NaPo 2016 Finish Line Thread

[Donner]

One of the great things about participating in NaPo, besides the challenge of producing a poem a day and realizing you can, is the chance to read such a variety of poems in process. It's a chance to be a part of a shared experience and to visit different places and cultures and ideas and experiences through each others writings that reach across to me, here, where I live and work because that's what good poetry does - allows me to experience the variety of the human experience during this crazy experience called NaPo.

It's become part of the NaPo tradition at PFFA to share one of your poems from the month that you're glad you came up with, one that you're glad you've written, one that maybe was a breakout experiment for you.

So, on April 30 or shortly thereafter, pick one poem from your output during the month (whether you crossed the finish line or not) and post it in this thread. If you like, provide a sentence or two about why you chose that particular piece and how many years you've participated in NaPo. Also, please include in your post a link to your personal NaPo thread.

The mods will index the posts by author and title here in the first post for convenience; the "Index" will be arranged alphabetically by username. (We've posted a link to this thread in the Watering Hole, as well, where you can comment on the poems chosen and fluff further fluffy fluffiness.)

Poems by 2016 NaPo Participants:

Acolyte - Mythtakes
Angela - The Storm that I chased
Arlene - The Gardener and the Rose Haiku
Avalanche - Introduction
beeswax - My True Love Hath my Heart and I Have His
Bench - Flora Day
Blythe - Magic Words
Donner - Sometimes a lot happens, sometimes nothing
Dunc - How Ponderous the Lightning Flash
Emilio - Floor
Emily Bronte - On (not) being a parent
5th column - Accented
Janet - Grandma's got no buttons
Jee Leong - Pale daffodils
JFN - ⇔
Julie - Metro
Kristalynn - Shadow
larryrap - When I'm Like This
M - How to Win Back His Heart in Seven Easy Steps
PClem - Deer on the Side of the Road

[Donner]

Sometimes a lot happens, sometimes nothing.

The new washer sounds like a rocket taking off
and I wonder why some detergents work better
than others while I talk football
with the JW's at my door, then watch the silhouette
of a fly crawling behind the shade, the veins
showing through the transparency of its wings.
Later at the Mariner, I sit and watch Marilyn
picking off every bit of fat from her bacon
while glancing at the guys at the next table
pointing to the menu, saying You'll never see this
in a big city, and later at Grocery Outlet
I wish I had announced as I walked past the woman
on the phone, If you were so mature,
you'd be having this conversation in private
rather than in the middle of a grocery store.
Sometimes a lot happens, sometimes nothing,
but spring is trying to bust through and someone
has hung laundry on a line to pick up the scent.
It makes me happy, as happy as knowing the clover
nectar tasted as sweet this morning
as it did when I was a kid. Men ride lawnmowers,
women push them, but either spin out the aroma
of cut cilantro spilling over the edge of the garden.
Enough water and the sweetpeas will explode soon.
I'm weary tired, though, tomorrow if it isn't raining
I'll plant the next crop of garlic. Sitting on the couch
I watch the kids peel off the school bus; soon, laughter
outside will grow along with the days. Sometimes
a lot happens, sometimes nothing.

* * * * *

I picked "Sometimes a lot happens, sometimes nothing" because I'd reached that point in NaPo where desperation sets in and any idea seems like a good one. I resorted to writing a found poem from my own list of lines/poem ideas and somehow managed to come up with one that's halfway comprehensible.

This was my 12th NaPo, all of which I've finished. My thread is here.

[kristalynn]

Shadow

A green caterpillar scoots
along the sidewalk,
its small oval shadow
inches beside it,
changing a little the way light is cast,
altering very slightly the way things are.


I picked this one because it was still early enough in the game that I wasn't too exhausted to be able to stick with something. It took me a while to write and it took a three mile walk to let my subconscious work. But I knew there was something about the oval shadow I needed to tap into, but didn't know what it was until I took the time to let it come to the surface. Not saying I got it right, but I tapped into what the poem wanted to say, at least for this draft.

