Posted in Poetry, Tabletop Poetry (and Other Artforms)

30 in 30: Day 23

On day nineteen, napowrimo’s prompt was to write an abecedarian poem. What I ended up with also felt appropriate for the day after Earth Day:

A goldfish swims through the city
Boys wake from their slumber to see
City buildings, slime covered, as the fish looks for a method to breathe
Dogs bark at the monster, but soon
Every one of them
Flees under beds, under tables, afraid of the
Goldfish’s wide open maw, opening and closing
He cannot blow bubbles here
Icicles drip into its gills
Jolting the fish with new energy
Keeping it alive in this place
Laced with pollutants
Magically, it keeps swimming,
Not stopping for buildings or smoke or cars
Out late, barely noticing the lights
Pointing toward it as helicopters come to investigate
Quickening, it swims onward
Rousing family after family
Sensing a strange fin brush their windows
Terrified this sea creature is an omen
Underlying what they have always known
Victory in the end will belong to the Earth
We are only guests here
Xenodiagnostic studies have found the infection while we are still
Young, and rather than be overtaken by our
Zealousness, she will recover.

Posted in Poetry, Tabletop Poetry (and Other Artforms)

30 in 30: Day 22

What do you know? Today’s napowrimo prompt is to write an ekphrastic poem–my specialty! On Day 17, the prompt was to write a scene from an unusual point of view. So I combined these two with yesterday’s Dixit card.

The ribbon tastes like a truffle in my mouth.
It is smooth and silky, and slices away so easily.
But it is special. It is dessert.
There is no sustenance in cutting satin ribbons
in front of buildings. There is only pleasure in it,
in feeling the silky smoothness
of the satin slice between my teeth.
But why can’t I find a meal in other satin?
Why should I not cut the pieces of a satin shirt?
The shirt bears more nutrients.
It will hold up longer, be worn again and again,
not merely discarded at the end of the ceremony.
But then what of the cotton shirt
or the cotton pillowcase? Cotton is ever so fibrous.
Healthy, perhaps, but it tastes like bread.
Though it’s soft, it doesn’t bear the silky texture
of the truffle satin. And denim, though delightful,
is rather hard to chew. But at least it’s not paper.
Paper, that sticks to my teeth
until I can bite nothing else. Paper,
that is even less nutritious than satin.

Posted in Poetry, Tabletop Poetry (and Other Artforms)

30 in 30: Day 21

Yesterday’s napowrimo prompt was to write a poem that talks. With a little help from a handy-dandy Dixit card, I produced this:

Catch me if you can! said the little scissors to the big. 
Oh, I know I will. You’re nothing but a twig.
I’m just as fine as you, for I am mighty sharp.
Oh is that the reason you had trouble cutting through that tarp?
But you cut the ribbon last year! Because I’m tried and true!
But your blades are duller. I am young and new!
If you don’t both stop this squabbling, I will have to do.

Posted in Poetry, Tabletop Poetry (and Other Artforms)

30 in 30 Day 20: Van Gogh

For his Day 4 prompt, Robert Lee Brewer challenged poets to make the title of their poem the name of a painter. Now, I don’t know a lot about painters, but my favorite painting is Starry Night, so naturally, I think of Van Gogh. And when I think of Van Gogh, I think about this fascinating discovery about Van Gogh painting turbulence. So I decided to explore that in a kind of prophecy.*

Van Gogh

And the stars shall speak to him.
And the wind shall speak to him.
And the air shall call his name
and he will see it as it is.
And the wind will greet him as a friend
and tell him all her secrets.
And he will paint the portrait
of the wind in her truest form.
And scientists will marvel at her nakedness
for centuries to come.
And they will study her.
And they will measure her.
And they will try to calculate
the degree of her perfection.
And they will find no fault.
For she will whisper in his ear
and he will hear nothing but her voice.
And he will chase her
as a sailor after a siren
for he will understand her
in a way no other can.
For he will himself know the feeling
of scattering
and he will know her mind
as if it is his own.
And together, they will paint each other.

*On a side note, I find some level of comfort in the fact that Van Gogh’s ability to paint turbulence came during his most turbulent times, as if mental disorders have the ability to open up artists to things they wouldn’t otherwise be able to see. This is not the first time I have come across this idea.

Posted in Poetry, Tabletop Poetry (and Other Artforms)

30 in 30 Day 19: New Mexico

When I read Robert Lee Brewer’s Day 14 prompt, I was naturally drawn to the thought of using my old home, New Mexico. So in this poem, I decided to look at the state question (red or green?) in a new light.

New Mexico

Where red mesas rise
in the distance,
dotted with green trees
so scraggly you may wonder
how they manage.

Where red and green join each other
in the form of chiles
(And “chile” is always spelled
with an e.)

Where red t-shirts gather
on the blazing green lawn
of the flagship university
as a display of Lobo pride.

Where brightly painted
red and green balloons
soar above a blazing horizon
to greet the morning.

I will only ever
need two crayons
when coloring you.

Posted in Poetry, Tabletop Poetry (and Other Artforms)

30 in 30 Day 18: The Tree of Imagination

I didn’t really notice this card at first, but upon a closer inspection, I discovered I really like it. Like, this is probably one of my favorite cards. There is just so much going on in this picture. And I barely touch on it in the poem:

The Tree of Imagination

The view looks good from down here.
The gears are spinning,
the pages are turning.
Yup, we can see everything.
There’s Sunny on her bicycle.
We’re rooting of her to win
the next big bicycle race.
The trophy is down that way.
I think it might be bigger than me.
We’d need the both of us to pick it up.
Look, there’s the Wests and the Porters.
They’ve lived next to each other
for centuries.
They have nothing in common,
But they always put with each other.
Oh! And there’s Peter West, Sunny’s brother
And her America Porter.
They’ve been hanging out in secret.
They think nobody sees them kiss,
but we do.
And that means we see America’s brother,
Aaron. And we know he’s happy
About her and Peter,
just wishes they’d stop keeping it a secret.
Good old Uncle Peter.
He finds the joy in everything.
And look! There’s us.
Under our tree.