love & love

We’ve come so close to the edge
to feel how esoteric
your love is–
my son felt it
& described it as “wonderful”–
so I suppose I cannot ignore
that you are real, fullness
triumphing, against antipathy,
and cleverness will have nothing,
absolutely fucking nothing
to do with our intuitions
which drip like seminal juices
from the pomegranate
you fed me. Only now
I’ve learnt about eavesdropping,
putting my ear to the husk,
like a conch, and I’ve learnt something
of happiness, even while we’ve lost
a major organ, like Beethoven going deaf,
and we fold origami to satisfy
serrated eternal souls.

Taken in battle

Napowrimo #23: unlikely couples. Read Write Poem member Sage Cohen has a terrific suggestion for today’s poems: Write a poem in which you combine a speaker and an event that normally don’t go together (such as sports broadcasters and poetry writing), as Jay Leeming does in his poem, “Man Writes Poem.”

All day you wore fatigues,
constant camouflage.
No one really saw who

you were, as you crawled,
seasoned soldier, maimed in
pricks of undergrowth,

holding a bloodied leg,
a side grazed by bullet,
hit in ruthless fire.

Nothing but sputter
putrid blood everywhere,
sinking into sandbags.

Sudden shrill of siren.
Dive into the trench. Quick!
A volley felled you in cold blood.

You slumped, raggedly,
a beautiful corpse, embattled
love. R.I.P.

sucker

Napowrimo #19: light bulb moment. For today’s NaPoWriMo prompt, Read Write Poem member Rallentanda introduces a word that’s new to many of us: éclat. Online dictionaries (like this one) list several definitions, but it is the etymology that inspires the meaning chosen for today’s prompt. The word éclat is French, and we’re paying attention to its root éclater, “to burst (out), shine.” For Rallentanda, and us, this means a flash or light bulb moment. Everyone has had one. Things suddenly fall into place (a realization of the truth of the matter). Often the situation is too painful to address, so you hide it. For example, you suspect your husband is having an affair with your best friend or you suddenly realize where the missing cash went from your wallet all those years ago.

It can even be humorous. You usually wear your best under garments for a visit to the gynecologist, but as you’re ready to strip off you suddenly realize you are wearing your old gardening knickers with all the broken elastic. Try to describe the ensuing feelings of embarrassment and desperate attempts to rectify this situation. I actually know of someone who tripped and fell on stage at a gala performance. She was so humiliated that she pretended she was having a heart attack (which seemed, to her at the time, the better option). Your poem should express the emotions that grip you as you experience your ’shock’ moment.

You’ve already met him,
how quickly he steals a kiss,
passes secret notes in corridors,
meet me, I’ll whisk you off to the woods,
tear off my wolf’s clothing.

Poor thing, haven’t met the perfect one yet?

No, there’s only the imperfect one
—saddled with baggage.
He makes me really really happy,
sets my heart ablaze,
every word, every thought,
fits like a perfect dream.

Keep looking, darling. Or keep dreaming.

writing love

Napowrimo #11: the thing you didn’t choose. Pick an object — something tangible* — and write your poem directly to it, as if you were writing it a personal letter. Explain why you didn’t choose it. What could things have been like if you had? Talk about what your life has become without it. See where the “confession” takes you. *As an alternative, dig a little deeper and write your poem to a person you left behind. Read Write Poem prompt here.

If we could measure love–
tablespoon heaping
enough sweetness,
how much syrup went
into that bowl,
I scarcely know.

Why didn’t I choose solid,
boring you? Why not steel
my heart against bad huffing
dragons breathing mad fire
so I fell into danger
over and over?

I had no fear of flying,
rather die fearing
safe and boring, fell into
suffering, writing love
again and again, not choosing
you is inner working.

hello winter

Napowrimo #4: your mission as follows.
* Use at least twelve words from this list: flap, winter, torch, pail, jug, strum, lever, massage, octopus, marionette, stow, pumice, rug, jam, limp, campfire, startle, wattle, bruise, chimney, tome, talon, fringe, walker; (I have bold the words I used.)
* Include something that tastes terrible; (a rotten apple)
* Include some part (from a few words to several lines) of a previous poem that didn’t quite pan out; (failed lines about old age in past history of poem writing) and
* Include a sound that makes you happy. (church bells)
Read Write Poem prompt here.