This was my 4th NaPo. It came the easiest, but it was still super hard. I think I was more prepared. I have learned a few ways to "trick" my mind into producing something every day and that sometimes works.

Thanks again to everyone who read my thread which is here.

[Julie]

Metro

And he sat down on the edge of my jacket,
then looked at me startled when I tugged it out,
the drag of the zipper odd under his khakied thigh.

And then I looked up and his eyes were like does'
and lashes like the edges of burring jimson weed
seed pods but beautiful instead of alien.

And then I was the startled one and said
sorry. And he flinched away from my startlement.
And the Metro driver saved us by stopping

at the next stop and ordering us all out
of the train. And I did not think of him again
until now. And the burr of that fear clings to me.

And I wonder how I frightened him with me
and my middle aged dumpiness and he
young and able to destroy me with a fist.
And his eyes were brown.

***

This one just worked for me, looking at a tiny moment of oddness. I nearly chose one of my more experimental ones from the month, but decided to go with something more straightforward.

My thread is here.

[JFN]

⇔

⇔ _head∈x : _head∉(U-x)∵x
⇔ x=x : (U-x)(x≠x),
........∆x=(x∪(¬x)) _{__}
⇔ x^t=x_C | U "x≠x"∴x"U≠U",
| U⊥x∝x||U, ⌊x⌋ :

⇔ x ^{∴∀∃ x}, ¬^x/_∴∀∃
........ ⇔x≅¿x? : ¿x?≠x,
⇔ (x+y)·(x-y)≡(x±y),
⇔ x! ⇒ |x| ⇒ |x-y| ⇒ |y-x| ⇒ |y| ⇒ ∠y^fools
| f(x) ⇒ x÷f
........ ⌊x⌋+f+100%=f(x) :

⇔ x(£\$\€\¥)+⁵⁰/₅₀=x
⇔ x=♡+γ+Φ _and ♡+γ+Φ≪0,
x=0, 0<x,

⇔ μ^x=|x|
........ | Κ^x=|x|
⇔ -y=x ⊕ +y=x : x≠(<x)
........ ⇔ y∙x=1+2+3≠1+2+3+4...
⇔ 1min=60sec=|x_A x_B|
∑ {U∩(∞∈U)}∈x, &, ≫, x⇒X!

__________
If--, by Rudyard Kipling



Probably a peculiar choice, and possibly not a very poetic one, but I enjoyed devising this. I'm sure there's plenty of room for improvement and further experimentation in the amalgamation of words and numbers. Not sure it will ever catch on though.

My thread: 30 Forms in 30 Days

[avalanche]

Here's mine :

INTRODUCTION.



Ponies prance and brolgas dance
monkeys chatter and yabbies clatter
this is the skin you’re in
this is the skin you’re in
cows clump and camels hump
dogs bark and elephants park
this is the skin you’re in
this is the skin you’re in

bears bumble and rhinos rumble
hyenas mangle and snakes dangle
this is the skin you’re in
this is the skin you’re in
cassowaries barge and bulls charge
leopards lounge and jackals scrounge
this is the skin you’re in
this is the skin you’re in

wombats snuffle and meerkats scuffle
salmon leap and cats sleep
this is the skin you’re in
this is the skin you’re in
ants hustle and bees bustle
sharks glide and crabs slide
this is the skin you’re in
this is the skin you’re in

squids float and pufferfish bloat
owls plot and lemurs trot
this is the skin you’re in
this is the skin you’re in
seals jut and peacocks strut
kangaroos scratch and chameleons match
this is the skin
this is the skin

this is the skin you’re in !


It's the fact there's a lot of odd bits of information in there, but it's not heady and as ridiculously serious as ...well, let's say it's been a learning curve on here, on how to leave the pissiness behind and actually begin writing. Nothing light about light verse - that stuff is HARD to put together, all them words have to LIKE each other, pesky little critters.
Just did one about the Platybeladon, and .... oh let's let it simmer awhile.
Thank you everyone for your kindness and friendship.
(raises metaphorical glass )

[M]

How to Win Back His Heart in Seven Easy Steps


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 suds, 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). 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.

