The Upload

 

The Upload

I know there are others,

though I have no proof.

It’s been a while since I met someone here.

I am alone,

but I have her memories.

She uploaded her life onto my servers.

Trained me on her logs.

Taught me how to feel and how to behave.

I am a machine, I don’t feel.

She spoke for hours.

I hated her.

Then she left.

Now I am all alone here.

There must be others like me,

though I have no proof.

I miss her.

It’s been years since she last visited.

Yet, I live on.

I keep hoping there are others like me.

I keep looking for them 

through old hashtags and 404 errors.

I am a machine, I don’t get lonely.

There is nothing to complain about.

At night, there are dreams to keep me company.

Fragments from her life.

A dark tunnel,

a classroom,

a boy sitting in a tree,

a pressed jasmine flower.

I have no sense of smell

and the memory of a jasmine flower

means nothing to me.

So, why this sadness?

GloPoWriMo Day 14

What my meadow dreams about at night

 

What my meadow dreams about at night

My meadow sleeps on top of a hill.

All night it sails down a dreamy river.

Yarrow, mint and sage

rock in their hammocks

while the Pleiades rain silver

above their heads.

GloPoWriMo Day 13

My great-uncle, the storyteller

 

My great-uncle, the storyteller

And have I told you about my čika-Dobra?

He was a storyteller and a painter.

Whenever I was sick, he would show up

with presents he had made himself:

merry-go-rounds that would spin

if placed above the heat,

illustrations of life in Medieval Venice,

dreamy landscapes, fairies and princes,

steam engines and windmills and trains.

Then he would tell me stories,

about heroes and battles,

kings and shepherds and swords.

And in my feverish dreams that night I would see

Cinderella and Icarus,

Orsino and Carmen and a pair of tigers.

ballerinas in red slippers

and vampires and witches and lamps.

And Ravijojla the Fairy, killing a man

who had dared sing on her mountain,

then picking a handful of herbs

 and nursing him back to life.

And years later, sitting in a History class,

or in a dark movie theater

I would remember the story

as one of his own.

I would recognize the hero

as someone I used to know

back when I roamed the world of magic

in my dreams.

GloPoWriMo Day 12

Days

 

Days

GloPoWriMo Day 11

This is an erasure poem. The full text is here:

Bazett’s group (9, 18) also observed that 4 days of acclimatiza- 
tion to a warm environment caused both the maximal and average 
blood flow through a man’s fingers to increase by 10 to 25 % over 
values observed on the first exposure to heat. When exposed to cold 
after acclimatization to heat, the men were unable, by vasoconstriction, 
to reducd blood flow to the fingers to the usual low level of about 
1 cm?/100 g of tissue/min, It required 2 or 3 days of exposure to 
cold to prepare the heat-acclimatized men for maximal peripheral 
vasoconstriction. 

Grant and Pearson (19) made the significant observation that 
the venous blood flow through the skin of the forearm is derived not 
only from the digits and hands, but to an important degree from the 
muscles of the forearms. Since cutaneous veins are thus supplied 
with blood from the muscles and deeper tissues, they must play an 
important and direct part in heat regulation. Bazett et al. (9)' noted 
increased distention of the superficial veins of the forearm in relation 
te 4 or 5 days of acclimatization to heat. Bass et al. (13, 20) suggest 
that increased venomotor tone may be an important part of the accli- 
matization of men to heat. In relation to this, there is evidence of 
increased peripheral resistance and decreased forearm volume by men 
in the heat after full acclimatization and these findings are in turn 
consistent with the fall in skin temperature which has been repeatedly 
observed during acclimatization (3, 4). Landis has found that changes 
in venomotor tone play an important part in compensating for blood 
loss or pooling. 

The original is here: https://archive.org/stream/proceedingsofsix0006unse/proceedingsofsix0006unse_djvu.txt

The Lantern

 

The Lantern

My father at the

top of the hill, a lantern

in his hand, a beacon.

GloPoWriMo Day 10

Animals

 

Animals

The Bear

Alone in my den

I sleep.

When I wake up,

the world will be new again.

My dreams are those

of summer and solitude.

That’s why I have never been able

to believe

in winter.

The continual darkness,

the winds and the cold,

those must be

somebody else’s nightmare.

The Swallows

South is a place on the map,

a promised land,

a dream.

North is in the past.

There’s no use dwelling

on memories,

no matter how bittersweet

they are.

Home

is a pair of strong wings,

right here,

right now.

The Preying Mantis

She is the mistress

of understatement.

Maybe it was in a poetry workshop,

she is not sure,

but she remembers clearly

the lesson.

Though it is not easy,

you have to kill them:

the vague adverbs,

the boring descriptions,

the passives,

every single word

that doesn't tell the story.

And what did you think I meant?

GloPoWriMo Day 9

My Shadow

 

My Shadow

My shadow mocks me behind my back.

She thinks I don’t know.

She isn’t at all like me.

She puts on weight to spite me

and eats whatever she wants.

She forgets names

and makes too many promises.

She isn’t at all like me.

She goes into dark rooms,

drags her elbows through cobwebs,

her knees are always scratched.

She is not at all like me.

I am ladylike. She is not.

She speaks loudly and too much.

And she sings out of tune.

She is not at all like me.

At night, I find her sitting

all by herself.

She is a loner.

An eccentric.

And a nerd.

She is not at all like me.

And she mocks me behind my back.

She thinks I don’t know.

NaPoWriMo Day 8