- Author
- 04/08/2017
- 630 Words
- 1,912 Views
- 16 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.
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 - 1. April 1 - April 8
The first week of NaPoWriMo 2017. The first flush of ideas.
April 1
To start
over again
means tentative gestures,
held-breath adventures to be sure
you're safe;
wary,
we will circle one another,
joyous in our pairing,
knowing a start
will end.
April 2
Truth stands fixed, feet planted squarely,
courteous with each welcome guest,
treating all attendees fairly;
Slim Desire in silk jacket dressed,
seductively sips fine Chardonnay,
better to leave the weak impressed;
Tawdry Deceit frowns, turns away,
refuses to take off his coat,
telling his kind host he won't stay;
Fearlessness, that sprouted wild oat,
puts on mismatched socks rarely
espied on an ankle of note;
I, Caution, creep off on cold feet
lest my dream lover and I meet.
April 3
1.
Slow ticking clock
and sloppy rain;
one imitates
the other's pain;
They give me much,
and naught I gain.
2.
Blue rain descends
in cold stone drops;
It draws curtains
on winter's act;
I wonder if
I should applaud?
April 4
Immigrant robins
sing liquid recitative
to the rising sun;
Shoveler ducks swim
head down in tight ellipses,
feeding on morning;
Red Wings flash their bright
bold epaulettes at the world,
heralds of the green.
April 5
Tempt me
with honeyed words,
intoxicate all sense,
and with your grace and artless gait
beguile;
drive mad
my heart by glimpses of your chest
and shoulders joined to nape,
all worshipping
your smile.
April 6
He sits on a plain blue metal chair
in a silent locker room.
Water drips somewhere behind a partition;
partially lit fluorescent lights hum.
He sits on a plain blue metal chair,
eyes fixed on a glowing screen,
breathing slowly;
his thumb twitching
He sits on a plain blue metal chair;
lips compressed, eyes shining,
hands search in pockets;
the sound of a blown nose
resonates off damp cinder blocks;
He sits in an empty space
with his hat on,
and tears on his face,
on a plain blue metal chair.
April 7
You'd best beware, my learned friend,
though cogitation you proclaim
is highest as a human aim
to which our intellects attend;
You may not earn the kind of fame
you hoped for as a nerdy youth
in frosty, frozen far Duluth,
by making research bear your name.
You always probed for deeper truth,
on contradiction you would seize,
and prove it using logic trees,
or other methods more uncouth.
So here's a thing to make you freeze
with sinking feeling in your gut;
a proper crisis, nothing but,
consider: you have lost your keys!
My absent minded science nut,
against this misery take care,
avoid a monumental scare,
and spare yourself fair Clotho's cut.
For I have stumbled in this snare,
turned house and closet inside out,
searched under bed and over snout
for keys that simply were not there.
But rescued from my panicked doubt
was I from an unhappy end
for my mechanic did forfend
disaster when he found them out.
April 8
I'm late preparing for a class,
distracted by your subtle smile,
the one which must my heart beguile
and pains to let the moment pass.
With you, I'd gladly dance a while,
more closely make our frames align,
your samba'd steps seducing mine,
to see the music out in style.
So might we tread these hours divine,
transporting us past evening's break,
where night will all our fears unmake,
and there our bodies intertwine.
And in that space my measure take,
by slow degrees perform anew
a choreography with you
to leave me yearning when I wake.
Thank you to tim, AC and Val for help, guidance and encouragement. And thanks to all who read and write poetry this month.
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9
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.
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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