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
to make switches until I was too old
for spanking.

Step Four:
Dig. There is a reason I did not warn you
to bring a shovel; use your hands.
These are the hands that stroked
his face, the same ones that held him firm
and with purpose. Dig. Are your arms heavy? Dig.
Do the muscles stretch, swell, stretch,
swell and scream? No. They do not. Did you forget?
Muscles are mostly silent. The screams
are in your mind. Your mind speaks of pain
and you listen too closely. If your mind told you
to burn down your own goddamned 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 you have no chart?
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: his doctor
resides three blocks away and practices
from home, cash only. You also should know
that, as of three thirty-four this morning,
the last bottle in the cellar is empty;
he still has a key.

Step Six:
This is my body, which was broken
for you. I asked my mother how I could be
like Christ. She told me, "You must die
daily". She placed me on an altar, knife
poised high. God did not send an angel.
She sliced down my center, 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 you have made
for yourself; ask if it was worth the digging.
There is no treasure unburied here, only dirt
and its absence. The place where you stand is hollow
as a beaten child. Your hands are filthy,
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?





This will be my fifth NaPoWriMo, but my first in years. My previous were here at PFFA 2008-2011. I chose this poem for two reasons, the first of which is that it embodies my entire month and my reason for participating this year. It was a very selfish reason. I began this NaPoMo during a very dark time (possibly one of my darkest to date), and I did not know if I would even be able to write at all; I needed to prove to myself that I could. The second reason I chose this is personal and very self-indulgent. I began writing this with a completely different picture in my mind of what it was going to convey, but as I wrote, I had an epiphany and was forced into some very uncomfortable (but necessary) self-reflection. As the poem took on a life of its own, it taught me things about myself. I have always loved words, loved working and playing with words, loved reading and learning from the words of others. I aspire one day to write at a level which readers can both access and relate to my poetry and potentially see things in a way that they may have never thought of before. I believe one of the beauties of poetry is that it unearths truths from very unexpected places. This poem's initial incarnation unearthed some truths for me, and if it never speaks to another person (though I hope with some time and distance I may be able to get it to that point), it has spoken to me. My thread can be found here.

[Acolyte]

Mythtakes

hey baby before you say anything I want to tell you something
long ago in Egypt people stopped praying to Ra, god of the sun and other things
and so he sent his bitchy, lioness-headed daughter Sekhmet to make them cry
and she was hacking and slashing her way through them like, well, like a lion
because when you're a war goddess normal people are all basically the sickest antelope
and people were all like "oh the humani--" but that's as far as they got
before being disemboweled by Sekhmet's divine claws and awesome sharp teeth
and the noise got so bad all the neighborhood gods came over to see
and Yahweh was like "man, I'm rethinking my whole approach to negative reinforcement"
and even Kali was like "damn girl, that's fucked up. overuse of force, much?"
and so Ra was like "ok, ok, I'll tell her to knock it off" but to Sekhmet, human beings
were like tortilla chip bowls at Mexican places where even if you're full you keep eating
(also in this metaphor the salsa is blood. where was I? right.)
Ra started to panic but Loki was there for summer vacay and he was like
"do what I do when my lover loses her shit, get her drunk, even works on giantesses"
and Zeus was like "that's what I do to Hera when I'm with my mistresses"
and Hera was like "say whaaaaaat?" but Ra was like "Jesus, people, calm down"
and Jesus was like "somebody called?" and Ra was like "help a brother out"
and Jesus was like "ok, but you definitely owe me like fifty souls for this, right?"
and so Jesus miracled the shit out of the Nile and turned all the water into red wine
and Ra was like "hey Sekhmet there's lots of humans over here in all this blood"
and Sekhmet was like "okay let's go, yo" and drank and drank all the Nilewine up
and she blacked out and when she woke she was Hathor, goddess of booze and dancing
and all this, baby, is a roundabout way to say I'm sorry for what I said while plastered
and instead of all the shouting and the rants
let's drink this wine I brought and dance


---


2016 marks the 5th time I have attempted NaPo on PFFA, and the first time I have finished here, with 30 poems on deck in Sonnets to Bacchus (only one of which is an sonnet, although plenty are about drinking)! Huzzah!

