∝

Last day of NaPoWriMo! After this I will freewrite...no idea if I'll post everything online tho.

Prompt 1

the last five seconds
of a love story
are always cut
short

Todd's Eol Eum's idea. I stole it. I also used poems that weren't published online, but written this month...it was a total of...52 poems, not including this one. Fifty two is a good number, kukuku...

Prompt1 - take from several headlines, create a poem out of them. ('Survivor' Black Holes May Be Mid-Sized; Largest Atlas of Nuclear Galactic Rings Unveiled; Galaxy Merger Dilemma Solved; Supermassive Black Holes Strip Massive Galaxies of Star-Forming Gases; Have Black Holes Been Turning Up the Volume on the Cosmic Radio Background?; From ScienceDaily.com astronomy section.)

merging galaxies
excuse me,
i was just passing by
i seem to be in love with you?

as i:
i think we’re one.
if you must go,
leave me with a ring.

Prompt2 search images for a form of poetry, write a poem in that form related to the picture. i can't even tell wtf this is, some sort of 'seguidilla' stanzas. i searched 'antistrophe,' since it sounded cool.

passage
i am the measurement of motion.
i am the method
of movement. the transient,
eternal hybrid--

i am the inborn symptoms--
the inherent flaws
i am the bane of being--
the eternal clause

i am the proof of passing--
marking growth of life
i am the center of both
permanence and strife.

what you are seeing now has no meaning.

a collection of letters
combining into words
translating into noises
gaining their meaning

that is, after becoming
                                 noises
via your head

sight has nothing to do with it—
words have nothing to do with it—
sounds [the perceivable ones]
have nothing to do with it—

this is
           a collection of noises:

when hummed,
                      universally meaningless.

Poem 1 | Poem 2

The poems are on deviantART because...well...viewing difficulties :V .

Prompt 1 Use a discarded poem to create a new poem, or finish/revise that discarded poem.

Jerusalem
oracles
situated in a historical sense
move in small movements—
shuffle.

recognition—
stripped of illusions.

live coal to lips—
leading to repentance.

forgetting | fidelity | disobedience

oscillate
on this path—
redeemed in
‘exile’
suffering in
‘spirit.’

“Renew the spirit of my
country: we suffer.”

'Learning through suffering.'

might’ve been retrojected.


Prompt 2 Judge a book by its cover.

Ghrey
actually,
this is a misnomer—
this is a world based on color—

where the flight of vultures
and the call of whales
is an art of interpretation

where history is counted
by the number of stanzas
in a long, continuous song

where vision is seen with the ears,
and
where singing and writing and thinking
share the same word,
‘being’

Prompt 1

umoya
the first umoya
were twins:
one decided
it wanted a life
where all paths
are unconceived,
and each breath
something different;

so that it could be
immortal.
this one became ‘wind’

the other decided
it wanted a conscious,
so that it knew when one path
was more enjoyable than the other;

so that it knew
which path would be the end of it,
and so prolong its life.
this one became ‘spirit.’


Prompt 2

ramen
is not instant
(unless pasta is instant)
is not pasta
is not good with cheese
is delicious with sriracha
is delicious with eggs
is delicious with chili oil
is fine as just stir-fried noodles
is warm in the stomach—

excuse me, i’m hungry.

prompt1 make something based on a phrase (you can't make a stone bleed or something like that).


well actually,
this stone
is full of earthy juice
and
when squeezed with force
it will bleed
it’s simply that
no one is quite strong enough
to manage it.


prompt2

four-leafed poem
one
two
three
[invisible]

Prompt One:

i am a thought,
a collection of droplets
scattered in space:

and via gravity
i            conglomerate
into this sphere--

this tangible vial
of drinking water.


