Twenty-two has long been one of my favorite numbers because of that Twilight Zone episode, "Room for One More, Honey," where the morgue was down in the basement: room 22. And today's NaPoWriMo finds do my beloved #22 justice.
Today's prompt on the NaPoWriMo site blew my mind. In honor of Earth Day, the prompt is to write a poem about a plant. OK, fine, sure, I like plants. But then Maureen dropped the Vegetable Lamb of Tartary bomb. Do you all know about this? Seriously, it blew my face off.
Onto the poems.
Well Hello Gorgeous
In West Texas, you think of a song and you buy it
No not because there might be some rattler at your boot a moment later
There isn't some fear you're gonna die in the desert
I could put it down that way
Make a good read
West Texas desert voice
All boots and belts and hand-worked wooden handiwork
They made a shed that's shaped like a starship because they could
This town is full of because they could—that's why you should visit
I could say something about never going home, but I got this girl back east, you see
All kinds of reasons
But heads up, maybe a month?
There'd be a lot of sitting
Mixed in with some walking
+++
Except for this right here, I'm making it all mine
Posted here.
*
oh yes you do
for Minnie & Seymour
if I can't speak of human love
without wincing
how will I begin to say about
my inhuman loves
what they do
how they love a human
without wince
surely their reason is above
my reason their love
conquers, enfeebling my love
their tempers for change
& unconcern humiliate
my grounding need
of affirming words, looks
I think fond words while mimicking
their little voices as if to say
you can hear my desperate
thoughts please say
that you can
my hole my kept
self mimics their self-kept
whole if I can't speak it
& they go on speaking it
Posted here.
*
Dear Moon,
You Cheshire smile, you silver sliver. How many tides have you pulled?
You flash-lit nostril. How many slightly different weights have you
finagled? Your presence makes shadows on the beaches romantic,
eerie. The menses moons of my child-bearing years. I have one thing I
need to tell you, so listen. You can not pull me away into fear anymore
you giant casaba melon. I know you are my moon and you love me.
Quit hiding behind those clouds. What size were you when Kennedy
died? Where were you in the sky when Bernie plagued us with his
pyramid? Fleetwood is telling you “Lightning strikes, maybe once,
maybe twice… Oh… and it lights up the night…” Maybe brighter than
you, moon. Wax, wane, all the same; moon of my tomorrows.
Posted here.
*
this poem didn’t facebook request a title
the panda is the lecturer; things occur due to a causal law
and the panda speaks slowly about ‘human kindness’
the nation is the consciousness of a terrible hangover
and i see things moving fast on your amazing lip
while a rabbit says ‘you are in the same aerospace as the other animals’
i claim my ribs have always been a panda’s
you say you are nine thirty five p.m. at night
this poem means something more to me
i am kind of lost in this tonight
Posted here.
