NaPoWriMo Shenanigans

What she said.

1 - Twone

Two bracelets cross and overlap
cozy and kept inside the jewelry box
an event not of much consequence.

In the chest all trinkets are kept together
by the dark, the safe dark
pure and untouched in that shadow.

When she opens the chest
lifts one by its silver clasp
the gold strands of the other glint at her.

Somehow in that box, the two had twined
snaked into and through each other
two bracelets become one.

She wonders if the gold glints a warning
not to separate the two lovers
after lifting them together out of their bed.

They fit around her wrist
woven and tangled delicacies
beauty born from the disordered void.

Re: Reunion: I like the multiple usage of and. This paints a pretty complete picture in few words. Also that space on the middle line's beginning sort of makes the front and end lines of the poem into a sandwich type thing, making it a complete work out of two ends, which fits.

My brain is tired and I'm not good at sounding smart right now.

Re: Reunion

I really like the rhythm in this piece.

Re: Twone

I think the second to last stanza is my favorite and the overall serpent-like persona given to the bracelets.

2 - More

Not yet

darling

curl all your
fingers
and toes
right into those sheets and

bury

your hands
into my hair and
tell me
tell me

what is enough?

How much for you?
I won't give
until you take
until you take.

Re: Sequence

I like how this one builds, then snaps off. Sort of like the frustration of wanting to sleep, but not being able to, but being so frustrated with not sleeping that you exhaust yourself and pass out. Does that happen to anyone else but me?

Re: More

RAWR. I want more. :)

Following avidly, and enjoying all of the poems.

Unfortunately, I'm not good for constructive commentary like Mr Gadfly ;oP

Oh nice. It reads very well now that it's formatted.

3 - Token

You
Cupped between my palms
I suppose your face
isn't "you"--
just a set of features
an assemblage
that betrays "you"
in a quirk of an eyebrow
the crook of your mouth
funny way you twitch your jaw
it's all the little things I notice
but never tell

I'll never tell them I found "you"
I'll tell them
"That face was a fake"
"Same as the others"
"Nothing to see there"
"Don't know why I tried"
You'll be safe, don't worry
I've already forgotten I've seen it.
Keep it?
You didn't tell me I could have--
Well, hon, now it's lost.

RE: (untitled)

I just lost the game.

I like the grinning vengeance tone.

Re: Token
I'm not sure I know what's going on here. I think I need to re-read it when I'm not distracted.

Re: untitled
I really like this. The penultimate line is fantastic.

Sometimes I'll write about a situation in my head that I won't actually bother to reveal. I've been known to be so cryptic with things in the past that trying to figure out what my poem is about is like trying to figure out Tori Amos lyrics.

In this case, though, it's based around the Iaen and Stevane stuff I've been posting on Saturdays.

I also have half of a not-very-good pint of beer in my head, and it's an awful predicament.

4 - Bunnyhump Day

No carrots or rabbits.
No basket.
No time for chocolate.
Parents never called.

Shirts don't fit me.
Waist shrunk, but breasts
Stubbornly gibbous.
Tarps come in my size, nothing else.

The souvenirs:
a book I can't take on the bus
an umbrella that doesn't collapse
2 more miles on the bike.

Afterward
a summons back
for beer with notes of chocolate
and comments that my gibbous has waned.

5- Saran

Scrape
There is no scrape here
Slip yes
Slide
Lose my grasp every time
try clawing through saran wrap
(it's plastic wrap because "saran" is without meaning)
(brand means nothing to a casualty)
Slip always slip
There is no climb
Always slip
And lose always lose
And after enough time
Life, only at the bottom.

I shouldn't do this, I guess, but I just can't resist, so here is one of mine (don't kick me for intruding, please...):

Good Little Girl

There once was a girl
A good little girl
Brown hair, blue eyes,
a bit shy.

She never fought back,
Just wasn’t a fighter,
She always nodded, always smiled,
And kept her thoughts inside.

Sometimes she cried at night…

Lived in a world of fairytales,
Of fantasies, and lies
Without hope that her dreams could come true.

She’d never have thought,
Never got the idea,
That there was fire, there was flame
In her heart deep inside.

Sometimes she cried at night…

Lived in a world of fairytales,
Of fantasies, and lies
Without hope that her dreams could come true.

There once was a day
One sunny day,
There was courage, there was freedom
And a fire burning bright.

There is that flame inside
That wants to burn, wants to fight,
That knows no desperation,
Knows no fear.

Sometimes she smiles at night…

Lives in a world of fairytales,
Of fantasies, and lies
But there is hope that her dreams can come true.

6- Trades

We came to the circle; we all bowed as equals.
Each one brought something to leave in the center.
I would take what was left, and in return, I would work.
The American way, the capitalist witchcraft.

You broke bread with me, and offered me cookies.
I made you tea, and agreed to learn manners.
You didn't hold my slowness against me.
When you cough behind your hand, I know it for a chuckle.

