian caresses my collarbone.

I find a case or two

Of language coming

Unbidden

Into a mind.

But nothing like this,

This invasion of the body

by conjugated verbs,

Accents and inflections,

Formal and familiar.

Yiddish taps insistently on my temples,

While Pig Latin sidles up a nostril,

Eskimo’s 32 words for snow

Filling my eyes like tears.

I fumble for the phone but it’s too late,

A thousand tribal tongues are beating in my heart,

Cherokee, Pygmy, Mohican, Semai,

I try to scream

But all that comes out is a garbled mess of

Swedish and Gujarati,

Swahili and Portuguese.

My coworkers speak to me,

But their words are like triangles

In a symphony.

And all at once it’s over.

It’s all inside me,

Every human language, living or dead.

I know thousands of words for love.

I know words for things I have never seen,

Ideas I will never understand.

I break into gestures,

Turning to an officemate

I know has a deaf son.

They rush me to the hospital

But there is no cure.

Doctors and psychologists

visit from far and wide

To examine me.

Reporters try to discredit me.

Pilgrims from all over the world

Come to hear me speak their language.

But at night I am always alone,

So I sing to myself in Japanese,

Chant prayers in Sanskrit,

Tell myself jokes in Moroccan,

And write the most beautiful poetry

No one can understand.

Have You Ever Seen?

Day 12: Today's RWP prompt is about secret codes and unlikely messengers. Made me think of a little game I play sometimes to pass the time. Thanks so much to all who've made comments on my work--I'm not used to writing poetry every day and definitely not used to sharing it, so they're much appreciated!

Have You Ever Seen?

Flying blue poodles playing ukeleles

Leprechauns scaling redwood trees,

Fountain pens pirouetting atop wedding cakes,

An octopus riding a bike on the beach.

Cherubim opening stars with crystal keys,

Grape vines sprouting Rocquefort cheese,

Big-horned sheep bungee jumping from peaks,

Prufrock in blue jeans eating a peach.

Candles line dancing on confetti seas.

Wild geese drinking life to the lees.

Jasmine falling from malachite clouds,

The end of the rainbow just within reach.

Have you ever seen it?

Did you stop and stare?

Or were you too caught up in your reality

To even be aware.

The Concert

Day 11: RWP prompt is to write about a choice you didn't make. Started out writing free verse but the rhymes kind of took over...

The Concert

I know you don’t remember asking,

You may not remember me,

But I wish I’d gone to that concert with you,

I wish I had that memory.

Nothing would be different,

At least nothing plain to the eye,

We would not have gotten married,

We would still have said goodbye.

You had a girlfriend after all,

Though we saw each other every day.

Nothing was better than making you laugh,

But I could never say

All the things I wanted to,

It simply wasn’t right.

Still I wish we’d shared good music

Together, if only for one night.

Celebration Lovers Anonymous

Day 10: RWP suggested writing about a celebration...

Celebration Lovers Anonymous

Hello my name is Julie

And I’m a celebration-aholic.

Maybe it started with my first sip

Of champagne on New Year’s Eve.

At age 7, I drank the glass down all at once

the way I’d seen them do in movies,

My parents were horrified.

Then there was the candle

Atop my first birthday cake,

What’s more addictive than the promise

Of a granted wish.

The completion of an AP History exam

Meant pepperoni pizza, a rare treat indeed

For a vegetarian.

At my first job, we stood on our desks

And sang along with the radio after deadlines,

Our boss already out the door.

By the time I saw the big balloons on Thanksgiving,

I was totally hooked.

Marching bands, floats, red-nosed clowns,

I got high on them all.

My friends tried an intervention at the Millennium,

But I went to Times Square anyway,

Letting confetti cover me like snowflakes

As the ball dropped.

I’ll be honest, I don’t want to get help.

No, I plan to party until the end,

To go out in a burst of fireworks

or a pile-up of ticker-tape,

Laughing myself into the next life.

