∝

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.

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.

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.