Memorial

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.

Spark-challenge in your eyes

bright as your glowing pipe embers.

Blazing, burning, smoking.

You would have chosen it.

Lit your candle from both ends.

Blazed vividly.

A supernova explosion,

a sudden shift in the universe, 

followed by dark silence.

First line taken from I Remember You As You Were by Pablo Neruda

Reflection on NaPoWriMo

First off, I'd like to thank all of those who have taken time to read and comment on my poems. Receiving feed back from you all helped to make the NaPoWriMo challenge a ton of fun.

My decision to take the NaPoWriMo challenge was a very last minute one: I decided that I was going to participate at 8PM April 1st. I was emotionally and physically at the end of my rope, and in desperate need of a constructive way to let out negative energy and my feelings. I stumbled upon the NaPoWriMo challenge when an acquaintance made a post about it on Facebook. It was a fateful encounter. After doing some quick research and some soul searching, I decided that I had found the outlet I had been searching for, and I decided to take the challenge.

Given that I was stressed before starting the challenge and April is the last month before finals, it was probably not the wisest decision, but I've long sense decided that wisdom is overrated, and the NaPoWriMo challenge is something I wanted to do. So I did it. I successfully completed a poem a day for the entire month, a feat I wasn't sure I'd be able to achieve and that I am now very proud to declare.

The only thing left is to select my top three poems for submission. I know which three I like the best, but I'm always curious to hear other people's opinions. Do you specifically remember any of my poems that you particularly liked? Please leave a comment if you have an opinion one way or another.

Thank you for taking the time to read my poems, and I look forward to reading and writing more poetry with you all in the future!

NaPoWriMo #30 - Free Day and Farewell

Burning

Every second of every day

is consumed by burning.

It's what people do,

something we all have in common.

We burn with passion,

anger, desire, regret.

Even our tears cannot

extinguish our burning.

We burn brightly

because we are temporary.

We burn everything we have

from the inside out,

then implode,

like a human super nova.

And then the burning is gone

leaving behind a cold husk

that's nothing like what we were

when we were still burning.

----

Notes: So, I couldn't think of any prompts that I had failed to write to that I wanted to write, so I decided to revisit the elemental prompt and take on a new element. I did water the first time, so I decided to tackle fire this time around.

Liar

I knew you were lying

the second I saw her,

watched you together:

clinging, disgusting,

like a pair of mating slugs.

It turned my stomach,

both the sight and

the sudden realization

that absolutely nothing

had changed.

----

Notes: I wanted to write on prompt, but today's prompt was related to headlines. I'm part of a journalism school, and I'm so sick of all things journalism related that I wanted nothing to do with today's prompt. So, this is my submission to NaPoWriMo #29, which is really just a second intuition poem, sans free write. I liked yesterday's poem, and my free write was intuition based, but the poem just wasn't.

NaPoWriMo #28 - Intuition

I wonder

I wonder what it's like

to watch the world

speed away without you,

to be left alone

while the wind blows away

pieces of what you once were,

to be conscious of your own fading

into the unremembered, into oblivion,

to become faceless, nameless,

some benevolent giver of life.

I wonder what it's like

to have a future written in stone

and a past of vanishing sand.

Free write:

When I remember my “a-ha moment” from my past, I understand the place I am meant to go with my words and poetry today is somewhere. There's no wrong place for poetry to take you, no wrong place for poetry to go. I'll go wherever the wind blows me, whether it be an enchanted forest or a volcano perched on the edge of eruption.

I realized on a day that there was nothing particularly special about that I am going to die. That's right: I'm not immortal and I won't be young forever. Everything around me is temporary. My world is even more temporary than I am. By the time my grandchildren are born (assuming I have grandchildren), everything will be different. None of them will know what a DVD is, and they'll probably never have been to a movie that isn't 3D. I wonder if I'll get lost in the confusion. If I'll slowly slip away into the sands of time until there's no one left who knows that I existed.

It's a sad thing, being left behind. Possibly even sadder than dying. I don't remember even the names of my great-great grandparents, let along further back. It makes me feel guilty. I wonder if I'll be remembered. If someday someone will be proud to have me as an ancestor, or if I'll be a faceless giver of life.

