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.
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.
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
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.
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
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.
[he/him]
"tiktok and giving children meth are my passions" ~ @ShadowVyper "carinas long foretold chaos protege" ~ @veeren "smol bean, future of chaos" ~ @carina
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.
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
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.
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.
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
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." ♡
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