Friday, April 29, 2016

Mulberries



Untitled
Photo Credit: nesson-marshall via Compfight cc


Mulberries


The first feature film I watched was about a girl who couldn't speak. When I went for a walk in the park, I liked to pretend that I was lost. I hated meat. My grandmother never let me talk about dead people. There was an earthquake and that winter we slept with our street clothes on. I tasted mulberries for the first time from a staircase in my aunt’s garden. The janitor was killed in a car crash and his daughter came to stay with us for a while. When they finished the foundations for our holiday house, I went around with a broom and swept the sand away. I was trapped inside. On my first day at school, I sat on fresh paint. Some children went across the railway tracks to smoke cigarettes. Mulberries make your lips turn blue. I was always thirsty because frogs lived inside my stomach.


GloPoWriMo Day 29

Thursday, April 28, 2016

His Name Was Yani



Vourvourou Sithonia Halkidiki
Photo Credit: fourkas via Compfight cc


His Name Was Yani


The music had started playing again.
A girl was spreading an orange beach towel.
New people were here now.
The ambulance came and took him away.
His name was Yani.
The woman called his name one more time.
The music stopped.
The beach boy put his head in his hands.
“Why do they keep trying. He is long gone.”
His name was Yani.
The woman kept calling his name.
The beach boy gave him CPR.
They used a beach bed as a stretcher.
His name was Yani.
The woman kept calling his name.
He had drowned, I saw his face.
“What have you done to me?” said his face.
His name was Yani.
A woman was calling somebody’s name.
We went for our first swim that day.
The sand was pink, the sea without a ripple.
 “This is the closest we will ever get to paradise.”


GloPoWriMo Day 28 - our prompt today was to tell a story backwards. 

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

How to Feed the Fire



Untitled
Photo Credit: Patrick Copley via Compfight cc

How to Feed the Fire


You feed the fire slowly, you never put everything in at once.
You want it to keep yearning, reaching out for more.
You tantalise it with love letters, poetry books, torn photos, and pressed flowers.
Then you add the wood, small items first, starting with that Chinese box you got for your last birthday.
After that you break the furniture, piece by piece – the favourite armchair will go last.
You need to be careful not to choke the fire by throwing in everything at once.
That would put it out, and you will want it to keep raging.


GloPoWriMo Day 27

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

The Trees





The Trees


They know who I am.
They have been around for a while.
It is all right to be afraid.
It is dark and I am alone.
Everyone would worry at this point.
The silence is complete.
I can’t hear my footsteps on the forest track.
As if I was gone already,
invisible, washed out, merged
with this silence, my body
absorbed, digested, entwined 
with theirs.
We are together now.
We are one.
Being lost becomes the way to be,
staying still the only thing to do.


GloPoWriMo Day 26

Monday, April 25, 2016

Two Poems for Day 25

The Newest Earth on New Year's — Hot Kona Lava Flows
Photo Credit: jurvetson via Compfight cc




Our challenge today was "to write a poem that begins with a line from a another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it." Here are my two attempts (I have linked the two first lines to the pages where the original poems can be found):


The Mountain Is Alive


My ancestors, meanwhile, are eating cabbage. High above them, the mountain is alive. My ancestors scrape the last remains of the soup from the bottom of the pot, then they wash their hands in the river, which has turned red by now. They curl up and fall asleep immediately, so they don't see the bloody sky that has ripened above their heads.




Spiral-Bound Pad

Photo Credit: incurable_hippie via Compfight cc


The Forgotten Song


It was a good one, about a mountain.
I search for the notebook I keep by my bed,
but there's nothing inside.
Funny, because I can remember
how I got up in the middle of the night
and wrote it down, word for word.
My notebook is empty, the song is gone.
I remember the chorus,
which now makes no sense.
My bed is warm and I am still drowsy.
I think I’ll grab a few more hours of sleep.



GloPoWriMo Day 25

Sunday, April 24, 2016

The Sky Tonight



A Rainy Morning
Photo Credit: Adabo! via Compfight cc


The Sky Tonight

There is nothing sublime about the sky tonight.
No harbingers of hope.
No covenant of the rainbow.
There is no one to fix this heavenly leakage.
The stars are soaked in dishwater.
The moon is wearing a dirty paper bag.
And this dripping from the roof is hardly a musical masterpiece.


GloPoWriMo Day 24

Saturday, April 23, 2016

147, Deconstructed



147, Deconstructed



I do not approve of this at all.
it is frantic,
random,
even desperate.
You cannot just give in to your desire
to steal and corrupt
to contort and deconstruct.
It is important to preserve the order
in the discourse
as it once was,
as it was meant to be.


GloPoWriMo Day 23

Source: Sonnet 147



Procedure: I ran Shakespeare's Sonnet 147 through Vocab Grabber and I ended up with this:
I used only the "red words" in my poem.