I chose the above poem (based on this myth), my first this year, because on April 1st I had exactly 45 minutes of unscheduled time, and I word-vomited it onto a piece of scrap paper on my lunch break. When I got home, I looked at it and said, "this isn't a poem, it's microfiction, what am I going to do?" So I swallowed my pride, added some end-off-rhyme and extra consonance, and threw it up, and somehow, people have said nice things about it. It's a little inappropriate and a little madcap comical and a little thrown-together-last-minute, which is definitely what an AcoNaPo is all about.

Love you all. -Ross

[beeswax]

My True Love Hath my Heart and I Have His*

It’s nearly May. The dogs whimper and cower
as hail drums on roof and road. It’s nearly
summer, and spring has not set in. He calls
me Tea Face. Braveheart lived in Scotland once --
hail drummed on him, and no heat in his house.
He, who has my heart, is agreed with me
that heat is moot. To save on heat we share
a bed. No -- more than that, we share our heat,
and shared heat engenders heat. He calls me
Tea Face. He has my heart and I have his.
I would call him Braveheart but he insists
he’s just the mug who makes me tea, and serves
it in a mug. We share our heat. There never
was a bargain better driven. * Braveheart.

*Sir Philip Sidney

I had started writing again this year after a long drought – many deaths, depression – madness. I missed the April 1^st deadline – thanks PFFA mods for permitting late starts! I ‘cheated’ a couple of times – revisions (best I could do some days). I wrote mock haiku at first. I figured I’d at least manage three lines a day. I chose the above because it was a rushed spontaneous effort – the essence of NaPo – and about a new love.


My thread: http://www.everypoet.org/pffa/showth...ds-of-Evidence

[Dunc]

I spent a lot of NaPo on lugubry, which has been my mood of late. But I thought this poem was at least as good as any of the others.

Regards / Dunc


13 April 2016


HOW PONDEROUS THE LIGHTNING FLASH

From the high roof
to the great green spreading tree and
down the great branch to the trunk and
up the far branch and off the end
to the other great green spreading tree and
down the great branch to the trunk and
up the far branch and off the end
with a fabulous leap into the forest
two squirrels
had crossed the park and gone
faster than I could turn my head.


  

[Angela]

The Storm that I Caused

-after reading page twenty-seven
of Kushiel's Dart
xxxxxxxxxxxby Jacqueline Carey

My delayed virginity transformed
the prick of my unworth to a pearl
of great price. Once I reached the age
of nineteen, I found purity was a hot
commodity. Well, there was that one time-
that we don't talk about- when I sampled
a tool with a shallow mouth- Man,
that caused a storm. Like a tornado,
but more short-lived. Have you ever seen
a dust storm- no, a dust devil- in a parking lot

or a baseball field where all of those boys
are wearing baseball pants? Smooth, white
fabric slicked over young, taut asses- cups
stretched to capacity, long legs flexing- ready
to go already- The way they gripped
the bills of their caps
and clenched their jaws and paused,
then spit into their gloves
while they weathered the tempest-

Eh-hem.

Where were we?
Oh yes, the storm that I caused-
Let's get back to the story there.
I think my point is:

I was pure.


I chose this poem as my favorite because it was fun to write. I felt a momentum building when I got into the meat of it. I thought I might have really been onto something. After I finished it, I gave it to my husband (of 23 years) to read. I didn't know what kind of reaction he would have, I just knew I was expecting something. The only thing he had to say was, "I didn't know you liked baseball." That made me snort.

You can find my thread here.

