Degrees to keep us

 
The final post of National Poetry Month...this has been an incredible test, and although I'm finishing it late, I'm proud to be finishing it at all. And crazily enough, I'm already looking forward to next April.

My poem of impact for Prompt #30: Celebrating Poetry is this one by Nikki Magennis, whose writing I'm very happy to have discovered over the last month.

In a decade of sin,
it's unspeakably perfect.
We've managed
to nail down our outcomes,
patch the cracks
in our armor
and build our monuments
sideways - a test
of fortitude
and architectural
wherewithal.
The brushes that now swirl,
blindfolded
on our canvas,
blend blood and green ink,
spread ugly brown
over Paris,
over Appomattox,
over Versailles.
Our past
is unrecognizable as fact;
we've satisfied our
curiosity,
and all that's left is to hope
that we'll be pleased with the results.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Tame Impala, Desire Be Desire Go

Terminal

 
Almost there.
Prompt #29: Free Day!

Some glowing orb
Poisons my sky,
Twists my intentions
And bleeds my thoughts.

Halfway to home
The eagle rests,
Tests the ropes and laughs
Before our fall.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Eminem & Royce Da 5'9, Fast Lane

When the new brass tiptoes

 
Interesting task, this one.
Prompt #28: Roundel

When the new brass tiptoes, the other soldier dies,
Too many times they've gone to deliver the rose,
A harrowing gift delivered with earnest lies,
  When the new brass tiptoes.

Bullets ride the air between a man and his foes,
Despite his courage and to his great surprise,
Only the quiet ticking of his heartbeat slows.

Between the battlefield and home it's hope that fries,
Baked in the sudden sun above the final blows.
Alone the dead will rest in the bloodied night skies
  When the new brass tiptoes.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Brandon Boyd, All Ears Avow!

Pains of glass

 
Thank goodness for long bus rides, or I don't think I'd get any writing done anymore.
Prompt #27: Still Life

What can this hold?
Heated sand
pressed to shape,
a barrier
to what lies
within,
or without.
Build it walls
to hold it,
and bury that
which you'd like
to keep out
or forget.
Depending on
your angle,
it can hold
just about anything.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Fleet Foxes, Sim Sala Bim

Move along

 
Prompt #26: Quiet Windows

In the outpouring of craggy rock,
bone spurs from the mountainside,
few things are visible
but the aging face of time,
the shavings of an empire,
the unnatural halt of geology
and the quieter sides
of our nature,
far from the discordant horns
bleating wrong notes
to snapped branches
and the downturned veins
of new leaves,
brighter green
than any child's mind,
'til they turn to the sky in death,
weak pleas for sustenance
met only by shivering derision.
"Quite right,"
we nod in agreement.
"Nothing to see here."
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Foo Fighters, White Limo

The curious case of the upright pack animals

 
LATE! SO LATE!
Prompt #25: Memes

Our phenomenon is empty,
but oh,
how it fills so much.

Our phenomenon is quiet,
but oh,
how it speaks so loud.

Our phenomenon is incorrect,
but oh,
how much weight it carries.

Our phenomenon is imperfect,
but oh,
how we've made it gold.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Paul Simon, Rewrite

We could

 
Off prompt...oh well.

We could bury our faces in laughter,
but it needn't be anything
revolutionary,
only a momentary respite
from a world they call
cold or hard or evil,
and we simply call empty.

We could stand an egg on its end
on a day other than the
equinox,
a dead sun our signal
that we'd finally seen
the impossible, or at least
the very difficult.

We could ride in a gray limousine
for no reason other than our
amusement,
dress in our finest and
stare out the rear window,
watch the aging roads
fall out from under us.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Roots, The Fire

They're really more afraid of you

 
HAIKUS! Slightly off-prompt haikus, but whatever.
Prompt #23: Dual Voices

It is a heavy,
itchy hand that rests upon
her starch-white shoulder.

His is a heavy,
fishy breath that falls upon
the back of her neck.

