Almost a Kennedy

[Emily Bronte]

Hey, you

I'm in this year too. Missed last year and felt all wrong not doing it.

Have never forgotten the poem you wrote in response to Emily Dickinson's "Hope is that thing with feathers".

Very much looking forward to doing NaPo with you again this year

Mari.

[M]

while I slept you set adrift on a swift current and left me grounded your absence is an anchor its cords thick braided of dusky laughter bordeaux moons sleepless sunrises colored with chords I drag on through the sand skin rawed eyes full I don't want to be free of the ties that gnaw my flesh as I search for the ocean where the anchor must forget its weight the anchor must forget its weight it must forget I am certain that the current knows my name and the anchor must forget

Heyyy Mari, glad you're in!!! I didn't even see your thread yet. I'm running behind already. So yesterday's will have to be a revision of a "yesterday" poem that I never posted here (and don't have a link to the original, but it is posted below).

Anchor

While I slept, you set adrift
on a swift current and left me
grounded. Your absence
is an anchor. These ropes around my waist
are cords thickly braided
of dusky laughter, Bordeaux
moons, and sleepless sunrises colored
with song. I drag on through the sand,
my skin rawed, eyes full;
I don't want to be free of the ties
that dig into my flesh as I search
for the ocean where the anchor must forget
how to be so heavy.
I am certain that the current knows my name

[5th column]

This thread should be renamed the NaPo Blues

I'm enjoying the pain....

[Mike M]

I like the punk rock opener, and I like how often you use enjambment to change the meaning of a phrase. Good close careful lines and line-breaks. Warrants slow (re)reading.

[Bench]

Such good work. I particularly like the first two. Those nights out were always edged with latent desperation, and '... obscene colours seem negligible' is proper rutting.

[M]

Thanks, 5th column. I'm hoping to turn the tide a bit starting tomorrow. Time to get out of the blues and start having fun!

Mike, I do enjoy a good line break. They're one of my favorite ways to keep em guessing.

Bench, glad you enjoyed them! Thanks for stopping by!

Trying to catch up..it's too early to be so far behind! One more (sort-of) rewrite, and then I will be able to have some time to really do this in the next couple of days!

[M]

There lie, between us, countless
songs unwritten. It's fine; we have time,
but this thousand-mile conundrum is a clock block
DJ that drops repetitive solo beats: all tick tock build-up
rhythm, no lyrics, no release. For now,
I'll replay the ones I know -- I prefer a cliché
of tangled sheets to a fresh made bed.
Some nights, I remix our old duets, blast
them all at once in a mash-up of melodies that crescendo
to the walls and back. Reverb,
Babe. I'm so ready to collaborate
and make our own new tunes.
You can be my implicit
metaphor, and I'll be your
tangible abstract.


Sorry for that...I have to catch up!!

[5th column]

I read 'cock block' - well, that's some DJ's for you. I also read 'I remix our old 'duvet's' - misreading, a gift

[Donner]

M!

"Anchor" starts out despite the title setting the reader up for N's freedom, only to find that his absence becomes a weight that keeps her tied down rather than free to find her own current. Loss is sometimes like that; we'd rather hang on to what we know regardless how it hurts than let go to find what we don't know.

And nothing quite as difficult as a long-distance relationship. Some well-written yearning there.

Donner

[kristalynn]

I like "I don't want to be free" is the second version having its own line.

[M]

Step One:
Learn that the heart does not need
winning: just blood, an anchor
and clear signals. This is not to say that slicing
your thumb on the shattered wine glass
was helpful -- your spilt blood swirled
down the drain with merlot and suds, a useless
Communion. His heart has been in the same place
since he grew it, and it speaks to itself
without you.

Step Two:
Take twelve steps (do not be confused;
this is still only step two. I am saying push your body
forward from where you stand). Make them standard --
not long strides or short shuffles. You will find yourself
beneath the tree. I say "the tree" as if it is the only one,
but it is not. This is the tree underneath
which he never kissed you, his mouth not tasting
of salted vodka, his tongue not licking your delicate,
blood-smeared lips.

Step Three:
I asked my mother how I could make it
to Heaven. She told me, "You don't
make it by asking questions." She gave me cross
words and the back of a hand. She made me
plant seeds for my own spanking
switches, which was nonsense
because the tree would not grow
enough to make switches until I was too old
for spanking.

Step Four:
Dig. There is a reason why I did not warn you
to bring a shovel. You must use your hands.
These are the same hands that stroked
his face, the same ones that held him, firm
and with purpose. Dig. Are your arms heavy?
Do the muscles stretch and swell, stretch
and swell and scream? No. Have you forgotten?
Muscles are mostly silent. The screams are in your mind. Your mind
tells you of pain and you listen too closely.
If your mind told you to burn down your own house,
would you do it? Dig.

Step Five:
If you had to choose right now, would you go
down into the cellar or to some hospital
where your history is not on file?
If your answer was anything other than,
"I would not go", do not speak it. A place of danger,
no matter how familiar, is still dangerous.
You should be aware that his doctor
resides a mere three blocks away and practices
from home, cash only. You also should know
that, as of three thirty-four this morning,
there are no more bottles in the cellar.
He still has a key.

Step Six:
This is my body, which was broken
for you. I asked my mother how to be
like Christ. She told me, "You must die
daily", and she placed me on an altar, her knife
poised high. God did not send an angel.
She sliced down the middle, reached inside
and ripped out my spine. I did not bleed
for long; the young heal quickly. I learned
to stand without it, though my muscles
would stretch and swell with effort.
I taught myself to ignore my mind when it spoke
of their screams.

Step Seven:
Look at the hole that you have made
for yourself. Ask if it was worth the digging.
There is no treasure unburied here, only dirt
and the absence of dirt; it is hollow
as a beaten child. Your hands are filthy
and raw, like your lips when they kissed
him under some other tree, and you
are spent. If you had to choose right now,
would you get up, stand straight and walk away
or keep digging?

[5th column]

How to: Definitely worth post NaPo work. Heavy on modifiers in S2, and in S4 scream is possibly a hammer to crack a nut but I'm a fan of less is more anyway so what do I know Keep it up.

[Jenlars]

What a ride these last two are.

Sometimes a girl has to roll solo: take matters into her own hands, so to speak. An entertaining romp for one.
There are some killer, killer lines in How to Win Back His Heart. Every section has something. I like the mom taking N's spine, and the digging our own holes theme. I think my very fave is the last two lines of step 4. Stop digging and burn it down, I say.

jen

[Arlene]

This last seven-stepper is a heart-stopper, dagger imagery, painful to read leave alone write. Roll solo. Absolutely. Go for it.

[M]

Thanks 5th column, krystalynn, Jen, Donna, and Arlene!
5th column -- agreed that it needs some pruning. I do think that it's one I'll save for post PoMo.
Donna, glad it conveyed what it needed to. And you’re so right. LDR are so tough.
Jen, burn it down indeed!
Arlene, it was a bit painful to write. Glad it was worth it.
Krystalynn, thanks for the feedback on the free-floating line. So glad it worked! I'm behind on fluff. Must catch up on fluff!!