April Musings - 13. NaPoWriMo 2017 Week Three

Day 14

The Prompt is to write some absurdist prose poems.

Travelling one day, I encountered a three-headed duck with one leg hopping ahead of me. Intrigued, I followed it to see where it might lead. Its feathers were plain in comparison to the multi-colored stones littering the road before us, a perfect accompaniment to the flowing hues of the water, as it ebbed and flowed like refracted light through a prism.

It stopped abruptly, one head turning toward me in annoyance, while the middle head stared steadfastly forward, and the third preened. “What the quack is your problem?” it asked. I stared, wondering how birds manipulated their tongues and vocal cords to speak. “No problem,” I replied. “I was just curious about you.” It rolled its eyes as the middle head ducked in silent laughter and the third continued to dig through layers of brown tinged with white and blue. “Odd ducks have the right to exist too, ya know.” “Indeed,” I replied. “I’ve always been fascinated by that which is different.” “Well, find your own path. This one is taken.” All three heads now faced forward as it resumed its quest. I bid it farewell as I returned the way I came. “What the quack just happened?”

Days 15 and 16

Renga poem. A collaborative poem written by Valkyrie, MacGreg, Lyssa, Aditus, and Parker Owens, in that order. So the first and sixth stanzas were written by me on two separate days.

Frozen heart and river
unleashed by spring
obliterating winter.

Through strength of eternal sun,
A fresh journey has begun.

A trickling, a swelling
growing determined,
breaking your resistance.

Blue and green surmount cold stone
silver fish swims all alone.

Swept away by April's
ardent, boisterous dance,

a still pool welcomes you.

Circles concentric appear

signaling you, love, are near.

Ancient trees bend boughs

in yearning, scraping mud and moss

to ease Hope's path.

Encased by thousand sun rays
It flies down all hidden ways.

Its light a beacon

to overcome the maze

of denial and fear.

Dappled, dancing, swimming free,
supple spirit, come to me.

Day 17

The prompt is to write about angels — directly, obliquely, humorously, mockingly or however. Just let an angel somehow into your poem.

Easter Angel

Our traditions died with you.

No more Good Friday fish fries

With scallops for you and sugar cookies for dessert.

No more Easter morning brunch

Or plastic eggs containing hidden treasures,

One always left to be found and

Laughed about in summer.

Our celebration ended early yesterday,

Halted by headaches and

Pining for the past.

A rainbow appeared through a sunshower

As I entered my car and I felt compelled

To take a different way home,

Past the graveyard containing you,

Making you part of our celebration after all.

Day 18

The Prompt is to write a Ghost Letter, a poem-letter, addressing directly someone who is no longer among the living.

Every body tells a story,

And yours is a novel, or more like an epic poem—

Full of beauty and tragedy.

You took pride in your appearance,

With manicured nails despite the

Calloused hands that tell me

The perfect ratio of body fat to muscle

Wasn’t earned in the gym.

What’s left of your dark hair

Was cut in the latest trend,

And the tattoo of an eagle clutching a ribbon

With a name etched on it—a red heart on either side—

Tells of your wild side.

It took me a while to piece together the letters.

H-e-n-r-y

Was he your son?

Father?

Lover?

The other tattoo—a rainbow over an equal sign—

Leads me to believe the latter.

Your clean liver tells me that any alcohol consumption

Was occasional,

And your heart was average size and weight

With no arterial disease,

As would be expected for a man your age.

Your brain was otherwise healthy,

Despite the pool of blood in the meninges

Which indicates death was not instantaneous.

Your bronze skin and creases around your

Brilliant blue eyes tell of a life lived outdoors.

Your body tells me so much about how you lived,

But nothing about who you were.

Did you love with abandon?

Did your pride in your appearance translate

To an overinflated ego?

Was your heart as pure on the outside

As it was on the inside?

I feel like I know your killer

Better than I know you.

Shallow cuts make way for deeper intrusions.

Fifty of them to be exact.

So hesitation gives way to uncontrollable rage.

What happened to provoke such anger and hatred?

I can only imagine the fear, helplessness, and pain

You had to endure during this monstrous attack.

I had a hard time finding all the wounds

Underneath your bruised flesh.

I’ve been doing this job for a long time

And am rarely affected by the atrocities I see,

Yet you break my heart.

I can only hope that the evidence I collect

Helps bring your killer to justice

Before he strikes again.

I vow to speak for you in whatever way I can

To make that happen.

Day 19

Write a poem made up of suggestions (real or absurd) for appropriate manners or behavior in specific situations. You might talk about being taught manners. Or you might simply entitle your poem “Manners” and go somewhere unexpected.

But in some countries,

Not burping after a meal

Is considered rude.

Day 20

A rhyming couplet in honor of Aditus’ promotion.

Maroon, not purple, is your due,

Congratulations, all for you!