April 9, 2015

#NaPoWriMo 2015 no.9

photo by Ruth Bernhard, American, born Germany, 1905–2006
'Walton and O'Rourke Puppet, Lupita', 1938
Ruth Bernhard Archive, Princeton University Art Museum. ©

just like happy trees and puppets

as morning awakens me 
a world that is alive 
in somewhat(s) 
leers outside my window 
bellowing burnishing 
brandishing borrowing
too many...

and dirty windows 
the folk art somewhere 
inside me coming to realize 
another day is starting...

the whiskeys were waters made 
from poached fallen trees...
eminent domain gains
background noise back roads...

little hollows, tongued over eons 
where mountains once toothed time...
homes or little houses of sometimes 
poem-ed holy and almost dry...

root cellars parable nobility 
in twenty degrees above freezing...
portion control being seasonal holds
late Autumn and Winter 
we distilled image after image 
of shoulder grindstone subterfuge...

fluttering in carousel staccatos 
silent remarks steal fleeting-for-darkness 
shards of subconscious unsaid(s) 
this is where poem really begins...

never tell yourself 
is only for fools...

some of those fools are in love...

go word for limb process 
dumpster diving  in negotiation 
to stave off hunger in the parts of you 
not needing a body 
to host a soul's 
pulses and soirees...

your warm fingers 
tell me 
you like to stir 
the soup 
with your hands...

imagine silly abandonment yields
trees that inflate wielding daylight 
stretching the sky tops and roofs, 
slate stays up eating ornate tapas...

oh, I like my roughage 
with peeled citrus 
in the morning sir...

the warm up 
is for me...

morning knee bends
and midnight squeezed 
means, masquerades 
and motivation 
to spill 
and taste 
slow death 
as a life-bringer...

stowed away realm intakes 
we painted exhales 
we showered them 
with what talcum 
was available 
our fears 
with bravado...

there wasn't too many artifacts 
we left intact, in fact we said 
we would make our bed in wet clay 
we would sell 
as honestly as we can 
spin ourselves 
evening odds back in 
our pockets full 
fleece the street cornered desires
have them empty wading 
for fill(s) again...

our gang positioned 
nostalgia before 
sold you 
on the scarcity 
of living 
in the moment...

I launder the lair
of Morpheus
off myself 
just like this poem 
staking claim
to lore and mythology
no law needed 
to smell as I feel
same as you 
selling sin 
to pay for 
my own 
hidden virtues...

black market currencies 
always prayed for rainy days
when it is easier to exchange 
divine rated surrenders 
versus human intransigences

clouds never really wanted 
any part of my sorrows 
they only eat joyful dust
all they said was to make them 
look like happy trees
and to fold the poems 
along my spine
the puppets would pay me
with distractions 
and words 
I could call mine...



  1. The "poems along my spine"
    sing/smell the rituals of motions
    up&down of swirl
    signaling each fork on the road
    kinked with swarf
    signature motif...

    1. Why thank you...I believe palette luxury has to be part chance/ part choice...namaste

  2. it turns into the pattern ~if no lesson learned ~ Inspiring thoughts....namaste

  3. Depthful and dense! And that last stanza says it all.

  4. Thank You very much for saying so, I enjoy the last stanza myself...it's fun to say out loud... :)

  5. original -and just full of good lines and images. Nice

  6. The last stanza just ties everything together, says it all and more. Excellent write.

  7. Fabulous language--powerful.

  8. You put a lot of thought & detail into this & it really paid off. I liked the subtle rhyme at the end, it wrapped up the poem nicely.

  9. incredible imagery... I especially liked,

    morning knee bends
    and midnight squeezed
    means, masquerades
    and motivation
    to spill
    and taste
    slow death
    as a life-bringer...

    def giving you a follow man... banger with words.

  10. Oh I love how it all came together in the end

  11. Full of depth & intensity...!!
    Loved it :)