Prompt Two:

introduction to clique-based society
part i

we begin our experience from afar
look at all these
people
sprawling in the foodcourt

oh, oh my!
look what we’ve found,
point the camera over there!
do you see that?
a rare live encounter
with an emokid,
much less
a herd of them.

it’s difficult
because they often camoflauge
into their surroundings
&
they’re wearing traditional
black hoodies
[you can’t
tell them apart that way—
strength in numbers!]

no, no,
don’t get any closer!
you’ll scare them
out of their
corner

let’s leave their territory!
or
they’ll start the
wrist-slitting
self defense mechanism!


Prompt 3:

April 15th
...
...

...

this fierce squall is made of crows--
tomorrow flinches when they stretch their
tendrils and caw of
rag na rok!

this storm is full of dust
and rust falls
as pepper
from their flaky feathers
while their wings reverberate.

their saffron eyes
sight that yggdrasil emporium
they fall into a dizzy spiral,
talons bared--

prompt 1 too complicated to summarize.

agua
i am
the ultimate snake,
my girth so seamlessly
curled into your kitchen bowl
that i’ve become this new thing—
“liquid”

your ladle
has scooped out my flesh,
but i am “fluid”—
my blood quickly fills the gap
in just a few ripples.

prompt 2 - poem about imperfection. i cut out the first stanza and the last two stanzas, lol. as such, no title, wot. i'm too lazy.

“I think you ought to make a journal.”

“A journal of what?”

“Of these things you say. A Captain’s Log.”

“But that’s always ridiculous.
You never know if you should be pretty
or pretty accurate.
And I can’t be both.”

“Well,
be pretty!”

“Then no one
will know what on
-Earth-
I’m talking about!”

“Well,
be accurate!”

“Then no one
will know
what is a figure
of speech or not!”

“Then be
both!
Add an appendix—
a glossary.”

“How bland!
How futile!
How dull!”

2/3



8:00 PM
why’s it still bright?
i can’t wait until Fall Back,
so I can turn on the aged
glow of this antique lamp
“early”

i made this poem by looking up the scientific definition for radiant and then rewriting it eight times [with only minor edits each time]. it has no title. it will not get one. it does not need one |V .


tracing flamestone footsteps
left when they hurled
lovingly
into gaia’s deadly embrace,
you travel upwards through
a million invisible constellations
brimming with a million more words
to one radiant origin—
nestled among stars.

profession in translation
listen to me,
i know all about this
"language" thing--

you ask for
food
water
attention
and occassionally conversation happens
about these things, or lack of these things--

high low high is glad
low high low is not--

this is how humans talk,
meow.

Prompt 1 Get a random country through a generator, then write a poem on it based on the pictures found in image search.

Umag
My waters—condensed mists
that slide across the river beds
like liquid,
lining the smoothed stone beaches
and walkways snaking
out of little city alleys—
empty,
except for
a widowed bicycle.

Prompt 2 Write about the elements in an unusual way. I am a sucker for elemental stories, so this is ttly restraint on my part x: . I'll do a full poem later kukuku.

earth
scraping the dragon-imbued
stick of pigment
into a pitch black ink pot
add water
and and you’re free to create
masterpieces
with the excrements of an octopus—
how marvelous
are the elements!

OKAY GOING TO CHECK PCBCOS MATCHUPS NOAW.
Prompt 1

i remember
rows and rows of documentaries
lined up on the shelves next to books

and a very fancy water cooler that we couldn’t get because it was expensive
and a spiral staircase that led
to a place with a lot of machines
and a large television

and my two great aunts serving food
only one of which was related to the family
everyone kept emphasizing
“it’s a different kind of love!”
but i still couldn’t figure out how she was my aunt

and outside the house was built on a hill
with its right leg six feet longer than its left
“make sure to put on the breaks
so no one sues you when your car rolls into theirs!”

but mostly
i stole those smithsonian video tapes
and learned about dinosaurs
(and volcanoes)
and when the television was stolen
(by the adults)
i laid out their smithsonian books out in a row
and read them all.

“Clouds,” one said “make an anvil
shape when they grow too tall.”

