desert rain

april 7th STILL

Spoiler

playing some hardcore catch up

bury me where the air is cool
bury me where the waters are deep
but if the desert is where i die
then the desert is where i sleep

bury me where the grass is green
bury me where the wildflowers grow
but if i die of the desert's harsh gleam
then the desert is where i must go

Hooray, first NaPo! You're doing great so far, keep it up!

I really like meteor shower , it's got a lovely duality to it.

@Cadi
Thank you!

april 9

Spoiler

still playing catchup but I actually kind of like this one? It's supposed to be a sonnet

Where once the night was dark and dreary, I
breathed in the painted dawn of the new morn’,
and tasted the sweet kiss of pastel skies,
though my heart had hung heavy and forlorn.
And while my hair tangled with dust and sand,
I dreamed of angels flying down upon,
this futile orchard, this hot deserted land,
eyes on the halos the spectre’s had donned.
And though my body was stripped and dry,
the desert a suiting grave for my sin,
a smooth hand reached down from the light-filled sky;
I watched the holy sight and cried within.
And as the sun crested the rolling hills,
I moved on towards where the sun-light spills.

april 9

Spoiler

I'm officially caught up after this one! Yay!

my cheeks have held hands with the sun
and tomato fields have sprung up
in the caressing of their hands

a rosy burn
a pinkish glow
a boiled hue
a peeling pomegranate shade
a tattoo of my prison cell
gently singing my skin

my outsides have turned the shades of my insides
the desert has flipped me inside out
and intends to cook me
lightly burnt
the sound of vultures like
the scraping of knives-
hungrily-
achily-
sharpened.

the desert has an appetite for people like me

april whatever


my body is a birdcage
each rib lining up in perfect
little rows designed, arranged to ensnare
my mind

my mind flits and flutters
pecking at the rusted lock
its voice imperfect and melodious and
lovely

the canary sings to the cage
of rescue and escape and damsels far away
yet between its humming lips
a key

april 13?



everything around me is yellow
i am cascading
falling ever upwards
caught like a bug
with its filmy glass cage
within the yellow hues of my
tilting balloon
everything around me is thrown into yellow
when the sun catches
my prison just right
like a kaleidoscope of lemon
a pool of tuscany
surrounding me like
a blanket of laguna
the sun is too hot
too blinding with love
hate and boiling
but within my balloon
I see the sun in shades
in heat
indirectly adoring it
although sometimes-
sometimes
I wish I could feel it
in all its passion

april 13



here i stand
a fool-
a lover-
a passionate idiot
how careless to try to feel heat-
to try to walk rolling dunes
and capture sandy plains
of the lustful-
loveless-
desert

april 13



i am a rubix cube
a puzzle
a thing begging-
praying-
to be solved
i have no formula
no simple twist or turn can figure me out
trust me-
trust me-
i have tried

i am not complex
i am simply shades and shapes
its only when someone tries to crack my code that i get-
well-
a little scrambled

if someone tried to unlock me
fit me right back
together at last
maybe the cube would split in half
and at its center
another cube to be solved
and onward-
onward-
a bottomless pit of defense-
defense-
its all in the defense

ive kind of lost count of how many locks ive put in place
sometimes i wonder if whats at the bottom is really all that special-
probably not

you remind me of
wicker baskets and strawberries
and the heat I feel with my
bare back to the concrete
and the sun in my eyes

veins of silver and gold
intertwined inside
dripping cave walls
patter
patter
it whispers
reaching onward-
connecting to my spine,
my lungs,
my heart

i am strands of silver and gold
unearthed-
uncut

ever since ive grown old
i cant walk barefoot
without feeling the disgust inside of me attach itself to my limbs
as if it is mocking the days
when i clutched to my own parents legs

it clings to my fear of the unknown
the deepest sleep
and hangs there
slowly-
slowly-
dragging me down
begging to be payed attention to

im like dry ice:

foggy
dense
bitter to touch
a little theatrical

the only difference is that:
unlike dry ice
I certainly leave a residue
a messy chaotic reminder of my presence

but babe, i bet id make a grand science experiment

I've kind of tossed the theme idea. I just felt so UGGGHHHHH every time I went to write and it had to be about frickin sand. Sand, of all things. I might revisit the idea every once in a while but im counting nonthematic poems now

as for a poem a day, well, that failed long ago. now im just trying to churn them out when inspiration strikes

now that im counting nonthematic poems the total is actually like twenty but im just going to keep writing and try not to worry about the numbers

the space between each finger blurs
the petals of a quivering flower closing
on air-
flesh-
onto itself,
folding-
it curls
and i am left with hammer fists and an empty stomach