The Reigning of Spring: June's NaPo Thread

4-11-09

The words
are thrown
insolently,
cutting through
the air
like sharpened
knives.

Breaking down
the walls
of esteem
that were
built up
through hardship
and pain.

Don't ask. It counts though, right?



4-12-09

It came that night, on secretive feet,
and paced the room 'til dawn;
keeping awake all who wished to sleep,
and at sunrise, it moved on.

More of a prose-poetry sort of thing.



4-13-09


To tell me to follow rules when I write
is to give me rules to live by;
if I wanted to write a sentence,
with faulted coordination that ran on,
ending abruptly with no punctuation hanging on,
are you telling me it would be a crime? And to tell me
it's illegal to write my thoughts in fragments is
to tell me to stop breathing when I want to;
Are you telling me I have to follow no-man's-rules
and make my story anything but unique?

4-14-09

The winds are blowing mercilessly,
demanding the trees bow down low
until their leaves inhale the moist smell of dirt.
Across the ravine it blows, whipping up debris
as if they were feather-light, howling and twisting,
wrecking havoc, left and right, until...

... it
     exhausts
                  the
                             breath
                                        it
                                              has.

Though I made a resolution not to write and post any gory, depressing things, I have nothing else to date for this.



4-15-09


the lights were spinning crazily,
a confusing blur of blue-and-red,
the sirens wailed their hearts out,
and the voices-- talking and screaming--
were inaudible to your ears.
the mangled piece of metal, burning on the sidelines,
smelling of rubber and smoke, was too much to take in
as you lay, outstretched upon the gurney,
unmoving and still, leaving me behind in this world.

4-16-09

Dedicated to my little sister

On my tongue, four years is so much heavier than the weight it presses in my memory,
it seemed like yesterday, standing in rows as I watched them, lowering the case
into the golden-brown earth; I hated it, for taking you, 'though I knew there wasn't a choice this time,
selfishly, so selfishly, I tried to keep you to myself, praying and wailing, to no avail.
We held onto each other, the remaining pieces of the puzzle that just wouldn't fit properly anymore,
crying salty, bitter tears; we tried to hold them back, saying everything was okay.
It's not okay; never was, never will be-- it's a wound, embedded in my heart, but even now,
as I remember that horrible day in May, when we left you there, all alone beneath the dirt,
when I regretted every step I took away from you, imagining you down there, so small, so lonely,
the same selfishness that wanted me to imprison you in this life makes me smile, through tears,
because now we know that you don't have to suffer anymore.

4-17-09

Three Haiku

1.


wind blows heavy
shaking leaves from branches
spiraling to dirt


2.

cherry blossoms bloom
white, tinged with pink, sweet scented
falling from the tree

3.

moon, rising at night
shining down on mountains
twinkling amongst stars

4-18-09

One of my friends gave me a scenario and asked me to write a poem relative to it.

The family picture lies in the hallway,
a mess of shattered glass and torn bits
of paper, plastered with faces,
smiling smiles that no longer show.
No food cooks in the kitchen,
the pans are covered in month-old-grease,
the fat cold and fir, forgotten in the soapy mind
of the mother that used to cook there.
Toys lie idle in the middle of the floor,
nothing more than bones of what used to be.
The only sound of life is the programmed voices of the TV set,
thick, falsely cheery amidst the emptiness of the house,
the ashtrays, filled to their brims, sit long forgotten,
so that the ash collects on the floor,
falling from the smoky ends of deadly tobacco.
Arguments, stemming from the necks of wine bottles,
stream through the air, like rockets, exploding with tension,
ruining whatever hope began to grow in silenced moments.

The frame lies broken in the hallway,
a deformed puzzle with pieces scattered
beyond existence.

4-19-09

surely, we've been here
on the borders of
indecision;
tainted with the bloody
ties of kins,
and the beliefs
of religions
and humanist rites.
surely, I've seen it all,
seen the events
of tomorrow
and next week
and next year;
it's all happened
in yesteryear
and where it stops
looking cloudy as it has
all these days,

surely the world ends then.

4-20-09


Dad,

The moon is in it's halfway place,
behind the black silhouetted branches of the pine tree.
I know exactly what the clock will say,
and even if I choose not to look tonight,
the clock will chime, telling me that you're not home.

4-21-09

Memories


Summer days of wading
in the steep rock pools that grew along
the edges of the water are now long behind us,
shut and sealed, into a box of memories
along with the other faded good-times
to seldom be revisited.

4-22-09

Monday nights

lonely, sleepless nights,
filled in desperation with chick-flicks and candy,
straining every bit of life from the listless
corners of the empty house, solitary laughter rising and falling,
nervously; insincere and empty, hanging in the corners,
waiting to mock when the weight of being alone
descends again.

4-23-09

breaking of a caught dream

The teepees were raided today; a constant commotion of screaming
and the burning smell of buffalo hide heavy in the air, holding the bodies
of the wounded, coughing and choking, hostage besides the carcasses of the dead
as the thick coat of smoke polluted the air. The men, blue-coated, raccoon tails
hanging from their hair-- such disgrace to those who shared the land with us-- trudged
about, bullets flying aimless amongst us, a shower of screams and fire as we ran
into our deaths in a desperate attempt to flee and hide. How our bravest warriors cried,
as they watched their loved ones die at their sides, helpless and innocent.

And the dreamcatcher, a webbed creature with the feathers of the eagle
who used to fly above, mercilessly killed by a raging spark, lies broken on the floor.

4-24-09
mockery


This is one of those poems (I forget the name) that can be read either top down, or bottom up.

it waits, patiently,
in the mistakes we make everyday
deteriorating and humiliating
by targeting everything we value
tearing us down, one-by-one
through sickness, useless guilt
and anxiety, stressing,
building insecurity
in the corners,
laughing,
it sits.

That last one, mockery, is awesome to the umpteenth power, June. Will come back with more constructive comments later.



Ta,
Cal.