Sunday, May 01, 2016

Day 30 - Haiku

Sun-kissed mellow calm
Visions of a final verse
Only a daydream
***

We made it! I didn't have quite enough time to myself to dive into another poem, so this Haiku will have to do. But I did write two poems on April 9, so technically, this is poem number 31.

Thanks to everyone who took time to read and/or comment, and a special thanks to m fellow poets out there who inspired me in numerous ways. See you next year.

(Obviously, I will continue to write as the mood hits me.)





Saturday, April 30, 2016

Day 29 - Restless Midnight

Image source: http://thenakedconvos.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/sleeping-midnight.jpg

Restless Midnight

I want you the way
midnight wants to bathe within
the kiss of sunlight.

In the way
daylight cannot find us
in the same space,
kissing our faces the same way
I want to kiss yours.

I want you the way
moonlight wants to hear
lonely souls cry out for comfort,
only to fall silent,
lest someone hears their calls.

In the way
dreams pervert desire
into songs I’ve never heard,
with fingers dancing upon piano.

I want you the way autumn winds
race across your plains to find your heart,
compelling you to close your parka
tightly around us.
I want you
to show me our differences
so that I can admire
the gap in our defenses
before dawn.

I want you
to smile more
and imagine

a world set free.
***



Friday, April 29, 2016

Day 28 - Contacts

Image source: http://img1.ak.crunchyroll.com/i/spire2/f39b45614853ec3b51e46c5ee130f2061267240629_full.jpg

Contacts

1.
Whatshername stopped me
before breaking her plane
after having second thoughts.
But by then,
the credits were rolling
on the Dirty Dancing DVD
neither of us watched through
our indulgences;
we’d already done so much,
licked salt from skin,
crossed too many bridges and taboos
to undo the quest for flesh.
She claimed to be
“Not in her right mind”
bewitched by my long dreadlocks
and uncanny light brown eyes.
I smiled,
masking my disappointment.
Knowing she was right, but
still wanting to know her better.
I relented.

2.
Whatshername begged me
to please her,
and so I dove in,
indulging her every desire
as if the sun would never
rise on our deeds.
She insisted on maintaining
eye-contact with my
hazel almonds as I
plucked her strings
at perfect pitch,
in synch with Swayze
and Baby having
the time of their lives.

3.
Whatshername impatiently sighed,
placing my hand on her thigh,
wondering why
I ignored all of her signals.
After all,
she had seen Dirty Dancing
countless times and
could watch it at any time.
This time,
I took her queue and
leaned deeply into her.

4.
As dad tried
putting Baby in the corner,
Whatshername asked
if my eyes were naturally
hazel-colored.
I replied with a lie.
She asked if I was happily married.
I replied with the sad truth.
She sighed, smiled,
and told me too bad,
but at least I had pretty eyes.

5.
Whatshername made up her couch
for me to sleep.
I thanked her for letting me crash
and disrupting her Friday,
her smile told me she
didn’t mind too much.
I was planning on being a church-mouse,
but she refused to go to bed,
opting to screen Dirty Dancing
for me for some reason.
I politely lied,
faking interest in the film.
It’s the least I could do
for such a gracious host.

6.
Driving to her place,
she didn’t catch my name last time,
so I tossed it to her again,
we exchanged handshakes.
She grazed my thigh,
but I let it slide,
not wanting to read too much into it.
Whatshername complimented my
pretty eyes
and long dreads.
I smiled, blushed,
and shrugged a thank-you at her.

7.
Dropping me off at my place,
Whatshername waited for me to enter.
I patted myself down at my door
before
walking back to her car sheepishly.
It seemed that I locked myself out,
and the wife was spending the night
up north with her girlfriend
who hated me and was convinced
I was an opportunistic cheater.
(Can you imagine?)
Whatshername stared into the
pretty lies irritating my vision
and offered up her couch.
Having no other recourse, I accepted.

8.
The nightclub was pretty dead,
so she came over and introduced herself.
I immediately forgot her name was Debra
while giving her mine.
I don’t think Debra caught my name either,
as Whatshername kept raving about how
I had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen
in a black man. I smiled and thanked her
as her hand grazed my chest,
playfully raking me with her fingernails.
I shrugged and let it slide.
She asked where my girl was; I told her
having a girls’ night up north.
After a few hours of dancing,
she beamed at me and offered a ride home,
licking her lips.
It was a long walk,
so I accepted.

9.
While twisting my follicles,
my beautician asked me
about my evening plans
without the spouse.
I told her the truth; go clubbing,
blow off some steam,
harmless flirting,
but I omitted the obvious as if
I wouldn’t respond to
certain opportunities.
Friendly with both me and my wife,
she knew our struggles,
but tried not to pick sides.
But even she eventually
asked about pretty,
unnatural hazel eyes.
I told her the truth;
they were contacts.
The stylist stopped twisting my hair,
stared intensely, square into my lies
and gave me this pointer;
if any woman complimented
and asked about my eyes in the future,
I should thank them
and never tell them the truth.
I agreed to trust her
and stick with the lie.
** *


Written for NaPoWriMo’s Day 28 prompt: Tell a story, but do it backwards. This one was tricky, but kinda fun. 



Thursday, April 28, 2016

Day 27 - Bio of the Lazy Weirdo

Bio of the Lazy Weirdo

I wield the dual blades Empathy and Wrath.
My favorite colors combine into indigo.

I think too much,
feel too deeply,
lust too hard,
love too frequently.

My greatest weakness is my own reflection.
Sleeping till noon is my hobby.
I love bourbon.

