what’s the hottest thing ?
tongue – belly – heart – volcanic
thought….. surely not, feet?!
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haiku
Category Archives: tongue
what on earth
tongue in the sky tail
in the earth wonder where all
small birds go to die
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haiku
ordinary rapture ( pardonnez-moi)
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at least we weren’t speaking french
there was another music etched between us
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etched between us, music notes no other could sense
‘specially in this midnight light at the hush-hush bus-stop
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stopped hush-hushed, this midnight light made ‘specially for us
cold lapping our bare legs, while tidal-tongues go lava-like
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tidal tongues turned lava-like, our cold bare legs lapping each others’ shores
eyes closed, listening for the bus, but not, ear buds in, connecting us
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us, listening, not for the bus, but for the budding connection without ears or eyes
goosebumps raised like brail, jingle-jangled to each touch
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touching raising goosebumps meant as maps, like jingle-jangle trail
dead-scroll pilgrimage attempt washed up on bus stop bench
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attempt a scroll on a dead-phone,stopped, this bench a washed-up pilgrimage
at least we weren’t speaking french
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not a haiku
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NaPoWriMo day 27:-
to write a “duplex.” A “duplex” is a variation on the sonnet, developed by the poet Jericho Brown. Here’s one of his first “Duplex” poems, and here is a duplex written by the poet I.S. Jones. Like a typical sonnet, a duplex has fourteen lines. It’s organized into seven, two-line stanzas. The second line of the first stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the second stanza, the second line of the second stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the third stanza, and so on. The last line of the poem is the same as the first.
dreamspeak
brush sleep from my mouth
rush out in to day dreams still
attached to my tongue
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haiku
let it flow, no
i swallow my own
lava over & over
not to burn my tongue
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haiku
uncorked
skin twitters scribbles
none sense in ebbs across tides
your tongue messages
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haiku
stalk memory
i want rhubarb days
grandma’s sugar pastry crumbs
warm on my girl~tongue
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haiku
collective clapp
we keep the storm warm
in our mouths above our tongues
the storm keeps us warm
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haiku
Hung outside in, Kitchen
NaPoWriMo day 5
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Hammered! Into copper-tongued clarity nothing
______matters, does it? Stuffed! Into cotton mouth
answers bluest call, shatters juices more from apple cored.
_____I wince. Panting quietly, my idiotic grin incised.
I can’t remember a taste as metallic as this
_____wishbone ( aptly gnawed) between teeth and trees and faith, passing
flowers have some honey, so does sun, and
_____isn’t that enough? Listen! This is just what
the bees whisper to breezy Spring’s
_____hips, thighs drunk, heavy, rippling, fizzing on
estrogenic tides. Sniffles caught on hazel twigs, drained and skinned.
_____Sorry! I lift my head and toes from this mess, taking intricate
steps. I lift kettle and cauldron down
_____gently, without much clack, fire quietly electricity, lightning cracks,
dying for some scalding liquid sympathy. Sun comes in
____at my waist, pouring pats on porcelain vase on table centre
My mind wanders out the window and teacup
_____strikes formica, gruffly asks a spoon to dance.
When has a morning been dressed as flayed as
_____this? Smashed passion for mama’s cooking, damp dents
in pillows, twisted patterned sheets…….dissipates……
_____The storm inside abates, beaten in syrupy circles
washed out in sea flakes and oat cakes
____a string of fresh laundry strung outside.
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not a haiku
April 5, 2021
This prompt challenges you to find a poem, and then write a new poem that has the shape of the original, and in which every line starts with the first letter of the corresponding line in the original poem. If I used Roethke’s poem as my model, for example, the first line would start with “I,” the second line with “W,” and the third line with “A.” And I would try to make all my lines neither super-short nor overlong, but have about ten syllables. I would also have my poem take the form of four, seven-line stanzas. I have found this prompt particularly inspiring when I use a base poem that mixes long and short lines, or stanzas of different lengths. Any poem will do as a jumping-off point, but if you’re having trouble finding one, perhaps you might consider Mary Szybist’s “We Think We Do Not Have Medieval Eyes” or for something shorter, Natalie Shapero’s “Pennsylvania.”
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Here is the poem that chose me…
Here Are Some Thorns, Splinters, Fishbones
BY SU CHO
Home for a pan-fried mackerel dinner,
my mother watches my chopsticks stumble
around the 가시. Full after a few bites,
I remember a story. When I was a baby
I choked on a fishbone at my grandparents’ house. My dad
wasn’t there. They yelled at my mother
for not inspecting each flaky bit of fish I put
in my clumsy mouth, not teaching me
the maneuvering of spiky slivers with my tongue,
how to place the needles next to my plate,
extract white meat clean. Ever since, she peels and holds
skeletons above our meal—fossils before me.
Still, I am bad at pulling bone from fish, cutting
skin from pears, which means I’ll never
get married. But what about the nights where my mouth
drips with SunGold kiwi, looking over
at my love, my lips smacking unabashedly.
Me cupping the furry layer in my palm, and you
standing over the sink eating it whole.
What would our mothers say? We laugh while I tell you
the story of how once, a splinter burrowed
into the meat of my thumb, and I kept it there for weeks.
Told my parents the splinter came out on its own
while I hoped my body would absorb the slender spear
and disappear the 가시 painlessly.
how cool is this!
NaPoWriMo day 4
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up to my feet
higher than ever
ever was
my knees awash with blush
blue as the sun
come to kiss
incessantly
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unpredictable dangle, my hips
swung undone, clicking in places, ungripped
angles untongued, unhorizoned, unzipped
come to pass
over
and over
caress
where i was
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heels over head
like a wheel
bums up, pants down
what a feeling!
i’m not burning. i promise
i’m adonis!
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warming my jets
upended by toes
detached from all that ever
ever was
i’m not falling. i promise
i’m gaia! i’m higher
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i’m fearless, trawling stars
a mess, a tangle of hair, a thicket of air
sketching nothing nothing that
ever was
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i’m not flying. i’m goddess
i promise. look !
no hands! no stands!
imagine this!
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nb
Adonis : God of beauty, fertility , permanent renewal. Greek mythology.
Gaia: Personification of the Earth. Greek mythology.
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In honor of the always-becoming nature of poetry, I challenge you today to select a photograph from the perpetually disconcerting @SpaceLiminalBot, and write a poem inspired by one of these odd, in-transition spaces. Will you pick the empty mall food court? The vending machine near the back entrance to the high school gym? The swimming pool at what seems to be M.C. Escher’s alpine retreat? No matter what neglected or eerie space you choose, I hope its oddness tugs at the place in your mind and heart where poems are made.
barbaraturneywielandpoetess 