“Velociraptors,” one said “are not really
as big as Jurassic Park makes them.”

“Tools,” one said “represent
culture.”



Prompt 2
this is a lai. i dislike the form |V

volcano
this fence marks the line
where that old mountain spine
blows out its insides—
the fiery brine
escapes earthen mine—
and the heated tide,
after devouring pine
and natural shrine—
subsides.

write two stanzas to the tune of a previously shitty poem:

in the event of
something
worthwhile:

what a fine and
deadly
game it is!

-

connect the last line of your last poem to an image. "I was [last line] but am now [image]." For bonus points, try a rondeau. Which I did exceptit'snotinmeterlol.

tap
I was alive, but now I dream—
my night sky lit with cerulean,
casting passive glow on land
unfamiliar yet grand
while its lakes teem

with fish’s gleam
under deep water’s seam
where Luna stretched her hand
to touch a distant world

and on dull scales leave
a mark of moonbeam
a temporary brand
reflected on the sand
all things as I seem
here in this waterworld.

Prompt: 1 + 2 + this image

Eggshell

i am empty decimated to nothing except these shattered shells my innards stolen all

what you left in your first breath a discarded cocoon with unbridled joy in watching your first glimpse exploring the world as a warm-blooded creature live.

Song? I wish.
sing softly on the leveled road
my heart, my heart, my heart
stooping into brimstone land
and clinging still to god--
where is a winged shelter--
                           all I see is a ceiling of thorned bramble.
how in denial is the Lord,
                             that he would make sin:
                             the pursuit of
                             a fellow flower.

Alternative title: My God is Gay, but He Lives in the Closet!

Prompt One: Write a nonsense secret code poem.

heirographa
the
affirmatively capable
lamprey eel
disclosed a panopticon
in the center
of a brokenhearted orchestra

“Plethoric!” shellfish jingled,
“Fullcolored fatihah!
“Our shaitan overpoise
“will entrench this electuary!”

Prompt 2: Find a picture related to your favorite writer and write a tribute relating the two.

i am leaning
back on the faded wood
looking at insects
leap among the wheat

I have no role model!
i think
Except in the things
that i am trying my best
to talk about!

like this,
the bar is high enough
to go up
as a wisp of smoke
in a
half-hearted attempt
to dissimilate
among the spacious heavens.

haha, the first one is ttly based off of a dream i had that was so extremely blatantly metaphorisoijdfdskfjl i just made fun of my subconscious for days. the second one is a ballad [read:bluh] detailing what's happening in a picture and it needs better lines and about two moar stanzas. Alsoneedtofigureoutwhattenseiwantahaha.


Hello,
it’s been a good while
since I skipped that ride
(to stargaze, ha!)
and you know
the view is still better
here.

-

At twilight when the sun’s just set,
fatigue not yet within,
a day fairy and night owl meet
to weigh the better kin.

“I eat sunbeams in acorn bowls,
“I prank beast, fish, and fowl,
“I plant seeds where the ground’s without,”
says the fairy to the owl.

“I flap my wings without the flap,
“I live in high eyrie,
“I maintain the meadow’s food chain,”
says the owl to the fairy.

And so it went beneath the dusk,
until, hearing the fuss,
the lace and feather wings were chomped
by a clandestine puss.

Prompts: 1 [1,2]; 2
second one has no title lalala

The Oracle
oh prophet of the sea—
what words can you bring to us?
we have the courage to discuss—
what are our losses then?
we want to sail free
where have our stories been?

all seas sailed are treacherous
but for you luck makes this less
and she will test your consciousness—
but your patience means little to the wind;
perpetual sailing will prove no godsend.

[so she wrote this on the veined leaves
where ink overflowed there came a missing piece
but regardless she gathered them again
and in their faces scattered these to the wind.]

one day maybe a world for sailing
one day maybe another story
even with the sea’s worst
here your name will live a bit.