I can already sniff winter, her snowy
tendrils in my long hair.
Is old age like a big octopus hiding
in a dark chimney, churlishly
waiting to choke me?
Would I turn to prayer,
listen to church bells every day?
Would spiritual be enough?
Would I be a grandmother left
on the fringe, a rotten apple?
Would I clutch a brown paper bag
on a lonely park bench, eating
scone and jam thinking of you?
Would I be reading endless tomes,
no one to discuss with?
Would I find a new lover,
who won’t mind my wattles?
Would he pumice pills into powder
so I can swallow?
Would he massage away the bruises
that besiege me?
Would he hold me tenderly rocking
by the fireplace?
Would my heart sing as he strums
it like a guitar?
Would we be so in love winter turns
into my best summer?

falling slowly

Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglová, Falling Slowly (2007)

A beautiful song that’s the theme song for Once, a low budget film about an Irish street musician who crossed path in Dublin with a Czech immigrant (who plays the piano & sings). They eventually go separate ways (having two separate lives) but they shared something beautiful when a broken vacuum cleaner & music brought them together. Poignant stuff.

Yea, I wanted a love song, since the theme for RWP yesterday is love dressed in metaphors. So l.o.v.e., here’s a song for you, in all your wonderful guises and heartbrokenness.

Lyrics:
I don’t know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can’t react
And games that never amount
To more than they’re meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You’ll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You’ve made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I’ll sing along

love is a renegade

Napowrimo #8: unusual love connections. Today, think of your current love, your current obsession or the one who got away. Now come up with five or more unusual metaphors for the object of your affection/obsession, and write a poem celebrating (or trashing) your love. Read Write Poem prompt here.

Love tiptoed in, blissfully unaware.
A renegade who talked too much or
too loud, for your liking & you were
not impressed, started to daydream.

In the elevator, his hazel eyes burned
a hole into your skull unexpectedly
as you struggled with a lanyard caught
in a wisp of hair, like a stupid trap.

Stuck! What an outrageous smirk,
eyes crinkly, laugh a tyranny, till
you released the wayward string,
blushing, gushing, turning away.

You were ready to skulk off.

Your eyes met like instant alchemy,
magnetism biting, stung unlike poles.
Words melted shyly, feeling swaggered,
a brazen boor, saying, Hey you!

Your mind went blind crawling into
a rat hole to hide stealthy cheese.

That renegade’s waving aside
protest, saying, love, maybe,
open the windows, let some light in.
You smiled back like sunshine.

The future felt like a holey black.
This creature made itself, audaciously,
where it didn’t belong, felt at home.
You wanna scream your head off,

& your heart says, shush!

how to woo a woman

…from Star Trek.
(Kid watches role-play.)

You are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.
(But this might not work.)
Yes yes it would.
Or might you think I’m not sincere?
Maybe I do think it’s a lie.
You think I’m not sincere.
There’s nothing wrong with a lie. It’s like a knock at the door.
Like you’re inviting me in? That’s more than I expected.
Is that what you hope?
Hope is to recognise the possibility that I had only dream this.
Dreams can be dangerous.
Not this dream. I dream of a galaxy where your eyes are stars and the universe worships the night.
Careful. Putting me on a pedestal so high you may not be able to reach it.
Then I’ll learn how to fly.
You’re the heart of my day, the soul of my night.

(Kid interrupts.)

I don’t think this is my style.

Shut up kid.

get there soldier

Napowrimo #7: love, funny side up..Write and capture humorous incidents related to love in a 5-line love poem called a tanka. Read Write Poem prompt here.

So I know, this is a rip off from “Friends”. But it’s so funny!

seeexy seeexy very seeexy
yeah soldier I’ll show you how to do this
ouch… you kneed me in my tanka
god I’m so sorry are you ok
soldier down

Another …

I want you I need you boy
take off your clothes I want to see you
I want to see you too
please touch me like this
oh no you cannot I’m inside your TV

rain again

Fog of rain. Washed pale blue sky.
Rain created a mist outside my window.
Stoked by so much fire, I am like the
quiet, ecstatic trees, wet puddles.
Clever birds, how they’re not scared,
hiding in grottos under train tracks.
Some thunder. They startled me. Less
afraid when you held then kissed me.
Phone rang. I ran to answer, for fear.
The caller is impatient. Is that silly?

Deeper. Will I survive without a partner?
She had gone out to call me. I agreed
wholeheartedly. Leave off a leech please.
Love that’s stale, moldy bread, eating
you up, a disease, cutting as a razor,
disguised married bliss, unshaky for
so many blighted years. Erupting misery,
washed in a bed of tears. Call for a
surgeon. Love is real, the rest is fake.
A tightly wound knot, so what’s what?

Shrivelled grapes, sunken persimmons
in my neglected fridge drawer. Same
principle. Unrequited care. Dare I say?
Inertia becomes suffering becomes virtue.
It’s easy to taste fear. You’re easily
a patron saint of suffering, eating
remains of a thin, bland love soup.
Perhaps love had long been in repose,
as in rigor mortis. You’re still breathing.
Splash away to a good life worth living.

Process notes: Napowrimo #3: Scared yet? Write a poem about fear. What are you afraid of? ‘Fess up! Read Write Poem prompt here.