I'm much more likely to be faceless.

----

Notes: Well, my free write was focused upon my intuition (especially the last line of it), but somehow that didn't quite come across in the poem. Though I did focus on the same subject that my a-ha moment surrounded.

NaPoWriMo #27 - Let Someone Else Take the Lead

For my dearly beloved,

Everything you could ask for and more

But not the thing you really want,

Really need...

Unnecessary things only

And things you don't want

Right when you don't need them...

You didn't actually expect more, did you?

----

Notes: February is my birth month. I chose it because it has so many things associated with it, and I didn't feel like writing an acrostic poem that was actually about myself.

I haven't written an acrostic poem since elementary school. They're not one of my favorites, but they're more interesting than I remember them being (and they accomplish the task of easing us into the final stretch quite nicely.... but let's not think about that. It's too sad).

NaPoWriMo #26 - Getting Scrappy

I'm not my brother's keeper

How many times must I let you break me

before I hold you at arms length?

How many times must I

allow you to hurt me?

Am I bad for wanting

you to just go away?

Don't get confused:

I do still love you.

That's an obligation

of being siblings

But it doesn't mean

I want you near.

You used me up.

My patience

is all gone.

There is

nothing

left.

Free write

Phrase: Am I my brother's keeper?

Oh, the irony. That it was said by Cain, when the Lord asked about his brother, Abel, whom he had killed. Siblings, anger, and the desire to kill all in one neat little package.

Do we deny association to deny guilt?

I don't. I deny association and refuse to be associated with him because I can't handle it. He tears me apart and destroys me. Every time I let him get close, I inevitably walk away bleeding. Lies do a lot more damage than blows, no matter how hard they might be. I've had enough of cowering in the corner and letting him walk all over me.

I am not my brother's keeper. It's not an easy thing to say. There's a part of me that wishes I was strong enough to grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him back onto the right path. To make him understand how much his lies hurt. It hurts me to admit I can't do it. I feel guilty for deserting him.

It's not that I've given up. Not quite. I just don't want to get hurt anymore. It's like a shield, that I'm reluctant to let down.

I am not my brother's keeper. It's not my responsibility.

I'm not my brother's keeper. I need to learn to let go.

-----

Notes: Earlier on today, I wrote a highly experimental piece, and I'm not sure how well it came out. I'm currently sitting in a lab waiting for a video to render, so I decided to write another. I really enjoyed the phrase prompt, and had started a second freewrite based on a second phrase. Here is the conclusion of that start.

Apocalypse

When Man was created,

He was good.

A protector, a name-giver.

Then entered corruption:

vile, profane,

slithering up,

twining round

our souls.

Then incest-

Lot's daughters-

the destruction of purity,

the birth of monstrosity.

What is humanity now?

Where are we going?

Is there anything left?

The world is ending.

----

Notes: This is my submission to NaPoWriMo #26; it's off prompt. I wanted to play with combining words and the images together into the same poem. So, this is my depiction of the corruption of humanity through the degradation of language. I hope that it communicates clearly.

NaPoWriMo #25 - First Things First

I really hate this graphics project

"I really hate this graphics project,"

is what she said to me,

and though it's not in my nature,

I'm inclined to agree.

I don't feel like going,

there's nothing more to say,

but since the meeting's scheduled

I've got no choice today.

There are scant few minutes

til out the door I go

In those minutes I've written,

though it's not my best work, I know.

-----

Notes: Okay, I found out shortly after reading this prompt that I have to be at a meeting for a group project in a couple of minutes. (Meaning I have very little time to write this). Ironically, that means that the first thing I heard after the prompt was "I really hate this graphics project." So, this little poem/rant is an expression of my frustration.

NaPoWriMo #24 - Find a Phrase

the leopard

i wonder sometimes

how it felt to be trapped

trapped in his own skin

he could never escape

from his mistakes

from his past

from his spots

he had tattooed them on with ink

in a dusty cellar

before he knew better

before he understood

that they would never come off

or maybe someone else

tattooed them on him

while he was sleeping

maybe he didn't even know

it didnt matter

the world didnt care what happened

She didnt care what happened

he had spots

and that was that

he was stuck on a path

he hadnt chosen

and there was no way

to go back

he was a prisoner

in his own skin

Freewrite

Phrase: A leopard cannot change its spots.