-

the house is empty
except for one tv and an internet router
and a lot of dairy products
stuffed into the garage
(since there is no fridge)
and a lot of sleeping bags
and everyone
scattered in the living room gambling
to decide where tomorrow’s lunch would be
eating twelve grapes in a minute
as the clock ticks down one more year
and the announcers screw up the countdown.
(there is only space to fill.)

The second poem was intent on having an italic title.
Prompts: 1, 2 [1,2]

Open my eyes, I see sky
a hawk flies from the fringe of a chimney,
gold torching the bleak gray sky,
talons carrying the marionette
body of a ground walker--

the wind bruised his feathers
with each flap;
the smell of the nowdistant          chimney
massaged his nose

he closed the tomb of his wings
and settled on the branch
of a golden wattle
whose roots reached into pumice.

today, he thought, i will turn things to color.

-

i was borne
out of the center of a spiderweb
with spiderstring hair
and six invisible
spider eyes
but today
i think
through a misconception
i’ve grown a set of non-spider wings.

The Prompts: 1 2 (the links to the images I used are here)

love/anemone
move any closer
and it stings

-

behind forestwork, the dusty silhouette of a building with no walls—
its numbers are crooked
its angles are cursed—
a dismal monotone slowly eaten by the forest roots
while its construction cringes on the eidolic
nature, cursing its birth.          “I have no eigenvalue—
buildings have no characteristic roots—          My eighter
companions have since crumbled—          I am a bastard eigne.”

As far as I know, there was no extremely violent storm in Boston at the time of that conversation, but what do I care, I'm a poet |V . The title is the last line.

here,
invisible arcs of the sun
create brilliant blue auroras
softly dancing on this polar platform
although a few
softer greens
move quietly and deliberately
for hours on end.

beneath,
the red echo of sprites and elves
leaps up in finger-shaped branches
for a fifty-mile long
hand shake.

past,
blue jets from cloudtops
and the invisible tension
of a million raindrops
nervous over gained weight.

under,
an onslaught
of falling bodies
unites with ceilings, concrete,
dirt, rivers, upward palms

a telegraph operator
with no batteries
asks
“How do you see my writing?”

This is a cinquain inspired by these two images: 1 2

good dream
home-brewed flavor
poured generously as
the comforting aqua vitae
of minds

check: capowrimo prompt 19: acrostic poem

once more, into another world!
wring your senses now
in anticipation of a leap
the senses on your neck          tingling, ears
hearing the slightest
call of
altruistic melodies
ringing faintly through this
earth

juxtaposed to this
unruly mind.
make your hands strive
perfection
in an ancient
twist

oh sweet music
a requiem of times long passed
vivid in these eyes of yours
intrinsic to these ears of yours

cobbled with the sure way
to supreme knowledge
overarching wisdom          you
relish these bits
in an
all-exclusive fashion
never relenting this
fabricated
animation

now
tensed and ready
all that's left is to
spring
yourself away.



In Person

          Imago
          wants very much to be a star
          in the literal sense
          and she doesn’t care about meaning,
          only about beauty
          [meaning is just a plus]

          Intension
          wants very much to be deeply intellectual
          and mostly manages pseudo-intellectual
          but sometimes he’s a hit and not a miss
          and then he borrows from everyone else
          to make himself more regal

          Interaction
          wants very much to read the minds of the audience
          to anticipate the reactions
          and then reply to them with precision
          he is more misses than hits,
          but Image is good friends with him,
          and he has two twin siblings

Comedy wants very much to make the audience laugh but his troublesome brother makes it difficult for more than a snicker.

Tragedy wants very much to make the audience cry but his troublesome brother makes it difficult for more than a dark twist.

          Space
          is sort of a slut
          she sleeps around with everyone
          but everyone loves her
          can’t imagine themselves without her—
          yes, even Image

          Color
          is the spoiled kid
          who is allowed anywhere
          but hasn’t really matured yet
          even though everyone wants it to.

