Showing posts from April, 2014

Napowrimo #23

Today's task was a homophonic translation. This is just ridiculous. I "translated" Rilke.

Napowrimo #22

Something super short and simple for this busy day.

I love it when air
smells like rain
and the earth moans
with thunder. Dust
kicks up with the wind
and the first drops fall
so hard they imprint
the thirsty earth
like the pocks of my skin
beneath the impassioned
tips of your fingers.

Napowrimo #21

Napowrimo 20

This is really rough because I've been insanely busy today, but I think this is an interesting idea. Write in the voice of a family member. I chose my deceased grandma. The story goes that when she found out she was pregnant with my dad, she went to the bar and wept with her girlfriends. I didn't know my grandma very well, which makes this interesting to think about:

Napowrimo 20

Napowrimo #19

Today, I didn't follow instructions again, but I certainly think I COULD incorporate some shell names into this poem, maybe particularly when describing what goddess-skin looks like. Anyway, I really like the opening of this poem, but I need to work on the transitions and, most especially, the second half. What I'm TRYING to do here is show the paradox of power/beauty/femininity through a contemporary retelling of the Diane/Actaeon myth. Hmm... I'm also thinking about those ridiculous Venus razor commercials.

The Myth of the Goddess, When She Wakes

Above all myths you must uphold this one:
the beauty of a goddess comes with ease,
that you're reborn each morning from the ocean
of your sheets in all your goddess splendor,
full-formed, complete with slightly wind-blown locks,
with skin that smells perpetually of lilac,
legs without a trace of hair that beg
to be caressed with just a hint of shine.
Make your expression always painted smug,
a smile that shows you're bet…

Napowrimo 18

I didn't listen to the napo prompt today and kind of went off on my own. This "poem" or err.. shitty draft of a poem, was inspired by this poem by Karr and walking in the garden with Brubru.

The Grapevine

In spring, it's green, life-giving green and wide
with leaves the size of outstretched hands that give.
Its limbs are shelter for the ladybugs
that come like weary hobos, always hungry
and the vines are refuge for the persecuted
fireflies that need a little respite
for the day until the Texas sun
goes down and night will cover up their faces,
set them free. But somehow, you know that autumn
will come and as the cold front blows in,
life will river from leaves like blood
from the dying as the ground grows cold.

Instead of mourning at the loss of fruit,
of sweetness on the tongue, you'll nod your head
and patiently explain to me that's how
the story has to go -- that every season's
hard-earned growth will need your hands
to sheer it all away. You'll sn…

Napowrimo 17

Today's instructions were to describe something using multiple senses. What an easy prompt. At first I wasn't sure what I should write, but with a little thought, this came:

Morning Commute

I taste the bitter coffee on my tongue.
It fills my throat with lukewarm hope of waking,
that somehow this will bring me back
to life. Each morning smells like gasoline,
like fumes. The sea's of pavement, reaching past
the point of vanishing. Horns cry. Engines
hum. They drown the cooing of a mourning
dove that perches on a power line,
her song foretells the sun, its resurrection
over the horizon, its warmth against
my face like breath, its rays that flood my eyes.
I pull the shade down, slip sunglasses on.

Napowrimo 16

Today I have Vagina Monologue dress rehearsals, so I guess my monologue is on my mind :)


At first it tastes a little bitter
on the tongue, but soon
it learns to curl around them
and like black coffee, it's taste
is acquired. The word is yes.
You'll use it as your daily bread.

Yes, my space is yours, come
closer. Yes, this is the smell
of me, cherry petals, lavender
in spring. Yes, my hair's
its natural hue, a wheat field
in the sun, and yes, they're real,
the golden grapefruits blushing red
when peeled. Yes, I feel sexy
when I listen to the clicks
my heels make against the pavement.
Yes, the blisters make me feel alive.
 Yes, it's homemade. Yes, I feel
the right amount of shame,
and yes, I do it for you
and you alone. Yes, you taste
like rain and yes, I like the scent
of musk at sunrise. Yes,
I always look like this, and yes,
my skin's a smooth as sky.
Yes, you always leave me

Napowrimo 15

Today's NAPO is super rough, because, well, I only had a few moments for poetry, unfortunately.

The Body's Prophecies

Like blood moons, they come in terads: rage
you swallowed down and kept hidden deep
within the tabernacle of your throat
that only shows in the ruddy hue
your cheeks wear when you clench
your teeth, the aftermath of kisses
on the neck, the sudden rush of shame
that fills your downturned face, and finally,
the moment when the body lets go
of this month's faithful prophecy
and leaves a mark the color of the moon.

Here, what I want to do, is incorporate the fantastical and biblical language surrounding the blood moon to describe the body. Eh. Maybe I'll come back to it later.

