Sunday, April 20, 2014

Mediumvioletred (a Poem for Day Nineteen of PAD)

I like this prompt! I will come back to it, but for now—a shorty.


For today’s prompt, pick a color, make the color the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. You can make your poem black, white, red, purple, turquoise, puce, or whatever your heart desires. And the subject of your poem can cover any topic–as long as you’ve plugged a color into the title. Let’s do this!


photo by Mocho1
Exactly What Color Is That?


Mediumvioletred

You and me blended as one,
nothing medium about it,
for a moment we went violent
until n-for-needy fell out
through the cracks between
overpowered and loveless, left violet
behind in the middle of life,
waiting, oh waiting for red
at the end of this run-
on colorful life.


*****




Saturday, April 19, 2014

The Winter That Wasn't (a Poem for Day Eighteen of PAD)

Since I'm a day behind, I hope to write and post my Day Nineteen poem later. Or at least be caught up by Monday!

The Day Eighteen prompt for PAD:

For today’s prompt, write a weather poem. A weather poem can be a poem about a hurricane or tornado; it can be a poem about the weatherperson; it can be a poem about forgetting an umbrella on a rainy day; it can be big; it can be small; etc.

photo by juan perez
The Sun Beat Winter


The Winter That Wasn't

Winter delivered
desert highs, sweaty skies, gained
fraud’s reputation


*****




Thursday, April 17, 2014

Clubbing in the 80s (a Poem for Day Seventeen of PAD)

Wow. Day Seventeen. More than halfway there. Below is my poem for the day; it's not really autobiographical (at least not completely). 

The Day Seventeen prompt for PAD:

For today’s prompt, write a pop culture poem. I guess I broke out the Bon Jovi a day early, eh? But hey, write a poem about Bon Jovi or Van Halen; write a poem about the Kardashians (or don’t–and say you did); write a poem about a popular SNL skit; write a poem about Dr. Who or Downton Abbey; write a poem about any kind of popular culture thing-a-ma-bob you wish. In fact, write three! (Just kidding; you only need to write one poem–but seriously, write three and be sure to add a little more cowbell.)

photo by fousik
These Are the Waves I Listen to Now


Clubbing in the 80s

Mom and dad told me to come inside
when city streetlights shined up the night.
Instead, I (Du)ran out into darkness
as strobe lights blinked on, stumbling
over 10,000 Maniacs and a Flock
of Seagulls rushing across the front lawn.
Those were the days, Driven to Tears
on My Own Secret Journey sprinting
from Police, then Walking Like an Egyptian
with Bangles dangling on both rigid wrists.
I passed Stray Cats strutting in alleys,
on sidewalks, and on teenaged car roofs,
and then cried Tears for Fear
of men after Tom petted my ego
and then turned aloof. I Squeezed self-
consciousness into black tights and big hair
daring to fit into a League beyond Human,
dressed to impress my Loverboy
constructed of a Simple Mind. Now I suppose
that was all right, nights forgotten across river Styx
after growing up attending Spandau Ballet,
left behind to become the nineteenth member
of the town’s secret Cult, praising charcoal-eyes
and forty-ouncers in hormonal back seats, still waiting
on Tom, too tiring for me, sucking his Red Hot
Chili Peppers, I snuck back inside
before morning came and Mom flipped
on my bedroom light.


*****


Your Absence Smells like (a Poem for Day Sixteen of PAD)

Hmm . . . I sense a pattern. Midnight approaches and I haven't yet written my poem for the challenge. So here I am again posting when I should be sleeping. 

This poem isn't quite what I wanted to create, but I'm too tired to fight it.

Day Sixteen of PAD:

For today’s prompt, write an elegy. An elegy doesn’t have specific formal rules. Rather, it’s a poem for someone who has died. In fact, elegies are defined as “love poems for the dead” in John Drury’s The Poetry Dictionary. Of course, we’re all poets here, which means everything can be bent. So yes, it’s perfectly fine if you take this another direction–for instance, I once wrote an elegy for card catalogs. Have at it!


photo by Marco Michelini
Can They Smell Your Absence?



Your Absence Smells Like

Cozy smells like thickened casings
of your arms wrapped
around the parts of me
you left behind. Sometimes
I sit, waiting for your appearance,
cross-elbowed, back slumped over
above folded legs, staring
into mirror’s warbled reflection, irises
shifting colors like mood rings.

My life smells like waiting for a sign
you haven’t left me, like you promised
you never would, your bones hardened,
have become cement statues decorating
rose gardens you tended in my youth. Staked
into ashen soil, you try hard to hang on
to vine-y leaves before disintegration
takes over, makes me smell the death
I don’t ever want to face.



*****


Wednesday, April 16, 2014

What Love Wants (a Poem for Day Fifteen of PAD)

Once again I'm writing at midnight. And I'm tired, so I'm sticking to just one. My poem for Day Fifteen is below.

Today's prompt is a Two-for-Tuesday:

  • Write a love poem. Love, it’s such a big 4-letter word that can mean so much to so many for a variety of interpretations. Friendly love, sexual love, dorky love, all-encompassing love, jealous love, anxious love, love beaten with a baseball bat, hot love, big love, blues love, greeting card love, forgiving love, greedy love, love in a music video, and so on and so forth.
  • Write an anti-love poem. Well, kinda like love, but take it back the other way.

Photo by lolo piepie
Finding Peace in Love


What Love Wants

Love does not sag to jowly depths,
criticize dusty shelves or scowl
at speckled, mud-spattered floors walked
one thousand miles upon.
Love sees only Sunday morning
misty hikes in those sharp and chiseled
cracks around your weary eyes.
And in wobbly legs, stiff with age’s routines
and boredoms, she sees only moonlit runs
on oceanfront property you both stole
from the serpentine sea. Love wants someone
to see through her skin and bones,
someone to expose her soul, to call
her home, someone to bring heaven
to her earth. That’s all she wants.


*****



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