NaPoWriMo day eleven: the five senses

 9 am poetry

That first dip,

that first plunge into the unknown.

His skin so soft and smelling of honey and my rising chest,

Breathing punctuated by gasping.  I am aware of everything,

the sun shining through the curtains,

illuminating the dust in the air hovering above us, lighting the fuzz on your

lower back.  You asking me if I am okay,

my clumsy fingers, grasping,

tracing the outline of your arms, narrow shoulders.

Traversing the terrain of your body, a fearsome thing.

Skipping literature class to keep your skin on mine for a while longer.

I open my eyes while kissing you

and you’re looking back at me, a softly flowering guilt

blooming.

NaPoWriMo day ten: "Good poets borrow; great poets steal"

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;*
Shifting ghosts, gliding in and out of sliding doors.

Carrying briefcases, children, coffees,

their faces hazy, fleshy features morphing together,

moving in and out of private moments.  I slip in on their thoughts,

read the lines of facial creases like a text;

stranger’s faces become literature for the daily commute.

*From Ezra Pound's "In a Station of the Metro"

NaPoWriMo day eight: Westcoasting

So I slightly deviated from Maureen Thorson's prompt for today, mainly because the prompt was to go outside and it was midnight when I wrote this (and I was cozy in bed).  It still pertains to the outdoors and the weather, just not today's weather!

Westcoasting

us vancouverites, we are prepared with our miniature umbrellas

in our trouser pockets.  Eating sushi with sand between our toes and

chopsticks in our hair. Our poor cousins to the east,

lamenting the passing of august into the brutal jaw of winter,

we glide slowly, passively, into an endless grey month of

rain.

NaPoWriMo day seven: a colour

An avalanche of sorrys;
trees reduced to whispers.

NaPoWriMo day six: an animal poem

  

The docile house cat, also known as chat,

feline, katu, kitte, pussy.

I bring you mice as offerings,

Bleeding gifts symbolic of my predatory prowess.

Take heed; I am not curled up on your lap for your comfort

or mine;

rather I am memorizing the topography of your body,

the ways I can trip you up,

lull you to sleep.  I’ve got nine lives

and exponentially more ways to take my place

as dictator of this house.

NaPoWriMo day five: baseball

MVP

The way the sun only catches the five inches of space on your thigh,

Between the tall striped socks and the spandex shorts,

And you spend the summer with a horizontal burnt banner,

Along with a few patches of raw skin from where you slid into home

And were hero for a day.

NaPoWriMo day four: the blues

The challenge for today was to write a blues.  Let me begin by saying that as much as I love the blues, I am not much of a songwriter.  I summoned the talents of blues god B.B. King while I wrote this, hoping the rhythm would make its way through my fingertips.

The Suit

My baby, he wears a damn fine suit.

Oh, my baby, he wears a damn fine suit,

But it’s about time I give him the boot.

My baby, he wears a damn fine suit,

But he leaves me to make the tea

He leaves me to fold the laundry,

My baby, he don’t love me

But damn, he wears a fine suit.

Oh my baby, he made me his own,

Made me his own sweet lady,

But my baby don’t love me,

Standin’ on the corner, wishin’ he were free.

My baby, he wears a damn fine suit,

But he’s not handsome,

Not handsome at all to me.

His hair is terrible,

His nose is crooked,

My baby, his suit don’t look good on him at all.

My baby, he wears a damn fine suit,

Oh my baby, he wore a damn fine suit.

But I’ve found another man,

Who looks better in his suit,

So I’ve decided to give my baby the boot.

(and take off with the suit)