4/29/16

I Remember

I remember the crackle of rice paper letter harboring fine-edged words.
Japan seemed so far away.

I remember whiskey burning, nicotine fumes and gentle laughter. 
Irish accent made Greyhound time race.

I remember New York held at bay by airport offering a cold plaster bed. 
City coaxed, Dane-man beckoned . . . was denied.

I remember spittle in an oft-voiced tirade, stubborn refrain of sins imagined. 
One more tangled conversation, phone line untied.

I remember sun creeping over granite and forest, heart protected under folded arms. 
Shadow of sleeping indian.

I remember wind plastering snake-tendril'd hair to cheeks damp with rain. 
Arms lift to lightening bolts in somber appeal.

I remember. I remember. I remember.
When will I forget?

A Day In the Life

The day 28 prompt from NaPoWriMo: Tell a story backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning. Keep it simple!


One last paw-smudge, knead the warm lump, curl into peace, call the day done!
Dash through the halls and crash with abandon,
into paper bags harboring
braided string teasing.
Temptations of fate! Another snake slain!
Tail a'twitch, ears the same, eyes narrowly watch
spring birds flit and flutter, land on bobbing buds
not yet open this springtime.
Hair stands on end when alarm clock jingles,
warm lump of clay groggily grumbles:
"Off, cat! Awake! The new day has called us."

4/27/16

Long-lines for day 27



There is no escape, no escaping this fate, no escaping this place of reminder and tokens, of muffled souvenirs: memories’ odd knick-knacks and uncovered keepsakes.

There is no escape, no escaping this fate, no escaping this place of waterworked-carping, of sniffling tears and gluttonous moaning: complainings’ troth plighted to life everlasting.

There is no escape, no escaping this fate, no escaping this place of hideous stories, half-unburied tales of forbidden assignations: an unsubtle trysting with disinterred memory.

There is no escape, no escaping this fate, no escaping this place of winsome glee and gurgling hilarity, of mirth’s fleeting charms: rare recollections crushed into treasure.

There is no escape, no escaping this fate, no escaping this place of accustomed accord and habitual being: confinement elected, a duly selected and well-known custody. 

4/26/16

Call and Respond – Or Not.

The lilies of the field, how handsomely clothed! Yet, they toil not. Should you do more?
A sparrow falls to the ground! I see it’s limp, lifeless form. Why, then, do you cry?
A woman’s essence drains and drips. I plug the hole. And yet, you scorn whom I heal?
I call into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And you respond: Let us go!

A withered hand reaches, trembling. I re-form its broken shape. You decry the miracle in your eyes.
Two fear-full, fear-filled men threaten safe passage. I cast the demons out. You send me away.
Thousands gather in hope and hunger. From a loaf and few fishes, all are fed. And still, you doubt.
I call into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And you respond: Let us go!

Outcast beggars stumble in sightless dark. I bring light to the world. You close your eyes to vision.
Caverns of silent stone hold captive mute tongues. I make them to hear and speak again. You turn away.
Unfruited fig tree withers in shame. I curse it in your stead. You can, too, but fail to understand. 
I call into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And you respond: Let us go!

A grieving widow’s tears land softly on the bier. I call her son to rise. You feel no fear.
A desolate father pleads for his daughter. I bade her waken, open eyes. Your recoil in gleeful laughter.
The priest shrieks in pain. From dripping blade, I return his ear. Enough, I say! Listen, hear my words.
I have called over time into the caucusing storm: Feed my people!
And still you respond: Let us go!







4/25/16

Peacock Fine



My NaPoWriMo Day 25 offering. Slightly off-prompt, but more in the 
positioning, both poetical and political, I suppose . . .  

4/24/16

Day 24 NaPoWriMo


STOP!
  
action impeded

barring, banning, hindering  

come . . . to . . . ragged . . .  standstill

Expire . . .


4/23/16

Ablaze



   Fireworks . . .
   sparkling pinwheels
   swell, shine, shrivel
   volatile intensity emanating art
   ablaze

Day 23:  NaPoWriMo proposed adventures in sonnet-land which I am respectfully declining in pursuit of more quintrain poetry -- I like how it complements my photography.