This English proverb originated from the Bible, in the chapter of Jeremiah. It talks about how a sinner is no more capable of changing his ways than a leopard is capable of changing his spots. Are we all fated to be stuck? Stuck on some path, that we choose when we're young, before we know better? Is it really true that you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

A leopard cannot change its spots. No matter how hard he tries, he'll always be spotty and dirty and not good enough. I think leopards are beautiful, even if no one else does. Why would they ever WANT to change their spots?

Sometimes I think that beauty is found in the imperfections: the mole on the side of a supermodels face, or your tendency to flush bright red when you're embarrassed. Like watching you turn into a giant, angry tomato.

A leopard cannot change its spots. That's such a sad statement. I remember in Tarzan, when Jane's mother tells Tarzan that he's a spot and Jane is a stripe, and that no matter what Tarzan does, he'll always be a disgraceful spot. Thinking back on it, I guess that this was a reference to this proverb.

So some of us are spots, some of us are stripes and some of us have no pattern at all. I wonder which I am. Probably no pattern what so ever. I'm not chic enough to be a stripe, yet also not outlandish enough to be a spot. I guess I'm kind of boring, really. But that's okay. Like the proverb says, I cannot change what I am. Nor do I want to.

NaPoWriMo #23 - Unlikely Couples

A girl and her dolls

I think I've owned one or two,

I'm not sure because they never

made much of an impression on me.

I never liked girly things,

like playing dress up or putting on makeup,

unless it was forcing my brother to be my model,

but then it was fun for an entirely different reason.

I never played with them,

they sat in a net on my wall

collecting dust.

I used to pretend they were fishes

being hauled out of the ocean,

their cries of "help me, help me"

muffled by the absence of water

to fill their gills.

They were wholly uninteresting,

but sometimes I could transform them

into fishes or crocodiles or enemy soldiers

and battle them with my ruler-sword

(or gun, if I felt like playing in modern times,

for a change).

My playground was the world next door,

and really, who needs dolls there?

---

Notes: I had no idea what to write for this prompt, so I ended up writing about something I didn't like that I should, rather than the other way around. A twist on the prompt, but still applicable, methinks. X.x

NaPoWriMo #22 - A Wordle

Rust

Things eat at you

when you're left alone.

When there's no one else

to wipe away your tears

and they're left on your face

to fester, to rust.

Looking at me,

you might think I had freckles

across my cheeks

and beneath my eyes,

that I sat too long in the sun

without protection,

allowing my skin to burn

leaving a myriad of colored splotches

in the wake of its peeling.

Would you ever suspect

that I was rusting?

Right before your eyes,

every moment I get closer

and closer

to falling apart.

-----

Notes: Looking at today's wordle, "rust" was the one word that really stuck with me. So I based a poem around it. :)

NaPoWriMo #21 - Perfectly Flawed

Perfection

Perfection exists

in the realm of nothingness.

No person has ever seen it,

no object has ever touched it;

There is no proof of perfection.

Does perfection exist?

------

Notes: This poem was (admittedly) written very quickly. I have a lot of school work to get done tonight, but if I finish early I may revisit the prompt (or write something off prompt) to make up for it.

NaPoWriMo #20 - The Hero Poem

Storybook Hero

I plucked you from a storybook

complete with your plastic sword

and fearless stead -- a pony in truth,

but faithful nonetheless.

I prescribed you many traits:

courage, honesty, strength.

When I was scared,

I painted you with war paint

using my mother's eye-shadow.

When I was happy,

I polished your crown 'til it shone.

Until I closed the book

and looked You in the eyes.

NaPoWriMo #19 - Light bulb moments

Human

How many years did I live

under the impression that you were perfect?

A saint. No, an angel. Infallible and righteous.

I still think so, sometimes. Most of the time.

Unless I'm reminded otherwise.

It was a flash of unexpected anger

when your eyes, ever calm, teared up.

