Auction

Why should we value an oil portrait

painted of a stranger by a stranger?

Or an exotic tamed monkey?

What use could there possibly be

in the fibula of a long-dead saint?

Why do we dress up in austere clothing

and march in pairs into distinguished halls

to wave bills about like fans?

Such a bizarre, barbaric ritual.

"Starting bidding for the nude cupid statue

at ten thousand dollars."

"Ten thousand!"

"Ten thousand from the gentleman

in the garish sport coat.

Do I have fifteen thousand?"

"Fifteen thousand!"

"Yes, fifteen thousand from the veiled lady

with the diamond ring and pearl earrings.

Do I have twenty thousand?"

"Twenty thousand!"

"Twenty thousand from the woman

with the sapphire brooch.

Do I have twenty-five thousand?

Going once, going twice....

SOLD, to the woman with the sapphire brooch."

----

Note: Today's prompt was: "List ten items that you would buy at an auction, or tag sale. Write a poem including those items. You may chose to title your poem, "Things Found At An Auction". Variation, have someone else create a list for you." Not my favorite, so far. I'm really not a fan of prompts that ask me to use lists of items in my poem. I think they're just awkward. Oh well. I did the best I could.

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 #14.2 - You want me to write a what?

Ok. As promised, here is my second attempt at yesterday's prompt.

Edit: After reading through some of the other cleaves posted (which I couldn't see before because I posted this from my phone), I realized that I was doing this entirely wrong. I apologize for my failed cleaves, and I will try to do better in the future. T.T

Her mind

She was in a desert
where there was nothing.
No cacti, no oasis, no end,
not even a scorpion to sting at her feet.
There was sand,
but after hours of walking,
hours of it scalding her souls
that too was reduced to nothing.
Baren. Parched. Even her frustrated tears
did nothing to quench it.

It was raining watermelons,
baby kangaroos and munchkins,
and small creatures--never before seen
from the bottom of the sea
with headlights on their eyelashes.
Too much, too fast!
Her mind overflowed
in a flood of multicolored paint
scrawling with reckless abandon a rough imitation of her flood.

Her mind was by nature a cyclic beast.
There was no mean that it strove to attain
nor any certain predictability.
She found there was no use pondering it.
Instead, she opted to simply let her mind
borrow her hands when it had something in it.

NaPoWriMo #14.1 - You want me to write a what?

Okay, this is my first attempt. I will probably come back and attempt to write another later today, but I'm not sure I'm going to have time, so I'll post this for now.

Their skin

Her skin was too tight.
It constrained her,
squeezing so hard it burned.
Pointing her into the future
like a straight jacket.

His skin was too loose.
He swam through it
lost and confused
trying to find his heart
in the endless void.

Their skin fit beautifully.

He leant her some of his spare skin,

and, unwittingly, his heart.

He freed her from her straight jacket.

She found his heart and filled the abyss.

Together, their skin was beautiful.

NaPoWriMo #11 - The Thing You Didn't Choose

A Poem to You

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Since I walked away.

It's not a choice that I regret,

but it's made me different today.

You could have been my lover,

but it wasn't in the cards.

You were far too immature,

so the choice wasn't even hard.

I've never liked to compromise,

so when you asked me to choose

it was easier to walk away

than to walk a mile in your shoes.

As a result I'm alone,

without you by my side.

Free to do as I like,

but part of me has died.

NaPoWriMo #9 - Your Mission

For today's prompt, we had to write a poem that contained 12 words from a list, a bitter taste and a couple words from a poem that hadn't quite worked.

My twelve words were: flap, pail, jug, lever, octopus, marionette, rug, jam, limp, startle, bruise, walker. The poem that I took a chunk from was my response to Prompt #2, acronym.

On a side note, this is the longest poem I've written so far, and also the first one to rhyme.

How to Catch an Octopus

You'll need a pail of sardines

and some tuna jam

and a jug of sea greens

for if an emergency comes to hand.

Promise him a walker,

for every octopus longs to walk.

Slowly pull the lever,

tell him you want to talk.

Make sure he doesn't see the closing of the net.

Then raise him with a length of cord

til he dangles like a marionette

and let him struggle til you're bored.

Watch him in silence

as he flaps in the breeze.

But keep your distance,

for he has yet the strength to squeeze.

Don't startle the beast

or he'll ink

spewing black where you want it least

til it hurts to blink.

Don't be startled by his desperation

or his willingness to bruise.

There's no cause for admiration

of a creature who can't even wear shoes.

He'll never walk or even limp

or learn to cut a rug.

It's a wonder he's not extinct

when he's less capable than a bug.

Sell him to the market man

for a pocket full of change.

Then walk away, while you still can.

Don't look back til you're out of range.

Don't worry, the bitter taste is normal.

It's just the ink, nothing more.

You've done nothing abysmal.

You're no different than you were before.

NaPoWriMo #4 - Inside Out

I thought this was a really hard prompt....

In the twenty-first century

In the twenty-first century

it is no longer sufficient

to wear your heart

on your sleeve.

You must also

wear your large intestine

as a belt,

wear your small intestine

as a scarf,

carry your mind

as a handbag

to hold your worries,

and don your stomach

as a vest.

Your skin is

naturally

your suit.

It holds the outfit together.

In the twenty-first century

everything must be understandable

at a glance,

so no one has to take the time

or put down their blackberry

to actually look.