Day 30 – Spring Chant/Prayer to Persephone

Psyché

By Antonio Canova (Italian, 1757–1822) – Eric Pouhier (May 2007), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2129759

Spring Chant/Prayer to Persephone

Centerline keeper
Breath my air
Inhale, share
Mutual dreamer

Centerline keeper
Move in close
Feel repose
Outer gate-sweeper, brace you

Centerline keeper
Closer still
Overfill
Tender will-seeker

And you want this?
I know I do

Centerline keeper
Nose to ear
Hush your fear
Uncommitted leaner

Centerline keeper
Concentric girds
Say the words
Sensitive feeler, face you

And do you want this?
I know I do

Limerence
Is it
Limerence?

Is it
Only
Limerence?

Is it
Only
Opening us to
Loss of contact?

Ignorance

Was it
Lonely
Opening to
Mutual attract?

Limerence
Do you want this?
Can we will this?

I can feel the sun
In the curve of your smile
And I want the day to grow longer

And I can see the fun
In the swerve of your style
And all I want to say,
You know, is to conjure

Cupid, Aphrodite, Eros,
Frigga, Hathor, Juno,
Flora, Sabine, Persephone,
And the whole damn team

And the whole damn team
Just to make you say
You share the same space
And feel the same way

Are you inspired by the way
I admire your existence?

Do you require further sway
Towards desire or assistance?

Are we both liars who display
A misfire of consistence?

Renewed, I aspire to today
Rising higher, void of distance

Limerence
Is it
Limerence?

Is it
Only
Limerence?

Is it
Only
Opening us to
Loss of contact?

Is it ignorance?

Was it
Lonely
Opening to
Mutual attract?

Limerence
Do you want this?
Can we will this?

The path beyond the garden
Beyond what I thought I knew
Beyond a life filled with
Dewdrops alive with you
When I relied on a new
Love supplied by you

Beg your pardon
Beg your smile to rise higher still
A spring rain brings a tap
On my windowsill
It brings pain and sappy need
To say the words with a greater will

The season of renewal
Where the flowers grow
And the lovebirds sing
Where my heart didn’t know
What our world would bring
And the sun didn’t show
The clouds gathering

Fate may be cruel
But I’ll face it with a truth
That belies the fear
Can’t replace what a
Youthful heart supplies to steer
Our airspace closed with
A soothing baptized revere

It would be foolish to build a life
On a starry night shared in the throes
Of what we know is obsession

Is it?

And it would be a sin against nature
To win you on surface-level physics,
Playing Loki to discretion

Only
Is it?

When did this spin out of our control
And grow, filling its own chasm?

When did we spin and invent
Our enlightening phantasm?

Lonely
Was it

Formed when we were born
At the event horizon of an orgasm?

When did we spin out of control
And grow into this unwieldly thing?

When did we begin? Was it
The beginning of spring?
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 30 prompt:

…write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinating fact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird. While I cannot vouch for the actual accuracy of any of the facts presented at the links above (or any other facts you might use as inspiration!), I can tell you that there are definitely some poetic ideas here, just waiting for someone to use them.

The strange and fascinating fact I used is that the fighting style Wing Chun literally translates to Spring Chant or Eternal Spring.

Sorry for the late ending. I’ve been really busting my hump at work and haven’t had much time to write. But I’ve been tinkering with this one off and on for a while.

Day 28 – Postcard in Praise of My One-Time Online Secret Girlfriend

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Photo by Dan Gold on Unsplash

Postcard in Praise of My One-Time Online Secret Girlfriend

Why are you here? Why am I? Why are we? Even though we’re both evenly among our peers in our late twenties, this feels… odd. Oddly uncomfortable and weirdly familiar in keeping welcome company. You seem to be enjoying this bass-boosted noise even less than me, if that were ever a possibility. You say nothing as you gallantly support the nightclub wall with your back, your face screwed into a question mark. You’re puzzled by how different I am IRL than online. You’re with your girls and I’m with my homie, but I spot in your eyes, a symmetry. Or is it synergy? It’s a mystery, but I can see that you too wish it were just you and me. I have poor self-esteem, so I don’t take these vibes lightly when they come to be. You speak softly, drowned-out by the club cacophony, yet I feel your words settle next to me. I won’t forget how you let me hold your hand gratefully, us both grateful no one else could see.
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 28 prompt: “draft a prose poem in the form/style of a postcard.”