You didn't cry, but nearly.

It struck me

the moment the gale of your anger

reached my ears.

I don't remember the exact words,

but it sounded like

"I'm only human."

NaPoWriMo #18 - meow!

Well, I've kind of already written a cat poem, see Mittens, but I will do my best to write a second.

House cat

Sometimes he's all purrs,

sitting there in the sun

eyes closed, apparently relaxed

his thrashing tail the only sign

of impending mischief.

But it's over in a flash

and then he's a fluffy mass

of pounce, destroy and bite.

Wild, fierce, like his cousins

who must be fierce to survive.

Instinct, I guess.

But then he's tired,

and the only battle left to fight

is over which bed he should sleep on.

NaPoWriMo #17.2 - Something elemental

Necessary

She had always wished

to be as necessary to him as water,

to be something he couldn't live without.

She knew it was selfish,

that it was impossible,

that it was foolish, even.

But that didn't stop

the stab of envy in her breast

every time she watched him

raise his glass to his lips

and sip, eyes closed in contentment.

NaPoWriMo #17.1 - Something elemental

The Power of Water

She had always been conscious

of the fact that her body was 70 percent water

and proud of it, too.

She had seen often enough

how water could carve its way through rock

with only persistence and time for tools.

It was gentle, yet powerful.

Soothing, yet destructive.

It was such a beautiful contradiction,

one she strove to emulate.

NaPoWriMo #16 - What's that smell?

Okay, for today’s prompt we had to write a 5 minute free write on a smell and then write a poem based upon that free write. I’m going to post the poem first, and then the free-write below it, so that you can read my inspiration.

Mittens

He was a storm cloud with wide yellow eyes

and a kink for having his tail pulled.

I remember him being beautiful,

but in the eyes of a child all things are.

He was too skinny, but I never realized.

He was sick, but he still took care of me.

He curled around my head like a lion:

Glaring. Watchful. Arrogant, despite his size.

Even then he smelled sick.

Like urine and sickness and death.

I was too young to know,

I’d never smelt it before.

Sometimes I think he really was a lion,

forced into a much smaller body.

That’s why he died,

because his body couldn’t handle it.

Scent: cat urine

I remember how weak he was. He couldn’t always make it to the litter pan. How long was he sick before we realized it? How long did he take care of me while I was sick before I realized it?

I remember his fur smelled like urine. I didn’t clean the litter pan, so I didn’t know it at the time, but years later, when I got a cat of my own, I finally realized what it was.

I remember he lay on my pillow, next to my head, watching over me, glaring at anyone who dared to come near me. Protecting me. His eyes were like an owl’s, and even then he was too skinny for it to be healthy. I can’t believe I never realized it, how sick he was, I mean. And he still had the time and the patience to take care of me. Animals are amazing.

I remember my pillow smelled like his fur for months after he died. Cat urine is a hard thing to get out. I remember holding him in my arms when he was a ball of fluff. He was so cute, like a storm cloud with big yellow eyes. I remember how he actually liked having his tail pulled. What a strange cat.

I remember how weak he was. I remember being unable to turn my back when he was put to sleep, even though I didn’t want to watch. It was raining. The mums were in bloom. We brought home three red mums to plant on his grave. Mums don’t usually survive the winter, but those did, and I was glad.

I remember my mom wrapped him in a towel. We didn’t unwrap him before we buried him. I think we didn’t want to see the body. So we buried him, towel and all. He has a headstone, too, but since there are so many rocks in the area, it’s hard to find unless you know where to look.

I remember going to visit him, a couple of times. I need to go more often. I don’t live there all the time any more, but he was precious, so I should visit him. I wish I could visit him. I’ll never forget him.

NaPoWriMo #15 - Carrying a tune

Ok... I think I should be upfront about this: I can't carry a tune to save my life. In other words, this cannot go well.

Their skin fit beautifully

It impacted her strikingly,

how their skin fit wonderfully.

She stared fretfully

thinking hers fit awfully.

Her eyes simply couldn't see

that her skin fit-- it was meant to be.

She'd fill out like a sapling tree

if only she would let it be.