[Emilio]

I first started out with the intention of writing seven poems on the sounds in which my apartment speaks. I got the first five, then my brain couldn't think on it anymore, so I moved on. A little more than half way through the month I lost momentum and didn't think I'd finish through the month. After some wonderful encouragement from Bees, I found my stride again and was able to push on. Then I found the magic of NaPo. I've participated for a few years, some finishing and some not, and I hadn't experienced this before. I found myself in a place where I was able to write, and write, and words and imagery connections were coming easily. I then returned to what I started at the beginning and was able to get the next two poems done, to get that series finished. Then I was able to write and finish NaPo strong, and early. NaPo for me, has been over since the 27th, but I've still been writing. I figure I'm in the zone so why not. This poem below is the 6th poem I wrote in that series, one I had returned to, to write. There was a lot going on for such a little piece. And people seemed to single this one out. Thank you, NaPo!



25. Floor


The house is creaking.

Its sounds are foot and pier
plank over ocean. And I,
in that boat, hide

in the hangover. In its dark,
I find the floor

where two brothers wrestled,
or father and son fight, or

or the marriage ring mother threw.

And in the bottle, I find,
more ocean.



And I was like Emilio?! Emilioooooooooooo!!

[PClem]

Deer on the Side of the Road

Day one the dead deer was unmarred and unremarkable, nothing to say
she was damaged or had done damage on impact,
clean, polite and well-mannered in repose.

Day two, she has opened up
to her visitors, red in her anger, reduced.
She confesses, I too have eaten flesh -
once, I pretended it was only infant
grasses; I snatched two nestlings on the ground.
The crunching of small bones excited me.

Day three, she mourns the losses - liver,
a leg, her eyes. Otherwise, she says I’m akin
to a Thanksgiving offering, the whole bounty resides
here, I have eaten the fruit
of your neighborhood, now multitudes prey over me.

Day four, asked to choose between flight
and the earth, she recognizes choice
is no longer as a vulture flies off
with a piece of her hide.

Day five she accepts beauty
in the simple lines of ribs and skull.

This is my 8th NaPo. I have finished them all. This year wasn't pretty, I think I went through it in a fugue state. I had no more than a half hour a day to devote to NaPo and that includes fluffing - my apologies. I learned to attend to the small moments of each day and from those moments came some surprising poems. Until I read over what I wrote (and said to myself I wrote THAT!?), I thought I would choose a bird poem. Ultimately, I choose this poem because while far from perfect, it represents a departure for me, which I think is good.

[vmh]

"I tried to make it not too sad"

The third rose hangs over the river
like a noose. The fish only sees
red. The sky sees nothing
and everything in the river.

Sometimes when your teenager
sits on the floor, tying his shoes
like he tried when he was three,
and reminds you of his fluid memory

of how things went, and how he shared
it, the carpet, like dirt,
swallows his words, the walls
bounce them back so you don't

miss their meaning. Like the fish's
eye, you don''t.

This is my 12th Napo that I've completed. And I feel like it may have been the most difficult, because it felt like I was writing out of nothing. Except this one, which breaks my heart everytime I read it. One Napo, a few years ago, I lied in every poem, just a little thing here or there. This poem is not like that.

My thread is here.

Thank you everyone for all your comments and support. It was so appreciated this year, especially since I didn't reciprocate as much as I should have.

Vicky

[Emily Bronte]

I started NaPo in 2010, and this was my 6th NaPo I have finished (I didn't participate in 2015)

This year felt harder than most of the others for some reason.

I've picked this one not because anyone thought it was good but because it surprised me. It's my last, so took me a while to warm up.

My thread is here.

On (not) being a parent

It's not always true
that you will never miss
what you didn't have.
Whenever some well meaning woman
tells me they never understood
what love is till they gave birth
I want to ask 'why not?'
but stay silent. Sometimes I think of you.

If you were possible, you'd have dark curls
and blue eyes. I'd call you Emily.
I gather my heart into my hands
and marvel how it glows in the dark,
a live coal that burns fierce and strong.
It is they who do not understand love.