Alone on the Beach with Dylan in a Playful Mood

Shall I compare thee to a summer peach?
Thou art as fuzzy but more succulent
I whisper prayers to your sun-warmed flesh,
my head in worship of your ripeness bent.
You laugh at me from underneath your blue-brimmed hat
That pearly laugh which I adore
That makes my heart grow wings and fly,
confounding seagulls in the azure February sky.
My stomach somersaults on summer’s salty rim
while lips meet lips and skin caresses moon-kissed skin.
The world, unlike myself, cannot intrude beneath this blue-brimmed hat,
and for that, I love you even more.

Vyv Does NaPoMo

Or NaPoWriMo, depending on which websites you follow. Writer’s Digest calls their version PAD -poem a day. It all means the same thing: April is National Poetry Month. Some of us take up the challenge to write a poem a day, often to a given prompt. Although I am part of a writing group and also signed up with two websites, I pick and choose the prompts. After all, I do have three different ones every day!

Because I’ve wanted to learn more about poetic structure and forms of late, I have been taking a couple of online classes. One deals with short form verse, the other with the basics of haiku. So far, I have learned quite a bit from the former (I only started the haiku class today), including reaching beyond my comfort zone: I hate to bother with rhymes, but a lot of the short forms require rhyming, so in order to avoid getting stuck in cliche, I really have to think hard about what to write… and then, edit, edit, edit!

As much as I am enjoying this poetry challenge, I am looking forward to May already. May is all about short stories, which ought to be a good excuse to empty the proverbial drawer of the not-nearly-as-proverbial partial drafts. A friend of mine from Australia sent me a flyer for a short story competition I’d love to take part in, and I hope to use what I’ll learn in the haiku class to start writing flash fiction, as well.

Are you participating in NaPoMo? Leave me a comment!

Butterflies

Which are not at all “Butterfliegen”, no matter what the siblings Brumm may have claimed! 😉 Anyway, my Facebook readers got this fresh off the press, all others get it now: the latest from the Bad Poets’ Society (including a teensy, weensy change).

If you lay your hand on my belly here
You’ll feel the echo of my heartbeat
Like the flutter of a million butterflies
They look to me for nourishment and I,
I look to you,
The sun in my sky

 

Sickbed Savior

I awoke as the Sun King today

Burning to claim my throne

Brighter than a thousand suns

Ready to set the bush ablaze

My heart fairly racing from the effort,

I collapse, feverish and shaking,

Into your arms

Instantly repelled by

Your stifling warmth and relentless humidity

 

But my parched soul yearns for the comfort that

My incited body seeks to deny me

So I pant myself into

The safety and shelter of your embrace

Scorching your linen skin

With the heat issuing from my traitorous flesh

 

You bear the onslaught calmly,

Your breath a cool breeze on my face

Your hand the soothing conqueror of inflammation

To rest in you

Is to have my troubles vanquished

 

You, my darling you

Stranger in a Stranger Land

What if

On its way to Becoming

A soul made a wrong turn

Veered right instead of left

Or missed the light?

The body it chose, the world it appeared in

Certainly seemed familiar enough

So it got a good start

And was content

Trouble showed early, though it was easy to miss

It loved animals but failed to understand people

(so attested by a teacher in grade 2)

It loved the arts but could not create and was believed to be incapable of logic

(disproven at university)

It was excited about new horizons but could not get

That for most people this meant travel (in the Age of Aquarius?)

It kept finding traces of the promised land in the world

But they were like mist on a mirage (it’s here somewhere for sure this time)

One day, when it was least convenient, it became wise:

it saw that unlike the others it remained aloof

it realized that “you’ve always been different” was not a compliment

it understood what it was like

To be outside looking in

And this amounted to the disappointing epiphany

that there was nothing wrong with it

What was wrong was it.

The butterfly’s wings had beaten

The sack of rice had fallen

The path less traveled had been the wrong choice

Unhappy accident!

But did it despair?

Not until it also realized that it could not go home

It could not leave until the obligation was fulfilled

Signed up for life!

I see it sometimes

Looking a little lost, a little tired

Searching for the song to take it home

Refusing to give up because it cannot

Even as it wanders, stranger in a stranger land

What if?

 

New poetry from yesterday with minor correction from the original version.

Poetic License

Renewed. Here’s the latest from the Bad Poets’ Society (and yes, these are my originals, so if you for some bizarre reason end up sharing, please give credit).

Ripples

When what you’re going to do tomorrow occupies
So much of your today
That you forget all your yesterdays

That’s Gratitude for You

My heart is so tired, my love
Ever since you left, people have been drowning me with sympathy
I can barely keep my head above water
Please, love, don’t be angry if I just give up and follow you

Besides that, yes, I’m still on meds, yes, I’m still exercising, and yes, it’s still pretty spring outside. DH is currently enjoying fest season in Germany, so I’m here not sleeping and getting cranky about being stuck at the ass end of the world all by myself. Fortunately, all the critters are doing well, so it’s probably just having to readjust to Rufus wanting to get up an hour earlier now. He might want to, but I certainly don’t! If anyone can be bothered, leave me a comment sometime so I can feel as if I’m still part of the human race.

What it Feels Like

Lightning cracks blinding across the sky

Revealing massive clouds so close

They may plug and close up this hole

Out of which

In the furious rain

I vainly attempt to escape

Mud slides

Fingers slip slick grasping roots

Exposed but not footing nor grip

And I scream I scream

Raw angry desperate fearful

Tearful with no-one to hear

As the rain thunderous drives me

Back down down

Into the black