#0092 - Tire

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 11}

Tire.
But not like rubber.
Not malleable.
Not heat-retardant,
crack-retardant,
split-retardant,
force-retardant,
paper-holding
hair bun-holding,
spandex,
latex
thing that we somehow pull out of trees.

Tire like lethargy.
Tire in keeping with the light of sobering stars
moving slowly across the sky
as you slowly succumb to sobering sleep.
Situational: somber street lights lining
asphalt streets that linger in your line of sight
as you leave one place to find
another.
Leave the lights;
lie down lavishly (or lumpily)
and learn to list off little sheep
that lollygag across
a lay-er’s sleep.

#0091 - ode to your beauty

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 10}
{Prompt: "Bad Poetry," from THATRANDOMPROMPT on Tumblr}

O, how beautiful your beauty is;
O, how wonderful your wonder is;
O, how amazing your amazement is;
O, how pulchritudinous your pulchritude is...

To attempt to describe your beauty—
whether your face or hair or booty—
Would be nothing but a sin.
but, I can try; and in
My attempt to commit this sin
I relate you to a metal trash bin:

Like the polished metal of the waste-holding can,
You reflect the gleam of stars and plan-
-ets, and the tar-colored irises of your eyes
are as black as the bin's residual grimes.

To truly find words that
can describe your beauty would take so much thought that


























I need to pause
before I can describe your jaws
or describe your hair,
Which flows like air,
Or describe your legs
which are as long as pegs
that are long.

And don't think that I jest!
you are more beautiful than anyone could have guessed,
So that I feel like I'm under a hex
Such that I only think about se-
-lling my heart and soul to you
so that you won't be blue—

You being blue I never want to see
Because, although your eyes are blue like the sea,
I never want you to be
the bad kind of blue, if you know what I mean

(If you don't, then what I mean is that I don't want to see you
     sad; I relate sad with the color blue—
Now see, do you?)

So, I again raise my glass to your beauty
And hope that you can stay with me
As we stand on the snowy ridge of an overlooking
     mountain range buffeted by a windy breeze
and see.

#0090 - Thought 19

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 9}

Harsh, bright lights;
          Now slumber—

Straining eyes and weathered mind
          Meet thoughtless void—unique respite.

#0089 - Haiku VIII

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 8}

Movie ending scenes,
Unlike our reality,
Tie up the loose ends.

#0088 - Cold Mornings

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 7}

Reminders of times past;
Nostalgia;
The blitheness of a child revisited.

At a time when darkness still reigns—
too late in the night for anyone to be awake, or
too early in the morning for anyone to be awake—
tata (father) rouses us to consciousness.

Lethargy
like superglue keeping our eyes closed;
Cold
like waterfalls of ice on our feet
when they poke out from under the covers.

"Come on, time to wake up;
you can sleep in the car."

Pillows, blankets huddled in our arms:
mementos of the paradise of slumber.
We stumble wherever that familiar voice leads us,
vision fuzzy,
feet shuffling,
comprehension nonexistent—
just get to the car,
where rest awaits.

Step out the garage door,
cold morning air hits us like the gust of a blizzard.
Still black as ink outside;
the sun makes a feeble effort to light our way:
the faintest glimmer of blue—
hue inspired by the glacial air—
streaks along the Eastern horizon.
And the air:
As if winter concentrated all it has
into this single morning;
As if we are living in a fridge
and the fridge door just slammed shut;
As if Antarctica has come to visit us,
but without the snow.

Oooooh it's c-co-old.
Where's the car?

We shuffle begrudgingly to the open door and dive in,
creating our personal nests faster than any bird
out of pillows and covers and anything warm.

Darkness:
sleep returns.

As tens,
dozens,
hundreds
of miles of asphalt pass beneath our metal chariot,
the sky grows gradually brighter
and through holes in the sheltering veil of Hypnos
we listen to snippets of grown-up talk:
something about planning,
something about money,
something about home,
something about travel,
…something about us...

In retrospect, it was all probably important,
but, to the infinite indifference of childhood,
irrelevant.

That indifference is gone now—
it could not follow me through the years.
Like Blankie
and action figures
and Gameboy cartridges,
it’s in the attic now.
I can visit it,
but I can no longer have it back.

#0087 - Thought 18

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 6}

One true difference exists between wilting and shedding:

Either way, the bad stuff falls away.
In shedding, a better you manifests;
In wilting, there is nothing left when the detritus falls away.

#0086 - Forbidden

{NaPoWriMo 2017 ~ Day 5}
{Prompt: "Taboo," from Poetry Riot! on Tumblr}

Perpetual Earth:
our home and our hearth.
The disk of our sun
not turning 'round us?
Forbidden.

A dark-coloured man:
him, owning the farmland
that's littered with soil
upon which he toils?
Forbidden.

A woman well-dressed
and clever, no less:
her, raising her hand
or taking a stand?
Forbidden.

A man and a man
to walk hand in hand?
A lady and lady
in shared bed asleep?
Forbidden.

So many things that have been labeled taboo;
are you still surprised that the judgement continues?
Not surprised, I would say,
just a little irritated;
Saddened.