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this tender self



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Sun Mar 22, 2020 2:52 am
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Lavvie says...



This is a reminder to whisper sweet nothings
that mean something;
to hold arms crossed like hot buns, yellow butter creeks soaking
the currants I pick out
one by one.

This is a reminder to be kind
to this tender self.
  





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515 Reviews

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515 Reviews

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Wed Apr 01, 2020 11:56 pm
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Lavvie says...



1.

my skull is an echo chamber shrouded in black veils,
cradling in its bowl the ropes of my mind
nothing more
nothing less;
an oasis of the heart where lies throb
like fingers pinched in small places
and toes squeezed in tight spaces.

at the butcher's, i wield a meat cleaver that whispers
against the rounds of my thighs and sings like
water on glass -
and sharply.
in the mirror, i slice like deli meat
the ropes unravelling quickly
with heart sweet, small, and sickly.
  





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Thu Apr 02, 2020 6:07 pm
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bluewaterlily says...



Hi Napo partner!

Lavvie, I love your theme and of the teaser poem/excerpt you have about the tender self. Just from reading that snippet and the first poem you wrote yesterday, I can see how strong your handle on sensory details are and how evocative and vivid your imagery is.

I love the line "my skull is an echo chamber shrouded in black veils." I can't wait to read the rest of your poetry this month.
"A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." - W.H. Auden
  





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Fri Apr 03, 2020 1:28 am
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Lavvie says...



2.

an acknowledgement

my belly
it collects fullness
like hail stones
in a tin bucket

&

my hands
they rove over hills, doughy
a baker's sourdough
on Sunday morning

&

my hips
they sail as two ships
pitching on roiling seas,
white flags waving

&

my mouth
it moulds to letter shapes
spilling out thoughts
that are now marbles

&

my body
it stands sentinel, weathered
by the battering rams
of my mind


What is to give light must endure burning. – Viktor Frankl
  





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Fri Apr 03, 2020 10:58 pm
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Lavvie says...



3.

dark moon crescents shape the underbelly
of my eyes, curlicue-lined
a whisper of unwished wishes.
my face is a valley of hills
where orchard blossoms come in pink, red, white.
you can read the stories
in the etches, the lines
the scars.
but i close my eyes
&
i wonder if mirrors reflect back how others see you.


What is to give light must endure burning. – Viktor Frankl
  





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Sat Apr 04, 2020 11:17 pm
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Lavvie says...



4.

Northern Revival

snow crunches under rubber teeth
while misery pouts at home
cheeks awash with April air:
northern revival.


What is to give light must endure burning. – Viktor Frankl
  





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Sat Apr 04, 2020 11:54 pm
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bluewaterlily says...



Lavvie, I love how tight the form of your poems are without compromising description or emotion. I can feel the iciness of a melting winter in "Northern Revival" and I adore the line "while misery pouts at home."
"A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." - W.H. Auden
  





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Sun Apr 05, 2020 2:41 am
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Tuckster says...



Spoiler! :
This NaPo thread is filled with powerful imagery and description that provokes memories and familiar images. The line "my skull is an echo chamber shrouded in black veils" alone is the epitome of how poetry communicates. My favorite poem so far is poem 3. It's thought-provoking and well-written, and a thought that will certainly stay with me over the next few days.
Do not try to be pretty. You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don't let anyone ever simplify you to just 'pretty'

If there is hope, it must lie in the proles.
  





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Sun Apr 05, 2020 3:17 am
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nollibee says...



The brevity of "Northern Revival" was so charming! I really liked how it was reminiscent of an old Japanese haiku with short but vivid description and the simple ending line that implied a spring that is just starting to melt even though it didn't follow that form.
  





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Mon Apr 06, 2020 12:50 am
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Lavvie says...



5.

en-spoilered for violence and language

Spoiler! :
sabotage

i.

her sobbing sigh is no more than a breath of stale air
as she counts seventeen phantoms in the one
that hurts the most,
the ones who smiled with snakes for teeth
tongue slithering
wetly.

ii.

Look
Up!
the clouds are a bulbous blue
sifting like mother-of-pearl through fingers
stretched out longways
& lengthways
& everyways
collecting humans
like humans collect bullets in the essential organs
of their kin, and often
themselves.

iii.

she forgets to count Number Zero
the original asshole who spoonfed anxiety
on a fork.
like kerosene, she instigated the fire
and left bones plump
with soot & sadness.

iv.

Pro tip:
Don't shoot yourself in the foot;
the brain might be better.


Spoiler! :

@bluewaterlily @Tuckster @nollibee your encouragement is so appreciated. I've been struggling to write anything I'm proud of for NaPo since I'm feeling generally blah with everything going on in the outside world. Love you all <3


What is to give light must endure burning. – Viktor Frankl
  





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Tue Apr 07, 2020 6:47 am
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Lavvie says...



6.

meditations on homelessness

between two slices of wonderbread
a moral dilemma looks back at me
through mustard margarine eyes. it speaks
before I can slap it in the face
with beer sausage or bavarian meatloaf:
"is this for you"
proverbial fingers point
"or for them?"
proverbial fingers point again
& I am a tourniquet squeezing
the bleached cloth in my hands
until the water runs red because I am pinching
at strings, tugging for words that might hint
at answers. intrepid actions
are actually paroxysms of fear, slipping
into Ziploc bags greater than all the belongings
of that one man crouched
in the square of the door.


What is to give light must endure burning. – Viktor Frankl
  





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Tue Apr 07, 2020 8:10 pm
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Lavvie says...



7.

the mustard man rolls
from bed into overflowed
bins of poetry


What is to give light must endure burning. – Viktor Frankl
  





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Tue Apr 07, 2020 8:24 pm
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alliyah says...



Spoiler! :
I'm in awe of some of these image pairings Lavvie - they're so unexpected and dramatic, that they really stick. There are themes of just kind of a real grit and violence to life, bodily vulnerability, but also mixed with a very ordinariness (especially coming up in the food themes).

This image I found particularly haunting,
"& I am a tourniquet squeezing
the bleached cloth in my hands
until the water runs red because I am pinching
at strings"


Gosh this really communicates the severity of a difficult choice.

These lines also really grabbed me:

collecting humans
like humans collect bullets in the essential organs
of their kin


So heart-aching, and again really unexpected progression.

And it looks like you're right on track! Keep it up, you've got this! <3 I'm sincerely looking forward to reading more.
maybe i make up colors for poetic cadence, but i don't think i can ever love someone who doesn't understand that teal is a different color than dark cyan
  





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Tue Apr 07, 2020 10:59 pm
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mckaylaam says...



Lavvie, your writing is so lovely, wow. Your second and sixth poems are my favorites so far, the imagery really sticks out to me. I love how you can incorporate some of the most odd or unexpected words and still come out with such captivating works. I look forward to reading more from you!
And I love the thought of being with you,
or maybe it's the thought of not being so alone.


  








Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
— Mark Twain