Who wants to cut the cake, you asked
and pointed towards me, longingly
I saw your mouth water
heard your stomach grumble
I swallowed
and wondered if the idea
to dress up as a wedding cake
for a black wedding
had been a good one
Today’s prompt on octpowrimo.com was ‘dance on air’, trying to capture euphoria. I’m afraid the euphoria in my poem will only happen after consummation…
My mind will race you
to stay ahead
Darkness followed me around
surreptitiously, you never noticed
Push you to your limits
My own little death eater
Red or black – which do you prefer?
All of us will bleed purple ink
Only through voodoo
to be a pin cushion
Down, down, down into the depths
Your soul? I couldn’t care less
What will bug you no more
is my heart
it eats what it loves
Death by love
Had I not looked into the mirror
I’d see my own true worth
Shit numbers – strings of them
to the sounds of a thunderstorm
Say it now – and it will be heard no more
Today was the perfect excuse to get out Life, sex and death. A poetry collection (Vol 1) by David Ellis. The prompt was:
The prompt also featured a lovely resource: this collection of images of poets’ first drafts of their poems, complete with their crossings-out/notes. So I’ve made a picture of David’s book, and my first draft next to it. The purple lines are by David, the green ones were my response.
David’s poem called The Only Light That Matters In My World is a love poem, and it’s longer than mine. I simply finished mine after I had filled two pages in my note book. David wrote the poem April 2014. His poem is loving and light. Four years it sparks a poem that’s dark and heavy…
(By the way: my guess is April is not a coincidence, since I know David through #NaPoWriMo 😉
Many thanks to NaPoWriMo.net for the inspiration for day 18, and for the connections this month brings.
The child didn’t understand their fascination for horror films
No matter how much blood was spilled
how loud the chains saws roared
how many dead walked
– its nightmares were far more scary
The child didn’t understand their fascination for love stories
All those misunderstandings
endless insecurities
plot twists
could not hide the fact that no one lives happily ever after
The child didn’t understand their fascination for manga
the senseless maiming and killing
the sexual violence
the torture
was never more brutal than normal/daily life abandonment
I welcome Halloween, the season of fright
I enjoy my shivers with dark delight
I’ll eagerly visit every haunted house you know -but
into the vaults of my administration I will not go
I’ll walk into cobwebs without a fright
I’ll visit a graveyard in the middle of the night
I’ll face all skeletons in my closet, but no
into the vaults of my administration I will not go
Endless miles of piles of files
Papersscattered, battered, shattered, tattered
A mess, such stress, faith less, digress
procrastin- destin- admin is tr ation
I welcome Halloween, the season of fright
I’m haunted by papers every night
they rustle ‘n’ bustle, they fee-fi-fo
into the vaults of my administration I will not go
I’ll bury my body with dark delight
I’ll feed my brain to zombies without a fright
My gravestone doesn’t scare me but lo and woe
into the vaults of my administration I will not go
I thank my friend Lisa Cole for part of the third stanza. She’s written a book called From Piles to Files about easily decluttering paperwork in five days or less. It’s gotten rave reviews. I will use it – as soon as I’m willing to go into the vaults. Which in my case is an attic that’s supposed to be my office space as well as a place to relax. I promise November will be the month!
The house did not witness the murder
It closed its blinds and retreated into the cellar
The sun shone, the birds sang
The wind blew, the bell rang
No one opened the door
A fascinating prompt today on octpowrimo.com: “Everyone went on eating” is the phrase of the day. We’re taking a slightly darker turn here. What is something that has happened that you felt should’ve changed things, but in the end didn’t cause a reaction?
I love it, but I’m not in a headspace where I’m willing to go there. I could not go with the vulnerable bit of the prompt, but I did go with the darker turn bit.
The #metoo conversations are still on my mind. One of the things that struck me yesterday, is that some commenting men were genuinely wondering how they could take the initiative without running the risk of displaying unwanted behaviour, hence being harassing.
It flabbergasted me and worried me. I know a lot of men who do know the difference between showing interest and being harassing. So what do we do with the men who genuinely don’t know how to approach a women in a way that makes her feel appreciated without being threatened?
Most babies in our street were born
I broke free from an egg
The neighbours didn’t mind it much
They just were curious
How will she grow up?
Most children in our street ate from plates
I picked my food from the ground
My parents didn’t mind it much
They just were curious
How will she get a boyfriend this way
Most of my friends went to university
I worked in a slaughter house
My boyfriend didn’t mind it much
He just was curious
How will we ever be able to buy a house?
Most of my babies were born at home
There was one I hatched, at work
My colleagues didn’t mind it much
They were just curious
When will we be allowed to eat it?
#OctPoWriMo day 15
Of course she knew the man of her dreams would turn into the man of her nightmares.
That’s how love stories go,
Right?
She took her axe, sharpened the blade.
She yelled ‘Honey, I’m home’
She lived happily ever after.
Today’s prompt on OctPoWrimo.com called for a cherita. Cheritas are a stanza based form rather than a syllable-based one.
It’s really simple:
1 line stanza.
2 line stanza.
3 line stanza.
The lines can be any length you choose. Cheritas are also traditionally not titled. The form comes from Malaysia, being the Malay word for “story.” The prompt was metal. I don’t feel I’ve done it justice, but I’m happy I tried out a new form. One that’s easy to remember, and fun to apply.
Half way through my funeral
the doorbell rang
– the wrong door
Half way through my funeral
the choir sang
– the wrong song
Half way through my funeral
the church bells rang
their tower swayed
Half way through my funeral
the angels sang
our preacher strayed
Half way through my funeral
the walls crumbled
I turned around
Half way through my funeral
you removed the lid
without a sound
Half way through my funeral
I left
through the right door
Half way through my funeral
You stayed
You wanted more
Day 15 of #NaPoWriMo, we were invited to write a poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of something. So I’m on prompt – but I’m off illustration. I had planned to use only my own work this year, but this poem called for Hieronymus Bosch. At the least the photograph is my own. That counts for something, right? 😉
I guess it’s too late to be a farmer
now that my hands are tied
to the hind legs
of a raging bull
He’s constrained now
but he won’t be
in a minute
when the gates open
after they’ve prodded his balls
with a pitchfork
to
Well, do I need to explain that?
The peasants did not take my art too well
They mind pictures of naked women raping bulls
in their butt hole
more than they mind real life violence
Ultraviolence?
There’s no art in that
I guess it’s too late to be a farmer
On day 12 I wrote a palinode for this poem: a poem in which the poet retracts a statement made in an earlier poem. It’s called There’s art in that.
More images on this subject can be found on http://www.fscclub.com/muse/sculpture-rape-europa-e.shtml
OctPoWriMo day 13 invited us to write about color. I ended up with a dark poem still.
We worship our mistress today
Welcome to pink sabbath!
We worship our mistress today
Carmine candles are burning
We gather around this heart shaped line
Sacrifices will be made
We will drown marshmallows in raspberry syrup
We will cut off My Little Pony tails
Hello Kitty will lose her head
We will burn candy cotton
We will chant bubble gum songs
Peppa pig will draw fuchsia blood
Barbie will be crucified
on a ballerina shaped cross
Cinderella will screech magenta murder
Welcome to pink sabbath!
We worship our mistress today
Carmine candles are burning
We gather around this heart shaped line
Sacrifices will be made
Unassorted stories 