I am the world’s most anodyne supervillain.
** *


Posted to imaginary garden with real toads for the “Who are you?” Bio-prompt, Words Count With Mama Zen. We were asked to write a poetic bio in 50 words or less. This one is mine. Head over to the link to see what other poets shared, and show them some love, if you’d like to. No pressure.



Day 26 - Algae Bloom

Image source: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/these-stunning-satellite-images-turn-earth-into-art-180958808/

Algae Bloom

“Are you OK? Should I come with you?”

The sun poured over the top of the drawn blinds,
illuminating fine dust particles and
sparkling airborne pollen,
signaling waking birds to sing
into the blue before breakfast.
There are many reasons why they sing;
to woo a mate,
to announce an intruder,
to prove they exist.

“This is just a formality. To get a referral.
You don’t need to come along unless you want to.”

I smile into the sun-glare,
unable to see her worried expression,
trying to ease her concerns,
stumbling to dress myself on memory alone.
Her voice alternated between hard and soft,
trying to become both my bedrock and respite.

“You got this. I’m here if you need me.”

** *

I am fifteen-minutes late,
but she will see me anyway.
I eschew the waiting room’s periodical graveyard
for my handheld electronic window to the world.

I come across a satellite photo of the Bering sea;
a sea of green, blue, aqua. It seems that
algae bloom inhales carbon,
exhaling oxygen until they end their lifecycle,
falling from view to the bottom,
falling from view
taking their carbon jewels with them.

Their unconscious act of breathing
heals the planet for us to some degree,
counteracting some of our
climate change damage.

It’s all very simple and beautifully complex,
their cursive emerald tendrils curling, sprawling.

“So what brings you here today,” she asks

Algae is not sentient.
There is no premeditation
to their olive-drab actions;
no thought or strategy in
making the planet more suitable for us.

“I… uhm… Well, I…”
My voice trails off,
falling from view.

Algae doesn’t know what it doesn’t know.
Algae exists for its own sake;
it lacks the ability
to question the nature
of its existence.

I sometimes envy algae.

“I need to talk to somebody.”

** *



Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Day 25 - Maple Fairy

Image source: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/japanese-priests-collected-almost-seven-centuries-climate-data-180958929/?utm_source=facebook.com&no-ist


Maple Fairy

There was once a fairy
chained to a Japanese maple,
bound by tendrils of regret.

She is invisible,
except within the
flicker of a firefly’s light
in a hairsbreadth’s timeline
between the sliver of
sunset’s disk and dusk.

Her whisper
gently rustles maple leaves,
soothing an overworked brow
with cool kisses.

If you glimpse her,
smile and breathe deeply,
for she will barter
her fleeting freedom for
the momentary relief
of your burden.

** *



Monday, April 25, 2016

Day 24 - The Dead Share no Secrets

Image source: https://suejudd.com/2016/04/11/april-macros-in-the-garden-2/

The Dead Share no Secrets

We coiled around each other, the spindly, web-like remains of two slowly-decaying flowers, the lovemaking, more mechanical, paint-by-numbers than the singular fling of our youth some twenty-five years ago, a one-night forest fire birthed from the spark of eye-contact and glancing blushes. We both promised ourselves to another; both promises were broken once, and only once, giving into a fleeting moment, a blip in time we promised to take to our graves; a happily illicit memory of when the flap of a butterfly wing propelled us into a tangled mess.

Some twenty-five-odd years later, having lost my beloved, loyal, longtime life companion to some cruel disease that forced me watch her slowly waste away in agony, I still replayed her final days, hours, seconds. Unable to help her, I watched her life-force fade from her fingertips as I held her cooling hand. The loss was overwhelming and absent of meaning. I selfishly knew that I deserved to lose her, though when death comes, deserves have little to do with it. Our once beautiful home atrophied like a dying flower; I could still see the beauty in the bones, the spindly superstructure, but it was mostly dark, silent, empty, like me. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep, others I reached into the void, hoping to touch an anchor. And so when reaching out across the void of cybernetic technology, I found her, my spring-fling dalliance recently divorced from her partner and freed from her own promise.

Time wasn’t too unkind to either of us. Sure we’d put on a few pounds, we were a few steps slower, and had life sketched onto our faces, but that familiar spark was present, just as in the beauty of a wilting flower. I arranged our meeting at my empty, now-silent home, hoping to fill it – and myself – with, I dunno… something other than the dread of waking up alone each day.

She did not disappoint, as we splendiferously spilled onto the sofa, grandiloquently grinded on the kitchen counter, and finally wrestled urgently, leveraging our brinksmanship in the bedroom. Our corpulent copulation, our reacquainting Ragnarök rocked on into the evening, despite my neighbors’ complaints. But regardless of the urgency in which we broke ourselves upon each other’s weary wheels, we never fully recaptured the spark of our forbidden youth, nor could we fill our respective emptiness by clutching each other until muscle failure. Physical functions to fill abstract emptiness; a decadent exercise resulting in vituperative failure. We could not capture lightening in a bottle, not even if we combine fronts to create our own thunderstorm. But there’s always new lightening, isn’t there?

Ghost of dead flower
Beautiful, alluring still
You are not alone
** *
Inspired by dVerse’ Haibun Monday #12 – Beauty in decay, but not shared there, as I kind of went off the rails on the guidelines. I couldn't tighten the haibun paragraphs any further without losing the narrative. 

Go here to see more dVerse poets write to this prompt.

(Yes, I know I'm a day behind. I'll catch-up.)