OK, so perhaps I would need two postcards.

Day 27 – Skeptic Reading

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Three of Pentacles, Image source

Skeptic Reading

My tarot reading,
if you believe in such things,
drew Three of Pentacles.

Or is it The Three of Pentacles?

The eternal skeptic,
I know not of how tarot cards
prefer to be addressed,
or if they even perceive mockery.

Three, (or The Three)
apparently
signifies skilled labor
or fashioning with your hands,
be it trade, craft, or artistry.

It seems that even fate herself,
an unforgiving, mysterious mistress
conspires to compel me
to continue to create.

If you believe in such things.
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 27 prompt:

…we challenge you to pick a card (any card) from this online guide to the tarot, and then to write a poem inspired either by the card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it.

 

Day 25 – Important Read-Me File: Caring for Your Barry

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Photo by Samuel Scrimshaw on Unsplash

Important Read-Me File: Caring for Your Barry

You’ve decided
to care for a Barry!

You’ve made a unique
and challenging choice,
for not all Barrys are alike,
and this Barry in particular
has some particularly odd bugs,

or as Barry likes to call them,
“features”.

Here are some helpful guidelines
to keep your Barry operational
while minimizing withering glares,
mopey brooding,

and angry muttering
of rude things
under his breath.

Caution: depressed
and highly flammable.

Do not enjoy around
children or pets.

Or other people.

Do not mix with bourbon,
unless you’re eager to learn
the unvarnished truth about him,
yourself, and
that girl he’s secretly crushing on.

Can be rendered inert,
philosophical,
deeply meta,
and rather giggly
if combined with marijuana.

He may also refer to marijuana
as “jazz cigarettes” because
he just heard that squares
called them that in the 60’s
and he can’t stop giggling about it.

It is highly likely that your Barry
is under the influence of
jazz cigarettes at the moment of
creating this third-person,
self-referential missive.

If your Barry wants to tell you
about the path beyond his garden,
do not interrupt him
or tell him you heard this story before.

This can lead to resentful muttering.

But the most important warning:
just be kind – not just to Barry,
but to everyone you encounter
–  because none of this matters
if I’m right and we only live once,

but if I’m right and we only live once,
nothing could be more important than
leading and leaving with kindness.

Thank you for caring for your Barry
no back-sies!
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 25 prompt: “write a poem that takes the form of a warning label . . . for yourself!”

(Full-disclosure: My new job and surviving on three hours of sleep per night had me shuttering the doors early on NaPoWriMo, but one of my most respected poetry friends kicked me in the butt. She said I have poems to write, and so I guess I have a few back-payments to make.)

Day 23 – Bowling Green Sixteen

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Photo by Daniel Sandvik on Unsplash

Bowling Green Sixteen

The path beyond my garden
is no place for strangers
heat exchanged; your
clear and presently dangerous
slanderous, your vandal-savage rush
gamblers score scandals, ravenous

the monster you fear is me
stalking through ravines
turn back, I disappear; you see
flocking crows and smoke screens
resolve broke so flee the scene
dissolve, choke, no histamine
can help you breathe or intervene
with shadow’s verbal mescaline

I’m the spark unseen;
your heart pumps gasoline
need a match? I don’t mean
to make routine so Byzantine
but I’ll render you to nothing
like massacring Bowling Green
and I will stay between
harmonic mean of unforeseen

not sending sixteen
from aquamarine to twilight
but I can vent my spleen
with Listerine despite fright
***

R.I.P. Craig Mack

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 23 prompt:

Kate Greenstreet’s poetry is spare, but gives a very palpable sense of being spoken aloud – it reads like spoken language sounds. In our interview with her, she underscores this, stating that “when you hear it, you write it down.” Today, we challenge you to honor this idea with a poem based in sound. The poem, for example, could incorporate overheard language. Perhaps it could incorporate a song lyric in some way, or language from something often heard spoken aloud (a prayer, a pledge, the Girl Scout motto). Or you could use a regional or local phrase from your hometown that you don’t hear elsewhere, e.g. “that boy won’t amount to a pinch.”

