bizarre celebrations: Clo's NaPo 2009 Thread

These made me smile.

I think 3.2 would have to be my favorite one.

Especially this part:

When you push the window open to air out the room (there’s something wrong
behind those walls, but we don’t have the money to fix it) I like how the breeze
washes over our skin,

our breath thin,

listening to music until the night brushes into morning,
nothing else to consider.

I like the how you wrapped imperfection and pure bliss into one little image. Beautiful.

Keep writing,

~Angel

This is rated R, so don't read it, children.

4.6. sex

you could try to tell me this is wrong, the heavy breathing,
the rolling over into his body, his limbs pulling me up
but I’ll not believe you. Our bodies curl on the couch, fingers
playing touching rising & the brushing of the lips is such
a way to fall to pieces that I could never leave this state of falling
into pieces tiny pieces of the sentence fragments that collect
catching on my bottom lip. The bending of the body and my thoughts
just bending to the falling motion of your body being
brought into my being as we cover up the sliding sheets and
passing over all the realms within that small set of space.

there is nothing greater than the brushing of the hand
against your jaw, the unfolding of the arms & the air cools down
the movement something simple as a leg moves over a leg moves over
to the pillow as we’re perpetually in motion and in sound of something
greater than a body and a body and a concept of state.

there’s words being said about something, like the activity and some
papers documents written legal love & legal written papers
but it’s all far away now and this falling gives me free breaths that
I draw up in sheer exhilaration contentment & correctness.

I just realized that my mind's been stuck in March and I've been using March dates. Time, anyone? Wow. Updated!

4.6. mother, you--!

snow in April is like screaming "Fuck you"
to little children with chip-tooth smiles --
Nature, you obscene gaudy little tramp,
I shut my door to your face.

You better think a moment or two
before you try to speak to me again,
for it will take a bit for me to forgive this.

No comments lately. Oh well, writing a poem (or two) a day does not produce good poetry. >_>

4.7. creation & diffusion

There's a lack of development of anything when I cease
to place myself in situations where I can habituate any
classical virtues, and if I'm not full
of habits then the question of my existence seems apt,
it makes me manic for a movement in any direction at all.

Sitting still seems a sin, when within I let the dread
collect like wet breaths, webs of thought, clinging to common sense.
There's no suspense when I wait for a lack of something,
this not being here as I walk to Point B allows for an
anxiety that rests inside & I have a state of sickness without
a point to exist & my body parts might as well be solar systems
with wild natural wonders of flinging debris and I drift aimlessly --
meaninglessly, nothing apart from me real.

There's a need for some diffusion, for me to let my particles
become a part of the greater world, moving all the inane constructions
from inside myself and set them into places to be witnessed
by all the mobile people & I can be something to be
touched and feel the rush of blood to my face.



---




4.7. The Map is Everything

I've mapped us out
& we're the same location --
we can be witnessed in the world wonders,
and the dirt murmurs about our future --

the stars are ready to be us,
& I sense our smallest parts in their glow.

There's a need for some diffusion, for me to let my particles
become a part of the greater world, moving all the inane constructions
from inside myself and set them into places to be witnessed

I love this. Especially the particles.

4.7 Creation and Diffusion stirred something inside me. I really, really like it.

There's no suspense when I wait for a lack of something,
this not being here as I walk to Point B allows for an
anxiety that rests inside & I have a state of sickness without
a point to exist & my body parts might as well be solar systems
with wild natural wonders of flinging debris and I drift aimlessly --
meaninglessly, nothing apart from me real.

Very beautiful, Clo!

I've been writing two a day, trying to get something that doesn't suck completely.

4.8. you on nerves on love on firing electrons

I collect your words for later reverie when we must leave each other,
kiss your lips to steal love for moments when your face is far
away from my tiny hand and heart and no one to lay myself beside.
Moments you are absent from hang and hum as monotone as no time,
minutes meaning inane things that tick only to remind of missing persons for
when I cannot clasp your arm to tell you of a wonder found, wonders pass me by.
In my head in times as these I string the fragments into masterpiece
and I wish I could reveal to the world this work of art, you in memory,
my arrangements of your fragments of synapses in my mind.


---


4.8. the loud and everpresent me myself

Everywhere I am I make a mess with my thoughts –
I fling my presence across the room & my ideas
bloom rapidly as if a shower has just passed overhead
& impressions of my beliefs are sticky sweet &
stain (you’ll need to bleach everything).
I am just very present, & the only way
to keep this place tidy
is to be present yourself
& I won’t have to spill over to keep you on your toes.

CLO! I have... been... not commenting. But I really like today's poems!

Moments you are absent from hang and hum as monotone as no time,
minutes meaning inane things that tick only to remind of missing persons for
when I cannot clasp your arm to tell you of a wonder found, wonders pass me by.

This is my favorite part. I know this feeling all too well. I love how you captured it in the poem so perfectly. My favorite. <3

& impressions of my beliefs are sticky sweet &
stain (you’ll need to bleach everything).

And, are you KIDDING me? That was brilliant. Please marry me.