Parker's NaPoWriMo 2017 - 4. April 23 - 31

April 23

I.
I shift to move into the light
and hold at bay encroaching night,
yet ere I go to darkness blue,
some questions would I put to flight:

I'd like to know if it was true
of what I guessed, but never knew,
was something which we might have shared,
a deeper bond 'twixt me and you?

Was it the stars which blindly erred,
misfortune leaving us unspared,
to separate two boys confused,
who might their Rubicon have dared?

Why were my daydreams disabused,
our music silent, unenthused;
what chapter did we fail to write,
with words and actions gone unused?

II.
Questions
before nightfall
entail mundane matters
of place, time, dining, dress, phone and
transport;
make such
queries and consultations now,
before passion's pleading
obscures any
reply.

April 24

I swim in a lake of corrosive;
the acid is really quite nice,
though often it makes me morosive,
my arteries harden to ice.
Condemned not as heretic, sinful,
or someone inherently mad,
just making mistakes by the brimful
construed me as dreadfully bad.
Saint Peter was awfully pleasant
as gently he turned me away,
"Come back when you'd like to be present,"
was all that he needed to say.
Unworthy was I to be holy,
my spinelessness surely indicts;
each lousy decision so slowly
excluded me from heaven's sights.
Descending to blazes infernal
with demons and devils to bide,
I rued my emissions nocturnal,
for Dante would give me no ride.
So here in the brimstone I swelter,
in sulfurous fumes I'll retire;
and if you should ever need shelter,
I'll save you a seat by the fire.

April 25

Random Pleasures

I.
Deep red Barolo;
suffused candlelight glimmers
orange and ruby;
chocolate and tobacco
excite both nose and palate.

II.
Knotty equations,
partial derivatives in
five variables,
solving difficult problems
in construction engineering.

III.
New-sprouted lettuce,
bright green against black-brown earth,
stretches out toward spring sun,
promising early salads
and laughter at midsummer.

April 26

I.
Birdsong
clocks my waking:
Robins before sunrise,
Chickadees sing out "hey sweetie"
at dawn;
Phoebes
claim rights over the yard at eight;
Kingfishers chat at noon;
and Wrens churr at
twilight.

II.
I watch
slow-walking time
creep around, tick by tock,
laughing at me with his buddy,
boredom;
neither understands that this study hall
is exquisite torture
for active minds
and thoughts.

April 27

Perhaps is such a terrifying word,
uncertainty from every letter hangs
and all unknowing it will undergird,
exacerbating tension's awful pangs.
Perhaps may amplify one's terrors black,
suggesting to your frail unconscious mind
the vague details of portent one might lack
without objective data there to find.
Perhaps can check the all-impetuous heart,
or still the hand that hastens to caress,
and spoil the careful craftsman's fairest art,
make silent all the words one might express.
Perhaps today I'll find sufficient spine
to kiss, to hold, perhaps to make you mine.

April 28

From my bus window
I see a million shades of green,
thousands of fruit trees dressed in pink and white,
hundreds of black-on-white route markers,
fifty cars waiting to exit by the airport,
twenty brassy, boastful redwing blackbirds
four possible directions at the stop sign,
three boats drifting in the canal,
two lovers beneath a tree,
a single smile awaiting my return.

April 29

I am encrypted man, you could not read
the hidden words imprinted on my soul,
such bits and bytes as made my psyche whole,
for true Arcanum Hominem I bleed.
My shadowed self was coded, you would need
the keypad combination just to troll
emotions which I kept in tight control,
enciphered so intruders I'd mislead.
But somehow you have cracked my deep defense
to penetrate my networks by your art,
and plumb my depths to touch my inmost sense,
my firewalls and servers torn apart;
so let us with all secrecy dispense,
for I would have you overwrite my heart.

April 30

The daylight fades and dusk falls fast
and soon Orion's cohort vast
must fill with song the starry sphere
ere I would hold you at the last.

You have no need to shed a tear,
for though this life I hold so dear
may end tomorrow afternoon,
I know you hold my spirit near.

Be still beneath the rising moon,
give ear to valediction's tune,
a blessing from that distant isle,
to which I may be going soon.

So be at peace and without guile,
share hugs in joy or test or trial,
let love all times and folk recast
as shadowed visions of my smile.

April 31

An empty heart will never beat as fast
as drums which beat delirious and free
or wings of certain birds you hardly see,
for all its liveliness is surely past,
its optimism vacant, spent, downcast
and destitute of argument or plea,
the mind a treeless scrubland full of scree,
a hollow, blank lacuna, void and vast.
If such a heart could make itself to feel,
perchance to sense a momentary pain;
an ache, perhaps; discomfort at a meal,
or even some annoyance for the brain;
then hope remains, and nothing will conceal
the spring that spurs the heartsong after rain.