I didn’t really know what to do with this one, as I’m almost always aware of how my poems sound. With that in mind, I went back to my roots and tried penning a sixteen-bar hip-hop-esque freestyle, referencing the fictional Bowling Green Massacre.

I’m not entirely happy with the results, but I’m finally caught-up with the prompts, so I call it a net-win.

Day 22 – Myth of Stillness

Myth of Stillness

The path beyond my garden
belies the lies unlearned in time

as if the stars cannot
rearrange themselves in the sky
for us; as if

they, you and I,
all known things
aren’t in constant states of motion,
learning and unlearning.

Stars coalesce, are born,
then die and scatter,
its matter mingling with matter
from other dead stars,
coalescing into newer,
denser stars,

the cycle renewed in timelines
beyond our real-time observation.

Our sun is at least
a second-generation star
in this manner,
and the world of me and you
thrives on its energy.

This is how you and I came to be,

and yes, we are
but sentient star remnants
in constant motion.

That’s how you and I
came to coalesce.

It takes four years
for the light of the next
nearest star to reach
the solar system of
me and you.

The twinkle we shared when we first met
began its journey way back when
you and I were still clinging to
dying systems separately, orbiting
resentment and dysfunctionality
until implosion.

And yet for that random twinkle to mingle
with the twinkle in our locked eyes that night

as we danced to Earth, Wind & Fire,
the elements conspiring us to groove together,
shifting constellations of past lives,

don’t you dare tell me that me and you
didn’t move the stars themselves to
make this fusion happen.
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 22 prompt:

I’ve found this one rather useful in trying to ‘surprise’ myself into writing something I wouldn’t have come up with otherwise. Today, I’d like you to take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens:

The sun can’t rise in the west.

A circle can’t have corners.

Pigs can’t fly.

The clock can’t strike thirteen.

The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.

A mouse can’t eat an elephant.

Happy writing!

I feel like I cheated a bit, as the stars are in constant motion, but this motion is mostly beyond our limited powers of perception, but hey, it counts.

Day 20 – Two-Part Harmony

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Photo by yousef alfuhigi on Unsplash

Two-Part Harmony

The path beyond my garden leads
to worlds beneath blanket of sky
a verse of footfall’s lullaby
I walk the mist where breeze recedes

Her breath lifts wings of butterfly
the path beyond my garden leads
to shores where she heeds by her deeds
I add my verse as battle cry

Our voices foil and amplify
a duet on the winds and reeds
the path beyond my garden leads
to where our songs reunify

Melody sparks the Pleiades
starlight won’t sing a sad goodbye
she croons with me as we pass by
the path beyond my garden leads
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 20 prompt:

Our prompt for the day (optional as always) takes its cue from Notley’s rebelliousness, and asks you to write a poem that involves rebellion in some way. The speaker or subject of the poem could defy a rule or stricture that’s been placed on them, or the poem could begin by obeying a rule and then proceed to break it (for example, a poem that starts out in iambic pentameter, and then breaks into sprawling, unmetered lines). Or if you tend to write funny poems, you could rebel against yourself, and write something serious (or vice versa). Whatever approach you take, your poem hopefully will open a path beyond the standard, hum-drum ruts that every poet sometimes falls into.

Ironically, I’ve done so much free-verse in the past month that the most rebellious thing I could do right now is to actually stick with a form verbatim, and perhaps incorporate a rhyme scheme too. I used the quatern form and added an “abba-baab” rhyme scheme to enhance my little “rebellion”.

I first saw the quatern on Shannon’s blog post, located here. I told you I’d give it a shot, Shannon!

Day 16 – Mindfulness as an Exercise, or Something, Hell, I Dunno, Ah Fuck It

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Sunset in British Columbia, just south of Whistler.

Mindfulness as an Exercise, or Something, Hell, I Dunno, Ah Fuck It

Step number one.
Be your best self.

Right now!

Oh?
You weren’t your best self
at the first stanza?

No worries.
Just be your best self
right… NOW!

Good!
Excellent work!

Now…
just keep on being your best…
ah shit,

you’re not
your best self anymore.

No worries!
Just be your best self… right-
no, no, no, no…

now you’re worse than before
when you were at your best.

Get out of your own head,
it’s a fucking house of horrors in there!

OK, OK,
let’s level-set…

All right…
starting over…
So…

No worries, though!

