Bury the Past

Celebrating National Poetry Month 2015: A Poem a Day Challenge 

Poem a day #30 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a “Bury the (blank)” poem, and 2) write a poem backwards.

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The graves are still there
visible amid the dimness

of pine, poking up to matted
needles and rusted leaves.

Each is marked in wood
old logs and fading stumps

I fondly watched you split:
compact muscles raising

the ax, tearing wood clean
cut with a sudden thud

I drive by the old house
because our two cats are

buried there: the remains
of black and white softness

like Egyptian children laid
to rest among their squeaky

plastic toys and china dishes.
Plaid-shirted men in white

beards still stand guard, eye
my idling car with suspicion.

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Reviewing What Nobody Knows About Us

Celebrating National Poetry Month 2015: A Poem a Day Challenge 

Poem a day #29 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a “nobody knows” poem, and 2) write a “review” poem.

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I was a child who stood
rigid on bustling corners
and waited, who craned

her neck out of windows
stories above quiet evening
sidewalks,  keeping watch

for mothers to return safe
from taking the dogs out
strolling around the block

in the looming dark, all so
I could sleep and not dream
of loosing my way down black

hallways, testing doors for rooms
where a fireplace sparked light.
What I know is that you were

a child who followed the ripple
of your mother’s hem, skirted
around her legs then away

on the tips of your toes only
to return safe within her reach.
You spoke little about night terrors:

It’s only that l have us framed
those photos of us remain here
still as babies, side by side.

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The Matter of Memory

Celebrating National Poetry Month 2015: A Poem a Day Challenge 

Poem a day #28 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a “matter/non-matter” poem, and 2) write a “bridge” poem.

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I could cross this bridge
to forgetting, leave behind

the circles  roaring around
those aging eyes that wrinkle

with the past, the laughter,
twinkling anger into mean

jokes and jabs singeing
the small tokens of lost

souring fruit that breeds
no longer in the thicket

that still would seep tinged
with some faded rainy gray

Touch to an elbow held back
I kneel to smell the damp

watch my neighbor slip
home from the night

shift into medicinal sips
like shoe polish, shining

the morning before sleep
I could work to find an exit 

how I did as a child surfacing
my father’s bureau nosey

to find his smell: minty
inhaler, crisp handkerchief

the dangling of pocket change
how I always knew it was him.

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Looking Back to What Was Not

Celebrating National Poetry Month 2015: A Poem a Day Challenge 

Poem a day #27 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a “looking back” poem , and 2) write a hay(na)ku, which consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words.

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probably
the best
day for leaving

home
assorted
examples of crimes

commited
something
I never was

enough
said for
now I am

 

 

 

 

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In the Words of Shakespeare

Celebrating National Poetry Month 2015: A Poem a Day Challenge 

Poem a day #26 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a poem using word coined by Willian Shakespeare, and 2) write a persona poem.

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I am accused of academic addiction
to advertising and amazement
All arouses me to assassination.

Backing bandits in the bedroom
I am beached and besmirched
My birthplace
is a blanket bloodstained
Barefaced, I am blushing
Bet Bump Buzzer.

I am caked and catering
to champions, circumstantial
and cold-blooded
compromise, and a courtship
with countless critics.

Dauntless as the dawn is deafening
discontent, I am not disheartened
drugged and nor dwindling.

Like the epileptic, I am equivocal
enough to elbow excitement
and exposure in the eyeball.

A fashionable fixture that is
flawed, yet frugal

I have gnarled at generous
and gloomy gossip
A green-eyed monster, I grovel
not before gusty

hints nor do I hobnob
with the hurried

I do not impede the impartial
invulnerable, or

jaded.

I label the lackluster laughable
and lonely. I forever lower
luggage to the lustrous

and madcap. All that is
majestic and marketable
can metamorphous
and mimic
the monumental moonbeams
that mountaineers

negotiate, amid the
noiseless

and the obscene.
Obsequiously,
I chant odes to Olympians
an outbreak

of pander and pedant that is
not more than premeditated
puking

There is a radiance in my rant
and my remorseless

savagery scuffles and secures
the skim milk that submerges
even summits of swagger

Even torture can be tranquil

What we undress is unreal

and varied, and so I am vaulting

over all that remains
worthless

and zany.

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Clerihew for Hooker

Celebrating National Poetry Month 2015: A Poem a Day Challenge 

Poem a day #25 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write an “across the sea” poem, and 2) write a clerihew, a whimsical, four-line biographical poem.  

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To my esteemed ancestor The Honorable Thomas Hooker
Your safe trip home made you quite the forward looker
No need to dress things up, just a vision across the sea
Spread the Puritan word where heathens still take tea

 

 

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Friday is the night

Celebrating National Poetry Month 2015: A Poem a Day Challenge 

Poem a day #24 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a “moment” poem, and 2) write a parody of a famous poem.

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I garner silk, put
on a shiny blouse,
the sheen divined
from sweaty workdays.

I let it always
rustle and rub
length of my arms
heat of my ribs.

I watch it strip away
the sour wrestling
in my skin, skim
off the dull blue

of my eyelids.
I don silk pure
like a masquerade,
just for the evening,

to be replaced
when Friday’s finished
and Monday morning’s
on its way.

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