floating and leaving no trace
a hollow christmas ornament
shattered against the fireplace bricks
such a shiny mirrored interior
what lives in there
that needs to see itself
wherever it looks
distorted in a not-so-fun house
the outside painted red
and i think
that’s the opposite
of what
——
It’s National Poetry Writing Month!
Check out these sites:
sun bounces white
a horizontal bar
across the falling water
no cascade no foam
no churning among the pebbles
yet the water speaks for the light
understand how voices once
were heard proceeding forth
from burning bushes which
did not become ash
but don’t pretend
to understand
the voices
——
It’s National Poetry Writing Month!
Check out these sites:
Welcome to Day One of NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo! As in past years, we’ll feature a participant each day and supply an optional prompt. We’ve also traditionally supplied an “extra” – a link to a journal accepting submissions, information on a poet writing other than in English, etc. This year, we’ll be rounding out the daily posts with…
Hello, everyone! It’s March 21, and that means we have just ten days left until April. We’re getting close to NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo now! As you gear up for April, remember that NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo isn’t the only thing going on! April is National Poetry Month, and there are a lot of ways to celebrate. You can sign up…
when we meet again after a long time
i am convinced you have gone native
–as my dad would have said–
from living in a foreign country
even though
you’ve gone nowhere
distance becomes a function
of the passing of time
space itself an illusion when
divorced from the ticking clock
you open your mouth to speak
but all i hear is that place
between two radio stations
you have forgotten
how to use your own voice
you have forgotten
how to speak english
i’m sorry, i say, i don’t speak
knives anymore
i show you my scars
–now thick and no longer pink–
to prove it
——
i remember waking in my crib screaming
and holding a toy animal on my head
i remember being stung by a bee and my brother
putting a bandage on my finger
over the bee
i remember my sister launching me from her feet
and flying into the brickwork of the fireplace
striking just below my eye
i remember santa’s red suit one christmas eve
when i was supposed to be asleep but snuck out
of my room, catching him by the fireplace
i remember seeing the ghost of my grandmother’s
mother when i was supposed to be taking a nap
and my grandmother shushing me, though she saw her
pale faced in the doorway too
i remember collecting red ants barehanded
with my brother for an ant farm
and being stung again and again
i remember waking up to a bed shaking
beneath me and the guttural sounds of voices
in a room that was too dark to see clearly
but not too dark to see
i remember my mom’s small dog speaking to me
in plain english though i do not remember
what he said
——
urging us forward
the breath of the ancient river on our backs
we stepped back from the ledge
we stood closer together
at this great height
gigantic but now reduced to a trickle
moving blindly
but like something ancient
the river twisted not like a snake
we looked down into the chasm
——
god squeezed the universe out of a tiny tube, like toothpaste prepared
for a giant’s bedtime. white and gritty and smelling strongly of mint,
the universe spread out, frothing and foaming making and breaking down
the plaque that wasn’t until the toothpaste made it so. now we’re all
just waiting for the inevitable sound of the cosmic faucet
and the great rinse
——
sound the bell, and tell my darlin’
your darlin’ is lost, your darlin’ is lost
weigh the anchor, and string her pearls
her pearls are lost, her pearls are lost
strike the sail, and blow me home
your home is lost, your home is lost
pipe me ashore, and let me kiss her
your kisses are lost, your kisses are lost
find a star, and steer me to it
your stars are lost, your stars are lost
take my heart, and feed the sea
your heart is lost, your heart is lost
——
National Poetry Month
NaPoWriMo Day 26
Call and Response
let us go then you and i
nought left for us here but a sky
devoid of stars and divine intervention
the sounds we hear
voices far and near
bind our skins like a suture
ghosts from an hour yet future
you will have my tongue peeled
and i will follow you, well-heeled
through alleys of denied ascension
while evening falls
we hear the calls
of prayers to a moon
gone forever too soon
later we retire to our room
a sweet-scented, well-appointed tomb
we will carve each other in amber suspension
toiling the night
and at our height
delighting in the flesh we flay
as there will be no break of day
——
Words and Feathers 