all the things i love
wrapped up in a 5 pound note
not a boat to float
.
haïku
all the things i love
wrapped up in a 5 pound note
not a boat to float
.
haïku
i got tangled up
in other people excuse
if i’m knot myself
.
haiku
napowrimo day 8
.
quagmire rises to release her/his words
up to no good
no bad – birds knife at the dirt to wake
up the dead
inside her/his head
he/she’s never slept in the depth
night/morning yawning
from an 8-foot down-echo chamber
chill whispers come up
comeuppances
rain down
steady as
steady as
chatter
chatter
remember me
the embers of me
unscattered
you buried me
while i was alive
and once again
made sure i died
haggard
.
remember me
untethered
tongues of me
crawl into your bed
to unsettle your raw bride
6-inches into her/his skin
shrivel galaxies hidden
everywhere aware
here/there
.
remember me
can never be rid of me
foolish one/twos
stamp your shoes on me
spit your 7-curses on me
time again
again
dismember me
remember this
statutory lying-in begins
endless as sins
lying in waiting
there’s no escape
remember me
remember me
.
.
April 8, 2021
btw
And last but not least, our (optional) prompt. I call this one “Return to Spoon River,” after Edgar Lee Masters’ eminently creepy 1915 book Spoon River Anthology. The book consists of well over 100 poetic monologues, each spoken by a person buried in the cemetery of the fictional town of Spoon River, Illinois.
Today, I’d like to challenge you to read a few of the poems from Spoon River Anthology, and then write your own poem in the form of a monologue delivered by someone who is dead. Not a famous person, necessarily – perhaps a remembered acquaintance from your childhood, like the gentleman who ran the shoeshine stand, or one of your grandmother’s bingo buddies. As with Masters’ poems, the monologue doesn’t have to be a recounting of the person’s whole life, but could be a fictional remembering of some important moment, or statement of purpose or philosophy. Be as dramatic as you like – Masters’ certainly didn’t shy away from high emotion in writing his poems.
man didn’t see me.
kids grew
same vision:
life
got smaller…
colder…
.
haiku
on deep blue days i
catch myself out
missing you ~
it’s a quiet storm
.
haiku
Haiku
.
So, what has been learned…
Don’t joke about sex, or men
Will fuck you stupid
Haiku
.
…except the fittest
who flexed their mightiness;
their unequal rights
Haiku
.
And it came to be
As women’s Voice was silenced
The whole planet wept
Haiku
.
…”That’ll teach you to
Mock us,” they cried; raped, pillaged
Everything alive
Haiku
.
…So women were forced.
To a new purpose. Defense.
No place for humour.