Day Three: Firsts

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Hello everyone!

I’ve been thinking, and I’m going to try to do the daily prompts off of the NaPo Facebook group as well as the official ones. It’ll be a good challenge, and honestly, any practise I can get is probably for the best. Plus, having at least three things due each day will trip up my mad procrastination skills which is always a plus. You can probably expect four poems today as I catch up.

 

(Prompt: Firsts)

 

 

The first films I saw in theatres

Were about the power of narrative,

Children running from bullies or neglect or incarceration

To end up in books.

To be fair, I was born on the tail-end of fantasy land,

As dark and terrifying and gorgeous as it was;

Seeped in the worst nightmares that might be permitted

Without scarring children irreparably.

The frame I carry with me

From story to story,

Is a shot of a wall of glass,

Golden-hued and warm,

That sheltered shelves upon shelves

Of heads,

So that at any time

The woman who had stolen them away

Might change into someone entirely new.

 

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Day Two: Too Many Cooks Is An Antiquated Concept

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(Prompt: Write a poem inspired by or in the form of a recipe.)

 

Do you feel lost?

Listless?

As if the world around you has been conspiring,

Edging itself, bit by bit,

Off its axis

So that one day it might escape you?

The ‘It Takes A Village’ Cake is here to help.

Created by a team,

A family, really,

Who know

Everything,

The cake will bring together

Your family, friends, and life

Guaranteed.

All you need is:

  • 1200 eggs
  • 800 cups of pastry flour (unbleached)
  • 650 cups of unrefined sugar
  • 500 cups of milk
  • A cow (optional)
  • 300 lbs of butter
  • 400 cups of icing sugar
  • 863 bottles of vanilla
  • 458 lbs of unsweetened chocolate
  • 200 lbs of gummy worms
  • 300 000 candy lego blocks
  • At least 1 vat of Pixie Stix
  • The largest lace curtains you can find for sifting
  • A cement mixer

And 80 of your closest friends.

Good luck!

Day One

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All right, here we go! Day One and I have 100% failed at the prompt. Ah well, I still liked this. I will try to do it properly after work though.

(Prompt: Write a Kay-Ryan-esque poem: short, tight lines, rhymes interwoven throughout, maybe an animal or two, and, if you can manage to stuff it in, a sharp little philosophical conclusion.)

 

When I can

I think

About

Humanity after earth,

My dog, tiny and soft

And still in my arms,

The heady taste

Of the morning I left,

Us.

Not necessarily in that order.

I Feel Fine

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Happy April! How are you all doing so far? I decided to join so late this year that I missed out on writing the early-bird poem, but I really wanted to try writing one of these, so there will probably be two poems today. Hopefully? I’ll try my best, at least.

(Prompt: write a haibun)

 

The night before the end of the world is surprisingly clear, marked only by a crisp breeze and the sort of summer sky that only occurs in the dead of night. People seem softer, somehow, bathed under the light of the unnaturally large moon that watches patiently over everything they do. Waiting.

Across the skies

A message writ in ash;

The stars blink back.

Extraordinary Destiny

I think about the mirror
In the corner of my room;
How it cracks and bends and breaks
Each shining clone.

The warp that runs right through it
Tells a tale of last and wit,
Though I know the face is
No more than my own.

But despite its varied limits
And the crack upon its face,
I would trust its broken echo
With my life;

For if ever I should stumble
Cross a pool of only charm
I would wonder how it lasts
Through toil and strife.

Supermassive

My mother was a black hole,

Supermassive,

A star collapsed on itself

Built into something greater.

She existed at the center of everything

Terrible and lovely,

Shaping our tiny slice of the galaxy

In whatever way she saw fit.

I can see, now, that she could  not help but implode

Time and again,

Restructuring  herself each time with stolen bits of the lives around her.

This is the nature of everyday, ordinary lives,

Even if nature abhors a vacuum.

 

Drift

I went to the dock

Yesterday,

The one where we met.

 

It had gone to seed:

Cold and wet,

Nearly forgotten.

 

I could fix it up

Probably,

Replace the dead boards.

 

But that might ruin it,

this memory;

The thought of your smile.

 

You might look at me

and see air

drifting and empty.

 

I look at you and

see the sun

shining through the rot.