Hers is a twitch-quick,
sudden movement to the rack
where her shotgun waits.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Rilo Kiley, With Arms Outstretched

River drive

 
More catch-up: this is from a poem I wrote on the train to NYC my first day of work last June. I've tried to rehabilitate it a few times, with help, but I couldn't seem to make it work. So, perfect opportunity here.
Prompt #22: Recycle, Reuse, Rewrite

Out blares a tenor signal, clear as the rainwater
pooling in the streets. So follow it,
take the road to its nearest end point.
Around the corner, tattered shoes hang from a power line,
leaking usefulness. Watch as the wind blows,
knocks their peeling heels together:
A quiet wish for a way home, screamed across the ruin.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Morning Benders, Stitches

To you, and your apprehension:

 
Playing catch-up...again.
Prompt #21: Sharing the Love

On a deserted highway,
find the cleanest ditch,
leave your bags
and head South.
New things there,
new promises and
new life.
Someone may come upon
that same highway,
empty with dust
and carrion.
Someone may open your bags,
hear the scratching
of the zipper and
lay eyes on
your most cherished,
your most missed
from back home.
And if you're lucky,
which you are,
you needn't worry:
We'll bring your things
right back to you.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Dodos, Don't Try And Hide It (of course if it has Neko Case on it, I'm listening to it)

The bottle

 
Technically it's not April anymore, but you can't tell because I scheduled this post for April 20th! Man, I got you good on that one...
Prompt #20: Personify

I'm just a whore
and nothing less,
a place to rest their
warm hands.
No love
in that grasp,
the sticky,
fermented moisture
of breath
falling irregularly
as they undress me,
take what they need
and go.
Loud gulps
of temporary
happiness
echo loud and
false
down the halls.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Black Keys, Tighten Up

One up, one down

 
Only one "lightbulb moment" here, but it's really the only one I still wonder about.
Prompt #19: Lightbulbs

In my head
it all made so much more sense,
no dangerous tread
and certainly no false pretense.
Affection bred
in earnest, and with no expense,
but here instead,
alone, and no new promise since.
It's easy dread
can turn behavior rather dense,
and easily said:
one more mistake without defense.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Talib Kweli, Broken Glass

Incessant and torturous, and incessant

 
So close to writing a haiku for this one, because I don't think I've ever seriously written a haiku before. But this popped up instead:
Prompt #18: NaPoWriMo

Lightly tanned
shoulders, alone
in the dark -
and by choice,
so no worries.

Observe the soft stroke of the zealots, marvel at their singing range, gaze longingly upon their wild and varied color palettes, interior decorators.

There's so much
to be seen in
a light turn
of the lips,
red with love.

Black and white nonsense words, break them down into syllables so maybe, yes, maybe, stylized happiness can be yours once again.

In this photo
of something
horrible, many
still find
loud beauty.

But under your capital U-cloak, a proud university regrets its decision to promote its fledgling students so soon, so green, so envious.

We are an
early blade of
Midwest grass,
strung up
by the wrists.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Grizzly Bear, All We Ask

Yeah, about that...

 
Poetry Month, Day 17:
I've been totally useless so far today, so now I must attempt to undo that (off prompt, again, and slightly ridiculous):

Eyes on target
spider shoes
climb for ceiling
fan.
Bad idea.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Shins, Fighting In A Sack

Streaking bravery

 
Poetry Month, Day 16:
I tried, but couldn't get anything out of today's prompt, so I just wrote something off the cuff instead:

A look into our eyes: there's no comprehension, but we'll ape it - levy
          our fears into tax breaks and deliver on blind promises to men
          who have seen too much. Those men will raise glasses, then
          shovels, and take what was yours, bury it deep. Cold dirt and a
          rock will be your only reminder years from now.

Imagine it as a chess match, clacking victory that prances across
          laminated wood. Wouldn't it be easier if there were a warning
          track, something to keep us from straying too close to the edges,
          something to scrape the cataracts clean? That way you'll know:
          coffins keep promises far better than any human ever could.

