Working Titles and Ink Stains

This is where I shall chronicle my NaPoWriMo poems.

Current Total: 6

Poem One: Artifice

I like to call them "artificial source of confidence."
They are the smack of high heels on tile floors,
the knowledge that I cannot trip,
that, if I cannot trip, I cannot be stopped.
They are love notes left in the margins of my manuscripts,
for myself, by myself:
Yes. You're a writer.
Yes. You are capable.
Yes. This is your story to tell and no one else's.
They are every time I didn't look in the mirror,
Every time I locked gazes with my own eyes
(It's impossible to have ugly eyes)

They may be white lies but
I have told myself I believe them so many times
I almost believe it.
I have stopped checking the ingredient label,
I swallow whatever's easiest.

Poem Two: Coincidence

I have convinced myself that fireflies know Morse Code
and the stars are just one crazy Connect-the-Dots,
if I stare at them long enough,
they'll become a map to buried treasure.
I crave an end to coincidence,
a confirmation of karma,
the assurance that if there's not a rainbow yet,
there will be.
And at its base, a pot of gold just for me.
I want to believe that success is inevitable
but more importantly,
I want failure to be a fallacy
or a puzzle with an answer
I just must work my way through.

tgirly! Love your work so far; really nice stuff! I like this line so much:

"I want to believe that success is inevitable/ but more importantly, / I want failure to be a fallacy"

I feel like that holds a lot of truth. Lovely!

Poem Three: The Art of Time Wasting

Play some mindless computer game,
one that involves spurts of rapid clicking.
spacebarspacebarspacebarspacebarspace
stillness.

Sit with your head on your desk,
tucked in a nest of your arms,
dream of what the world would be like
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssideways.

Doodle in the margins of notes
you don't have to turn in-
hearts and stars and dinosaurs with flamethrowers-
it doesn't matter if you erase them afterwards,
no one will ever see them.

Stare at the not-quite-white walls,
marinate in every second, become
as porous as the bricks to time's slow
trickle, until the ticks hypnotize you.
Or

Write a silly little poem
about all the silly little ways
you could spend your time.

Poem Four: Warped Glass

The glass is not see-through. However
it is still glass.
Sometimes colors and movement sneak their way through.
Never shape.
Brains must work in a similar fashion:
so much lost in translation.

Poem Five: Zoom Out

The surface of this world is smoother than a golf ball,
its highest highs, its deepest lows
just bumps and blemishes
from a distance.
City skylines, clothed in violet and lilac light,
never show the muck and grime.
There's no difference between a smile and a frown
when viewed from space.
Please,
don't stand so close to me.

Poem Six: If Tiles Wanted to Rise Up and Take Over the Planet, They Probably Could

but I wouldn't worry about it if I were you.
The scratched and scuffed squares in millions of schools,
the aesthetically-pleasing rooster in your grandmother's kitchen,
the elderly museum mosaics from ancient Rome,
tougher than paper,
more plentiful than pears,
after years of being walked all over-
literally walked over-
or discarded and smashed for no good reason,
or left stuck somewhere for years and year and-
but I wouldn't worry about it.
Tiling is mostly friendly.
It's the window frames you have to watch out for.

Hey, this might be a little late. But I love all of your poems (and you still totally have another day, so please post 20 more so I can enjoy your lovely work more!)

I would love to see poem 4 extended out, this idea of warped glass and communication lost in translation is really elegantly melded together. And what a title for poem 6! It made me smile. Yep, well that's all for now.

ps. please post more!

Poem 6 made me laugh. And one and two just felt so truthful. Well done!