I hope it never comes to that, but …

I planned my own death
today and felt much better
mapping shrapnel sky

Lune

I don’t like being wrong
It wrings me into a twisted sheet
Happiness dripping into puddle gone

—–
Belated napowrimo day one

‘And now, our prompt (optional, as always). Today, I challenge you to write a lune. This is a sort of English-language haiku. While the haiku is a three-line poem with a 5-7-5 syllable count, the lune is a three-line poem with a 5-3-5 syllable count. There’s also a variant based on word-count, instead of syllable count, where the poem still has three lines, but the first line has five words, the second line has three words, and the third line has five words again. Either kind will do, and you can write a one-lune poem, or write a poem consisting of multiple stanzas of lunes. Happy writing!’

Meta

Write right
Or write wrong
But if you write
Not any song
Never will your pages sing
Their blankness ringing white
The silent echo never heard
Just shut up and write

———-

Day Fifteen

” And now for our prompt (optional, as always). Today, I challenge you to write a poem that addresses itself or some aspect of its self (i.e. “Dear Poem,” or “what are my quatrains up to?”; “Couplet, come with me . . .”) This might seem a little meta at first, or even kind of cheesy. But it can be a great way of interrogating (or at least, asking polite questions) of your own writing process and the motivations you have for writing, and the motivations you ascribe to your readers. “

Storm

A million whispers
their sum an overpowering
roar of raindrops

Shallow fish

Shallow fish
Touch not the deep dark dang’rous depths
Of life
Edge feeder
Stay in warm shallows
And move on from shadows
That chase.
Love every place
A little
And spread your poison shards
Wide
To not cut too deep
Soon enough
All this will sleep.

Blues

Took my baby to the desert
Trying to teach him how to swim
I shoulda known
That the heat would get to him

A drink

A tiny clue
Slightly untrue
Whatever you do
Don’t blink

He can see
Clearly
What this could be
Don’t think

Warm thigh
Furtive try
Hope I
Don’t stink

Wonder why?
Thought he
Only offered you
A drink

Creep

Outside, creeps creep
while in their heads they dance
and sing their fantasies

How many days in April again?

I think
We all think in poetry
But most people don’t notice

Poem 30: napowrimo

I thought I’d better follow at least one prompt, so here we go (from day 29, since I’m ahead of my time…)
——–

You pig!
Go fuck a monkey
I see your little eyes and taste my spit
I hear your noise and feel the heat of it
I smell your guts and smell your eyes that spy me
still.
I name you Tim of Timidland
Actually, that isn’t true
What do I know of you?
Who cares about the curlicue?
If a man shits in the woods,
Then he becomes a bear.
One day we might have a yak
But not in the now of here
The food of fate perhaps
A dream for waking naps
So, Bear, don’t hibernate too long
Or choke as you sing a geisha’s song
I am funny Fan-Fan, and Fan-Fan wants to say:
You will regret one day
But only if you grow
Otherwise you’ll never know
Terrifying nonsense
Your ears are too convex hex
C’est la vie
The waves would say, you’re not the one for me
I remember the chimpanzee
Endlessly vomiting, and eating it again

———-
That was so much more fun than I thought it would be. 🙂