If it must end this way, at least let it end with some certainty. Try to
          spoon out all the makings of a time bomb, but don't get tangled in
          the rainbowed wiring - it's a sensation you get that you know
          should be something like anguish, when really, that feathery
          feeling in your muscles signifies relief.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Portugal. The Man, Children

Only a half-truth

 
As we reach the halfway point of this epicness that is National Poetry Month, I want to share links for some other folks who have been working on this journey, as well. And so, I present to you:
Mr. Leonard Wilson and Mr. Zach Ayres.

Now, on with the poetry.
Prompt #15: Kinetic Wordplay

We died and they swept us under the rug,
no heartbeats to heat the floorboards
and no leaking tendrils of wire
scratching at the humming wood.
They cashed out, slips to the front desk,
threw down a few bills at the bar
for a shot of blossoming warmth,
twisted hair to spark waning friction,
and tethered their kinetic nervousness
to the nearest horse and buggy;
all a scheme to make it out
without the need for another sip.
We embolden ourselves at the last,
and then, knee-deep in cloud,
we're expected to believe that finally,
our thirst for bliss is quenched.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Tame Impala, Half Full Glass of Wine

What a life

 
Well, at least I got this one done within a day of the post. And, I'm back on pace now, so win for me.
Prompt #14: Poem in Your Pocket

Dark ivy climbs my walls,
But it does me no good
As a method of escaping
My own rumbling blackness.

If these stems ever planted,
I'd climb them, so surely,
Turn myself inside-out
Just for a chance at sunlight.

My omnipresent, shining silver,
Road signs to relevance
For all those elder statesman;
Reminders of the unobtainable.

What I'd love for you to do
Is take hold of my deepest fear,
Like you did so long ago,
And reveal your loss of wealth.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Fleet Foxes, English House

Bird

 
This one came to me on the bus ride home. Yes, I'm still behind, but I'll get to those other two in due time. Promise.
Prompt #13: Adjective-less

The cry that rang out,
bird figured,
was the volume
to wake a bear from hibernation,
so,
of course it roused him
from his slumber.
Bird ran and pressed his ear
to the door,
skin melded with wood,
to hear the ruckus.
Two voices:
Mother,
Father,
neither in a tone
he would welcome.
"The way you treat us!"
she cried.
"Cut the accusations,"
he replied. "Consider,
my work, my stress.
Consider the sources."
She was silent.
Bird opened the door
so he could see without being seen,
saw Mother, tears and sighs,
what was she remembering?
"We could handle it before,"
she recalled. "What changed?"
Silence.
They stared at each other,
and bird knew a feeling
hadn't felt before,
and it made him shiver
and weep.
Mother and Father
knew just as he did,
and their gazes twitched,
hunters,
eyes at the scope,
to the door
bird hid behind.
"Time to fly."
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Way Out

Morning-ology

 
Hardest part of this one? Finding a geological form that doesn't totally suck. No, scratch that, figuring out what my favorite song is.
Prompt #12: Triad

In the first blades of sunlight,
my awareness droops,
heavy, burdened
with information it won't need
twelve hours from now,
but it holds on just the same -
curiosity must be sated,
and like a child's first taste
of cinnamon's sweet grains,
once will be all it takes.

From the aesthetic melody
that fills my early hearing,
I can sense certain similarities -
coy to my realization -
to gliding through porous
sandstone monuments: deep,
stately, flawed, as if
I'm floating down a river,
troubles at my back,
discoveries playfully ahead.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Foo Fighters, Best of You

That fucking leftist news media

 
Playing catch-up, part four:
Prompt #11: PostSecret
So it's not quite a narrative like they say in the prompt, but whatever.

How many little secrets
can we glean?

In a hushed tone,
like we bear in a room of echoes,
tired voices sing sins
and remind themselves
that like all good things,
this trove of deeply woven
lies
will eventually go public.
_________________________________________________

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The New Pornographers, Use It