The most important thing
is for you to be your best self
right…
no, no…
fuck later!

FUCK later,
fuck later like
you’re fresh out of prison!

(Easy, you randy bastard.)

Let’s just not get too
wrapped-up in later, OK?

Later is only for fucking.

The most important thing
is to be
your best self
riiiiiiiiight….

NOW!

Perfect!
No, not perfect,
but it was your BEST!

And it happened at
THE MOST IMPORTANT MOMENT!

You starting to pick-up
what I’m laying down, homie?

Dammit, I’m NOT patronizing!

All I ask is that you be
your best self right now.

It’s all relative;
your best could be dogshit,
but it doesn’t matter
as long as it is the
absolute best
you can ever be

right fucking now.

Professor X called it
that space between
serenity and rage.

In most anime,
the mentor tells the hero
to just yell a lot
until he starts glowing
and his hair changes color.

I won’t pretend to know
what these things are about,

But as they needed to practice
their serenity-raging,
yell-glowing, and hair-dying,

you need to practice
step number one so you can
call on it whenever you need.

OK, on to step number two.
You ready for this one?

It’s a real doozy.

OK, here it goes:

Not every poem
needs to start
with a view of the path
beyond your garden, OK?

If that’s your best self,
I ain’t mad at ya,
but maybe try a few new tricks,
see where they lead.

If they lead back to your garden,
then so be it.
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 16 prompt:

…write a poem that prominently features the idea of play. It could be a poem about a sport or game, a poem about people who play (or are playing a game), or even a poem in the form of the rules for a sport or game that you’ve just made up (sort of like Calvinball).

Since I’m already punchy and sleep-deprived, this is the perfect time to make some rules while breaking some rules.

Day 15 – Hero of His Own Story

Hero of His Own Story

The path beyond my garden
began decades ago
when I was Ivan Drago
to my lil’ brother Phil’s Balboa.

As kids,
we reenacted the classic scene;
the boxing exhibition
that ended the cold war.

In the film, Rocky overcame
insurmountable odds to win;

in my version, he just kept on
getting his tiny ass kicked
until he started crying
and throwing real punches at me

– or Drago, if you will – which led
to an unfortunate escalation,
and perhaps even a few
Queensbury rule violations,

which led to Drago and Balboa’s mom
bursting in to win the match by default.

It was in those formative years
that I learned the greatest truth
about action fiction;
the bad guy may not always win,

but he usually has the most fun.
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 15 prompt: “a poem in which a villain faces an unfortunate situation, and is revealed to be human (but still evil).”

Sorry for the delay. It was a loooong drive to Whistler. I’m a day behind and punch-drunk from lack of sleep, but I hope to find my footing soon.

Day 13 – Tastes like Stardust

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Photo by Mike Fox on Unsplash

Tastes like Stardust

The path beyond
our garden
leads
where daylight
won’t tread

where she follows
with eyes that beg
for relief I live
to provide

touching her where
her lean suggests

spinning circles
where her breath
catches and skips
and lingers

her heartbeat
tastes like stardust,
moonbeams and
Venus dimples

I am her
percussionist;
steadily I drum
readily as a duet
is hummed to
an audience
of two

I exist as
both composer and
her instrument to strum
or tease a bar
or two

she is my music
I am her best verse

our groove
not nearly as harsh
as I’m able
or she wants,

but firm enough
to shift firmament
and furniture
where leeway
yields
to leverage,

not leaning into
the strong force or
dark energy,

but as she sheens,
slick from my sweat,
she knows I’m there
***

Written for NaPoWriMo Day 13 prompt:

…write a poem in which the words or meaning of a familiar phrase get up-ended. For example, if you chose the phrase “A stitch in time saves nine,” you might reverse that into something like: “a broken thread; I’m late, so many lost.” Or “It’s raining cats and dogs” might prompt the phrase “Snakes and lizards evaporate into the sky.” Those are both rather haunting, strange images, and exploring them could provide you with an equally haunting, strange poem (or a funny one!)

In all honesty, this prompt left me a bit lost. When I tried in earnest, I was left writing nonsensical garbage. I didn’t give up though; I shifted focus and tried writing about a known event between consenting adults in a new way. It’s not quite up-ended, but I’m ok with the result.