You took an umbrella from me, ruining the exchange rate.
The censer you left behind smells sweet in sun or rain.
It is your own, and I know you intend me to dance with it.
Dancing is not taught through lessons, but in freedom.

When you came into the circle the fire went out.
Your cloak swept up ashes in your wake, your only gift.
I taught myself to paint my face, imitating yours.
What thing can I fear when your look is upon me?

You teach secrets, and tell none where your prize is.
I dug up your gift after nights of searching.
A hollow charm, dirt didn't harm its humble nature.
I hold and contemplate the space within.

You don't tell me what to do.
In return, I am allowed to hold up your cloak from the ground.
I can gaze at the pattern, at the weave, as we glide forth.
Like Kings, you and I walk - I could drag you down at my will.

You brushed my nose with your fan, winked, and said:
"Nothing of gifts and trinkets, but watch these fools.
I will tell you of the nights and the hearts of men.
The woman's wisdom is no currency, it is birthright."

I left myself, and agreed to take it with me as well.
I gave you the strength of my back and my heart.
I dance, and stumble, and trip and flail for you.
For you, but sometimes I mind for me as well.

I remember when you told me about how all roads connected. I dug it. And it's hard when a constant gets pulled up by its roots.

7- Sheathe

He... it? There is a hand, it belongs to Master
(I think I call him that now, and he doesn't hit me)
the hand is stretched with a rough, dark, scaly pelt.
The fingernails are thick like teeth, rubbled, clawlike.
They rasped against my bare skin not long ago.

Master plucks the chain, crude black iron.
Iron wrought with fire, iron wrought with hammer.
Laid back over the anvil, virgin, resplendent.
At once smote and kissed, as my breasts were,
as my inner thighs were. The heat lingers.

I enjoyed it - I couldn't not.
Can't even feel guilt now - the collar round my neck,
leather, is cozy, rough. Like Master's hands,
sandpaper everywhere they touched me.
I still feel the scratch, the tickle, my hairs on end.

I giggle. He jangles the chain, not a jolly one for mirth.
But I am, and I have enjoyed his attentions
during the long wait. I am tasting victory,
sold on the block to the wealthiest buyer, my target.
My blade waits inside my heart, where I feel nothing.

8- She Had It Coming

Sashay down the alley, hips swaying
Each breast a gentle bounce, a wobble of fruit
you shouldn't pick. It's my fruit
and there's no reason to shroud it in sackcloth.
My fruit.
It doesn't hang low - these breasts sway high
(I'm no old woman)
Nothing on this body is yours to pluck
and
fuck
as you please.
I am no invitation. I am a moving body.
There is no fence around me
do you string barbed wire around yourself?
No warning sign, no label
You know what's not yours.

Asking for it?
I know how to ask.
Not with my hips
breasts
thighs
belly
ankles
or toes.
I ask with my fucking mouth.

9- Whiteknuckle

Fold my fingers
into a star
for you

One necklace
two digits
my lips

Say "forever"
No words
us here

Crossed palms
Thighs part
We fly

10- Tribute

When is my soul content?
A snapshot: two women and a beached convertible
Their clasped hands worked where speech didn't
While latter-day saints built their gaudy temples
Their only step in the dance is a turn away
Heathens couldn't attend your lambskin dinner
Instead they'll nibble your horizon to winter
Straight and regular teethmarks, a pattern of comfort
Desire, envy, lust, zeal, avarice, temptation, grace
Converge upon your point with halted breath

11- Art Bin

Cheap little tackle box
Trays of miscellaneous charcoal
Broken, scattered remnants
Some college kid's Intro to Art class
left behind on consignment.
Six dollars. His hassle, my bargain.
Another liberal arts core requirement
enriches the art world.

Wait...

Is this poem about pubes?

12- Another Gold Star

You don't expect a whole lot of me
--That's no true
You expect the whole world of me
But you don't act like it
You just say
"I would tell you to go home today."
"I wouldn't work you like this."
"I would be kind."

And so, not being told to push
Not being told to slave
Not being told to sweat
I work harder
I do it for you
And I love you for it
Because you don't tell me to
You just expect it of me.

13- Show and Tell

It tickled
On the bus
My pants leg
All the way to school
I'd scratch, it'd go away
Another tickle a few minutes later, but so light
So I ignored it
I had to ignore a lot of things
To even survive the bus trip
Useful to learn, but sometimes...

Well, in homeroom
They stared
And they laughed
I think Clint saw it first
I was in third grade? Maybe second.
Maybe it doesn't matter.
It crawled down my leg
Tiny cockroach, rode all the way with me
I thought, sometimes these things happen
Just not to them.

By the way, #12 is about leg hair, no matter what that fiendish co-writer of mine tries to tell you. T_T

But if it were about pubes, I wouldn't judge you! It'd make a good pube poem. It's a bit of a niche genre.

14- Role Model

Tall
Standing straight and proud
Falling on my face so graceful
I want to be like that.

*falls over dead*

Yeah! Like that!

(Welcome to the forums!