Journey

Day 9: Off-prompt today in honor of my Dad's birthday:

Journey

You have traveled far

From the hills of Balaram

To the capitals of Europe

To the golden shores

of your manifest destiny

Soles of your feet hard as rock,

Suitcase stuffed with photos.

But memory is elastic.

It stretches with each face,

Each name, each moment

Of breathless awe

At the foot of mountains

Or in the face of stars.

May your journey never end.

Trick Candle

Day 8: RWP suggests another love poem today, using unusual metaphors:

Trick Candle

Painting perfect

picture of my birthday

Your arms wrapped

tight around me

Cliffside lighthouse,

Cobalt blue waves,

Starfish-strewn sands,

and clouds kayaking

Across a placid sky.

In the liquid glass light

I look happy, so do you.

There with the world

laid out behind us

everything seemed

so right, so new.

But you turned out to be

a trick birthday candle

that still won't go out,

a wish that refused to come true.

Even Now

Day 7: RWP prompt--humorous 5-line love poem:

Even Now

Spitting cherry seeds
out the window of your car
laughter reaching out
like the endless road ahead
even now it makes me smile

Mermaid

Day 6: RWP prompt was to look at a picture that you use for inspiration and use images and ideas from it in a poem. Wish I could scan the picture but am on the road. Will try to do it later...

Mermaid

If only I could be so focused.
Her long, tangled tresses
have the beautiful disarray
of brain synapses.
Her tail is a rippling lake
reflecting falling stars.
Her face glows with the gentle fierceness
Of creation
as she gazes at the baby in a bubble
floating between her cupped hands.

If only my light would shine like hers,
make even the murkiest of places
nothing to fear.
If only a rainbow garden grew
out of whatever I planted.

When I asked my parents how I was born
They said they prayed for a daughter.
If only that's all it took.
If only life could be conjured like poetry,
my power to create subject only
to my strength of purpose

and the promise of grace,
not the slipperiness of love.

Name

Day 5: RWP suggested personifying poetry. Liked this prompt--might try another take later if I have time:

Name

He is a lover

who doesn’t come over for months sometimes

No matter how much I long for him.

He appears without warning,

Saunters in, tosses off his hat,

Grabs me by the arms,

Pushes me up against the wall

And takes me,

So fast and sure

it’s only after

He leaves without so much

as a sideways glance, I realize

I forgot again

To ask him his name.

Junk Drawers

Day 4: I kind of combined today's prompts from readwritepoem.org and the Writing Vein Playground blog for this one. Wish I had more time to spend on these, but here's a start:

Junk Drawers

I keep many things I don’t have to.

The plastic ring the first boy I liked

won me at the school carnival.

The cowrie shell-covered change purse

where I stored perfume samples

that came with my mother’s Christmas gifts,

amber ampules of elegance.

The first bankbook I ever had,

when $314 seemed enough for college.

I keep the compliments

from the Christmas party

when I wore the red velvet dress.

The words he whispered to me

before I drove away the last time.

The wind on my face

on the swing in that deserted park,

when nothing was certain

except the grace of falling leaves.

Empty out my junk drawers

and you empty out me.

Us

Day 3: Today's readwritepoem.org prompt was to write about something that scares us.

Us

I cannot imagine a world without magic.

No bouquet of flowers pulled from sleeves,

no coins appearing from behind an ear,

no rabbit pulled out of a black silk hat.

You are rational, analytical, always looking

for the secret.

I dread the day you find out

I'm only an act.

Rain Water Pipe

Day 2: The prompt suggested using a meaning from Acronym Attic for the letters RWP. Another tough one:

Rain Water Pipe

After five years they made her let go

of his socks, his aftershave,

the work papers she read at night sometimes

when it was too cold to sleep alone.

His handwriting comforted her

even if the formulas were gibberish.

She could never bear to read

the love letters they let her keep.

They even replaced the leaky rain water pipe

he’d insisted on installing himself,

though she begged them not to.

Now her home is filled

with juicers and grills

and closet organizers she can never find,

clothes she never wears,

books she never reads.

And no one ever comes

to take it all away.