Tuesday, April 15, 2014

15/30 Lost

Do you ever get that feeling
when you're walking that you're lost?
You've been there before
but for some reason you can't believe
that you're right but you know you are right
because there is no other way
to get to your destination
other than the way you are going
but still you convince yourself that you are lost.

Monday, April 14, 2014

14/30 And We Know Not Where You're Hiding

Number fourteen is shaky. Of course nearly midway in and the work is piling up. Cue a headache followed by painkillers. I had a stab at writing first thing at 7am in my notebook. That's where all the writing, or at least the fleshing out, takes place. The title is randomly taken from a page in a book.

And We Know Not Where You're Hiding
we search under claw marked tables
and chewed up chairs
inbetween the sides of a couch
look inside chipboard cupboards
where a clutter of skeletons
share stories over tea
We climb up black and white piano staircase
stomp out Wagner and wear holes
of worry in our trousers.
We check under the bed
looking for tell tale signs of a creature
who left behind a lock of hair
or a stitch of clothing.
And we take off our shoes
nest in front of the television
flick through channels
searching for some remnants of you
the screen wears holes in our eyes
where memories of you rest
like a mouse snug in its house.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

13/30 Hope and Thirteen

I used a prompt from NaPoWriMo. The prompt is for a “replacement” poem. I picked a common noun for a physical thing - dental floss and then I picked a word for something intangible - hope. I then found sentences with the word dental floss and replaced it with hope.

Hope is a cleaning aid.
It is a cord of thin filaments
hope is held between the fingers
or strung on a fork-like instrument.
Gently insert hope between the teeth
and guide hope between each tooth
and under the gumline
wipe along the teeth sides,
especially close to the gums or underneath them.
Hope should be carried out once per day.

edit: I don't really like it so I'll flesh it out a bit more.

Draft 2
Hope is an aid.
It is cleansing.
It is a chord that binds us together.
Hope is held between our fingers
or on a plate with a fork.
We insert hope between our hearts
guide hope into the night
and under the shade of a tree
we close our eyes and listen
to the soft chirp of hope.

And a bonus poem that has nothing to do with the prompt.

Thirteen
Your birthday cake is a mountain
ice cream clouds melt in your mouth
Outside the sky is a scouring pad
and the wind blows tall oak trees like candles .

A stream trickles from your eyes
and grows into a swimming pool
But I cannot doggy paddle.
I cannot kick my legs and and move my arms
like a butterfly flutters its wings. 

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Appraisal a Poetry Film by Melissa Diem


check out her website here

12/30 I am a Robin

I am a Robin
and I live
in a red brick house
I lie in bed
surrounded by breakfast
Your zebra finch socks
unravel to the moon
and I do the rumba
all over your thighs
I do the cha-cha-cha
on your cheeks with my lips.