Napowrimo 14

Today's prompt was to write a poem in the form of questions. Here's mine:

Ten Questions

Why forgive when you can hold a grudge,
like Adam with his arms across his chest,
a chunk of apple stuck inside his throat?
And how can my mesquite tree keep faith

in such a violent gust of wind, release
the bean pods to the storm that took her limbs?
Did Noah's wife protest, doubt for a moment,
second guess and call his prophecies

the murmurings of madness? How does crow
taste? Is it sweet like dove? Did Hera
ever really think that Zeus would learn
to keep it in his pants? Why don't lantanas

just close up their petals when they're done,
why keeping on feeding thirsty hummingbirds?
And why should I forgive your numerous
mistakes? A toilet seat left up, machete

taken to my favorite prickly pear,
the way you always listen to the wind?
Because like Adam needed Eve, I need
you more than just an empty paradise.

Napowrimo 13

Today's assignment was to write something that included a kenning, a kind of Norse metaphor. The kenning I decided to modify was "destroyer of brambles" which means, well, wind.

What Dolly Did to my Palm

She was a lover of the loose,
could make a skirt fall
to the ground with just a whisper.

It began as just a gentle sway,
like two awkward teens
a slow dance at prom,
unsure of who should lead
and who should follow.
It wasn't until the wind
kicked up, a fast-paced cumbia,
a finger ran through loose
and tangled hair, a gasp
of gusts, a whistling of wind,
an arm around the waist
that she let go.

I couldn't watch for fear
that I would too become
a willing victim to the wind,
take flight and sing the song
of hurricanes. In the few calm
moments as the eye passed over
I peered out my window,
saw the discarded skirts
along the garden's bed,

and there my palm tree stood,
naked, breathless, ready
for another dance with Dolly.

Napowrimo #12

Today's prompt was to think of a tangible and intangible noun, and then find sentences, and swap them out. I used "loneliness" and "boat" and came across an interesting find:

Did humans colonize the world by boat?

Swapped out loneliness for boat, and began musing. Here's my freewrite:

The Boat

Did humans colonize the world by loneliness
and loneliness alone? The search to see our faces
smiling back at us across generations of water,
continents of bodies, glaciers of tears and rivers
of pain? Was it loneliness that made us search
horizons, shield our eyes from the sun, seek out
one another? Was it loneliness that blew against
our sails like the wind takes twirling oak seeds
from the tree? Was it loneliness that taught
our tongues to speak, to mingle, intertwine
and kiss? Was it loneliness that made us see
our faces in the moon, our stories in the stars
our goddess in the sun's heavy rays? Was it loneliness

that brought my parents together one evening
in …

Napowrimo 11

I want to come back to this poem later on. Today's prompt was to write a wine love poem, and I decided to write it in the voice of a Meanad.

Advice from a Thirsty Maenad

Because we're not immortal
and life is far too short,
you have to learn to savor

every moment. Uncork this evening
with laughter, slide off your shoes
and raise a glass to everything.

Learn to swallow discretion
and let your lips touch every glass
you find. Leave your mark

in scarlet kisses of the past.
Send back what doesn't bring
you pleasure with a wave

of the back of your hand.
Savor tartness on the lips,
honey on the tongue. Taste

earth. Taste sweat. Taste raindrops.
Kiss strangers. Don't look back.
Bite lips. Dance to the pulses.

Wake with fog in your head
with mauve on your lips,
a parched throat, an aftertaste

of doubt always on your tongue.

Napowrimo #10

Today's task is to write an adverstisement:


Forget sex. Sex sells itself. Sell this instead:
the quiet moment afterwards when time
begins to flow again, the opening of eyes,
the paniced realization that the world
is still the same: the moonlight, cold
and silver though the opened window,
the television's buzz, the emptiness
of wine glasses on the nightstand,
just a ring of mauve at the bottom,
a smudge of lipstick on the rim.
Find beauty in the body as the goosebumps
fade, in the slow curl back into itself
as it redraws the boundaries of yours
and mine, the drifting down from Olympus,
the slow walk out of Eden, head hung low,
the picking up of pieces from the ground
like windblown catkins after a storm.
The cicadas cease their singing. Stop
and listen to the sound of breath
between the numbness of your lips.

Napowrimo #9

Today's prompt was to get your playlist and write a poem that included the titles of 5 random song titles. A few months back, a student of mine gave me some of his hipstery folk music, and actually, sometimes I like to listen to it while I'm working. My "heavy lifting" music is classical/instrumental, but this music is kind of nice for more freewrites and such. So anyway, it's become a part of my writing playlist on pandora. I digress. Here's my "poem" -- song titles in bold.