          Form
          is old and senile—
          doesn’t really want anything
          just sort of sits there and lets things go.

          and then I do my best
          to mediate.

today there are five poems. the short of it is all of these were inspired by pictures of the same name. except swank. because pharao is a silly name for a duck-shaped space vehicle.


swank
cruising through caelum
on her ladyship anatida
her sails poised to catch
a stellar wind

we are going places!
there is so much to see
sweet nebulas
and beautiful aliens
and i am all caught up
in this
desertion.

colourful lights
these are explosions
a million miles away
eta carinae, betelgeuse,
sirius, you were all bound
to go sometime
but look
from their skeletons
a thousand little children are crawling out.

Open my eyes, I see sky
turned things ninety degrees today
turned things only spring today
turned things one eighty degrees today
turned things upside-down today
turned things two seventy degrees today
turned things into color today
turned things three sixty degrees today
turned things inside-out today
and you wouldn't believe the view!

Underwater lovers
entwined,
i am
with you
stuck in this array of circumstances
carried away on
a          current
but i guess

it’s okay
if it’s you.

gaudy
garish
graces

i would rather
be clumsy.

silver butterfly
drifting on the spring wind
lighting on a glass tabletop

spreading
your wings

silver antennae intricately
spoked and listening
360* facet eyes          alert

you thought the umbrella
was a flower
and tried to hide your frustration

your wings
already covered in
dust.

-----
I did not go with today's RWP prompt, and instead went with one on deviantART. I used this image as inspiration. Ufufu. It's mostly about silver butterflies and not about super pretty ladies...or...is it? |Y

The prompt is to use an acronym of 'RWP' from this site in order to generate a poem.
Honorable Mentions:
Redhawk Wildlife Preserve
Radisson Witch Project
Rain Water Pipe

rhythmic wave process
felt
three hours after swimming

The prompt is to take your mp3 list, put it on shuffle, and use the first five songs.
Razia’s Shadow: A Musical – The End and The Beginning (Spoiler Warning?)
The Beach Boys - Little Deuce Coupe
Link’s Awakening – Ballad of the Windfish
Pendulum – Granite
The Postal Service – The District Sleeps Alone Tonight



worth leaving
Efren lived in
          Coupe
where he
          made prophecies
(such as:
          your girl will leave you
          your wallet will run away
          your husband will miscarry)
          that never came true
(since
          Coupe was a sensible place)
and since
          Coupe was a sensible place
he wasn’t quite liked for
          rambling
he always
          landed in trouble

until
          he said
your Military-Industrial-
          Congressional Complex
is toast and
          a meteorite fell from the sky
and this was
          a sign, he said.

he planted
          the stone
underneath a palm tree
          that used to sit outside the complex
and
          it grew into a fine
unearthly plant
          filled with the blacker-green leaves
and there
          he made his home.

and the people of Coupe
(being
          sensible people)
          brought in all sorts of botanists
et cetera, to look at this plant
          born out of a rock
and Efren
          gave out prophecies from the tree
as usual and
          they came true.

when the
          sun reached its zenith in the sky
his tree
          blossomed
as spores
          floated softly windward
where
          it did no good to human lungs
except for Efren,
          who was accustomed to poison.
------

well, this thing needs heavy crits.

The prompt is to take your mp3 list, put it on shuffle, and use the first five songs. And of course mine have little to do with each other. Full poem coming later.
Razia’s Shadow: A Musical – The End and The Beginning (Spoiler Warning?)
The Beach Boys - Little Deuce Coupe
Link’s Awakening – Ballad of the Windfish
Pendulum – Granite
The Postal Service – The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

boy brags about his word
says he can predict the future
everyone dislikes him for it
a stone falls from the sky and he says it is a sign
he wakes it up with his powers
and it grows into a fine tree
the tree then wakes up and poisons
everyone but the boy, who lives in it.

Ugh I am going to go find a layout with proper spacing now kthx.