Sunday, April 5, 2015

Deer in the Headlights


This is from April 1's Write Club\NaPoWriMo's prompt:
write a persona poem based upon an animal expression.

Deer in the Headlights


My forests are disappearing
and I am spending more times on your roadways,
dodging traffic and trying to reach the other side.
This ground is hard, it will not grow life
and yet, and yet, it spreads like strangle weed.
How it widens and your beasts growl;

I worried at first how it carried you in its bellies
I thought they had swallowed you up, digested you.
But in watching, I realized you chose this –
being carried along at frightening speed, spewing toxins,
the metal and the fiberglass,
those straps you fasten your young in.

And in the disappearing dark, that I wanted for safety
you posted your halogen lights, as if to replace
the sun itself – oh, how you burn -
trees and fields, even lakes, they’ve turned to ash.
Volcanos’ build mountains, you carved valleys;
storms wash and rage, you flood and plan.

We creatures did not choose this; you did not ask
though I suspect you already knew this curve was coming;
a sharp obtuse turn with a cliff alongside.
Though you carry your own light
you also carry your own darkness;
crossing this road, even you get blinded.


Ariel
April 1, 2015

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Manifesto


And yet one more April PAD madness!
This came to me today

Manifesto


Almost 24 hours
and not one poem about you.

Not this poem;
this poem is about hunger and missing meals,
about poverty.

This poem is about eating air as the body cries for what it needs.
It is about shivering in the dark,
cold and alone as I pray for arms to enfold me;
about not approaching you for fear of rejection.
This poem is about feeling unworthy
of the smallest kindness
and building some noble romantic tale to tell myself
on some cold lonely night after you strode away -
perhaps true, perhaps not.

This poem is about a cry that has gone silent;
so desperate, without hope, it no longer seeks your charity.
In evening's concealing dark
it simply tucks itself into a closed doorway
curls tight into its vulnerable self
and awaits an unwelcoming dawn.

This poem isn't about you.;
it should be about falling into poverty,
about losing everything,
losing hope.

It shouldn't be about you.
Almost 24 hours.


Ariel
April 1, 2015

Vantage


Photo provided by Another Apri Poem-A-Day piece for today, this is based on the attached picture prompt (posted in Facebook's community "Poet", a space I started years & years ago and still co-moderate. It started with about 8 poets; it's now at 1,174 members, a global community!)
Photo provided by Rex Eisenbraun. Not sure who deserves the photo credit.

Vantage


Even from the distance of a black-and-white photo
I leaned out of frames to look for you.
Arm around steel girders, climbing grainy constructions,
I wonder if the wind will carry you -
like a WW2 postcard lost in the mail
and I capture you in my skirt ...
or perhaps like a tardy cargo ship tugging up a canal
I view you from my spyglass -
you will appear ... faded, monotone
but you with your scent
and that finger laid against your Cupid's bow.

For you, I risk that fall
and bring tucked inside that photo box.
For you, I would willingly gather dust and fade;
a memory that turns vintage warm when you will
chance upon it with shaking unsteady hands.
Perhaps then, with my leaning out of frames
and you peering through frames-
perhaps then we will find each other.


Ariel
April 1, 2015

Absent Winter


Another April 2015 PAD piece - this pece is in response to Facebook's "30 Day Challenge"; prompt is to take a total of fiften images and compose a poem incorporating them.

Absent Winter


This year’s daffs have already faded;
In March, the sky seemed composed fruit blossoms.
Like curious gray tabbies posed on weathered barbeques
I laid too long staring at my dusty bedroom ceiling, its fan unmoving,
A blue heating pad tied around the waist.

A sudden shower has turned the air a steel gray
as tardy clouds let themselves fall;
defying hail, the early vibrant tulips and elegant irises lounge as if in sun
a breakfast club. Staring at a tiny green stream as it grows, darts around rocks;
my hands cradle heat whispering out of vents.

Near brick apartments, an ivory rhodie flirts with passing cars;
it is a pause, enough to get from home to work dry;
the roiling sky looks pregnant, poised,
a rainforest rain that missed it’s forest
and needed to double back.


Ariel
April 1, 2015

Resistance


Today starts April's Poem-A-Day challenges in homage to National Poetry Month.
This piece is in response to Robert Brewster's Poetic Asides 2015 PAD challenge; prompt is "resistance". If you're thinking "Resistance is futile" and "Don't blink" - so am I.

Resistance

I resisted that pull towards unconsciousness last night;
that check-out that would have blinked me to morning.
I waited until today
when yesterday's worries could not find me
hidden in a new date.
Now with today shaking my shoulder
I find I'm resisting gravity, light;
that blink is always too too quick,
a swallow's dive off a tower,
and too long -

yesterday's worries have already found me,
curled into the pit of my stomach with they will gnaw, push and point.
Should I be grateful and capitulate?
Their wavering whispers keeps my foot hard on the right pedal,
on guard against futility.
Because of them, I stay fluid;
always have a back-up strategy, a side exit door,
always have an option of the next step
or a climb in case of an unexpected tumble.

The days are exhausting and bright;
no wonder I want to linger in the soft predawn,
just sit in quiet warmth
an illusion of security.
I slow over my ablutions as if to resist time's pull
but I must soon step out that door
and that will be the catapult into today's flurry,
my boxer's dance with bells signaling;
my desperate quest to right all my wrongs before I wrong them.
Too late.


Ariel
April 1, 2015

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Hardship

Hardship

During the first crash,
stockbrokers and their investors
having been stripped of all
jumped to their deaths.

In New York, I once watched a Jill jump
or rather a Jill fell.

The 5th floor of my new building
is based with a ground cushion;
plantings that would treacherously soften the impact.
One could easily get carried away, live another day.
No way to make it to the sidewalk
unless one really threw themselves, took a running start,
threw their arms in the air as if to catch it;
an albatross with broken wings trying to fly.

Ariel
Nov 7, 2013

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Borne Fruit

I can feel the muscles and tendon
peeling off my heart,
like an orange;
fingers digging in,
scrapping off the white of the rind.

The snapping off and losing
feels like there is blood oozing
from every raw abrasion.
Perhaps this is how skin is turned into leather;
the chemical burns,
the scraping,
the drying out,
chewing it again so it is pliable -
soft again as if not dead.

I don't want to say your name out loud anymore;
I'm struggling dealing with the damage that ensues.
Each time I think of you,
there is a dull plunk, as something pulls away;
my heart, this pulpy mess,
misses you.

Ariel
Nov 13, 2013