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    Parker Owens
  • Parker Owens
  • Author
  • 04/15/2017
  • 612 Words
  • 1,166 Views
  • 18 Comments
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Parker's NaPoWriMo 2017 - 2. April 9 through April 15

Deep thanks to Val for prompts, most of which I used this week. Val and AC provided invaluable insights, which I very much appreciate. Of course, I made all the mistakes.

April 9

I made
each and every
one of you, gave you breath,
sustained your hideous sprouting
upwards;
please stop
staring at me with hungry eyes,
as if to devour
me for letting
you be.

Again and again,
one time after another,
I can't seem to stop.

The light
is still burning;
I mixed the batter wrong,
and I forgot to save the last
receipt;
writing,
I routinely transpose numbers
and misuse semi-colons;
yet you forgive
mistakes.


April 10

A is for Aconite, bright in the snow,
B is Brunnera, to start it is slow,
C is for Crocus, the symbol of spring,
D is Dentaria, making hearts sing,
E Erythronium, dog-tooth to some,
F is Forsythia, cheerful to come
G is for Garlic, a-sprout in the grass,
H is Herb Robert, in rocky crevasse,
I is for Iris, with bloom like the sky,
J is for Jack-in-the-Pulpit so shy,
K is for Knawel, a small prostrate weed,
L is for Lamium, spreading indeed,
M is May Apple, as yet to unfold,
N is Narcissus, so sunny and bold,
O is Oregano, wild past belief,
P is for Privet, already in leaf,
Q is for Quince, growing green in the twig,
R Rhododendron, with buds swelling big,
S is for Snowdrop, it's bloom white and good,
T is for Trillium, queen of the wood,
U is for Urtica, nettles which burn,
V is for Vinca to make the soul yearn,
W Windflowers nod in the breeze,
But nothing I grow starts with x, y's or z's;
So welcome, my friend, to my garden this day,
and in the sweet sunshine, I'll ask you to stay.


April 11

Hushed words,
silvered romance,
moon kissed encouragement,
shimmering pleas for more caress
your ear;
like me,
they kiss down your neck and jawline,
seeking the intimate
privilege of
entrance.


April 12

At One AM the tide is high,
the harvest moon swings in the sky
and lonely is my pillowed rest,
my wakeful mind does not know why.

At Six, the moon is in the west,
my prayers and oaths are all addressed,
but answers none before me rise,
no love to lie upon my chest.

At three-sixteen my cell phone cries,
I answer, but the power dies,
and in despair my luck I curse;
from me there will be no replies.

Late evening next, at moon's rehearse,
upon my door a knocking, terse;
it's you come to my threshold nigh,
to make my lovelessness disperse.


April 13

I watched deer and wolves conversing brightly over martinis at the bar, which was covered with oysters and oranges. St. Clement's bells rang too loud for the lemon-faced politician on screen. Shots of eighty-proof calculus, lined up like soldiers, paraded and saluted the dawn breaking the front window into a million pieces; and in the back room, the lamb and lion were up to something.


April 14

I rue your asking me in,
bemoan the idle games played; basketball under April sun,
and repent of teen chatter.

I sigh at basement poker
played for steadily rising stakes until you lost your shirt;
I lost my head by winning.

I regret fingers on skin,
bewail breathless suppressed excitement, cool air and warm breath;
hate my rush, your insistence;

I wish you never taught me
about unsuspected and indescribable pleasure
or self-loathing at sunrise.


April 15

High alto-cirrus
creep in across azure skies
predicting warm rains.

Low, deep grey stratus
unroll over hill and vale
blanketing the spring.

Towering nimbus,
anvil-headed, great with sound,
warn of wrath to come.

Ragged cumulus
breaks into trailing pieces
of seasons changing.

Leave a comment or review if you feel so inclined.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
  • Like 7
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

Parker Owens
17 minutes ago, Valkyrie said:

Yet another great selection, Parker. :hug: April 11th and 12th both stood out to me.  I loved the absurd poem.  I liked the gardening ones too.  I'm death to plants, so don't have much of a garden, myself.  lol 

 

The Abecedarian kind of poem really appeals, and can convey a sort of innocence. Quite unlike April 11, which is a more, um, adult fantasy. Thank you so much for reading these, and for your thoughts.

  • Like 2
AC Benus

April 13th had me scrambling for "Saint Clement's bells" and then savoring the richness of the integration of your poem. I enjoyed it in ignorance first, then marveled at your skill as my knowledge deepened. 

 

Anvil-headed clouds....wow! That little poem is a masterful display of poetics. 

 

A powerful week altogether, my friend. 

Edited by AC Benus
  • Like 3
Parker Owens
4 hours ago, AC Benus said:

Such poetic richness here. The first part of Aril 9th strikes me deeply - the little sprouts of your garden looking to you for a reason they exist. It strikes me because it's arguably God's POV looking at us....everyone of us a greedy little face beseeching 'why' to an overwhelmed (and perhaps hapless) Gardner. 

 

 

 

It turned out to be harder than expected to find examples of what is now growing in my garden. There is just so much right now! Your thought about God and greedy little face is apt...for each of them has a name.

Parker Owens
4 hours ago, AC Benus said:

April 12th....such a masterful command of Frost's Rubaiyat form...so much more accomplished than my attempts with the form. I love the progress of the day, even though it's mostly desolate. It ends well, and that's what should matter to anyone of our days, right? 

 

Each hour felt unhappy, empty, without the one yearned for, the one who completes the storyteller. But what happens after is another poem.

Parker Owens
4 hours ago, AC Benus said:

April 13th had me scrambling for "Saint Clement's bells" and then savoring the richness of the integration of you poem. I enjoyed it in ignorance first, then marveled at your skill as my knowledge deepened. 

 

Anvil-headed clouds....wow! That little poem is a masterful display of poetics. 

 

A powerful week altogether, my friend. 

 

I am so glad you liked Anvil-headed clouds. That image waited for all the rest to coalesce around it. And St Clements bells was a fun romp...

Defiance19
On April 17, 2017 at 3:23 PM, AC Benus said:

April 13th had me scrambling for "Saint Clement's bells" and then savoring the richness of the integration of your poem. I enjoyed it in ignorance first, then marveled at your skill as my knowledge deepened. 

 

Anvil-headed clouds....wow! That little poem is a masterful display of poetics. 

 

A powerful week altogether, my friend. 

See, then I read this and get why AC savoured it but now I want the knowledge that escaped me. 

  • Like 1
Parker Owens
On 4/19/2017 at 1:34 PM, Defiance19 said:

I can't tell you exactly why I loved the poem for April 13. I read it over and over and it got inside me more each time. The offering for April 11 made me go 'mmm' and your regrets brought a touch of sadness.. 

Another great set of poems Parker. I thank you. 

 

Mostly, April 13 was meant to have images and ideas which overlapped...martinis at a bar, but there is such a thing as an oyster bar...oranges as in juice bar, overlaps with the old nursery rhyme...and so on. If it works at becoming absurd while making a teensy bit of sense, then I hope to have followed the prompt correctly. Thanks so much for reading my little scribbles...

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