NaPoWroMo #30 - The Cleansing Ritual

NaPoWriMo #30

The Cleansing Ritual

Naked, the poet,
indiscreet, uncovers
by lamplight,
her lush rhythms meet
traverse-ing the stanza
with an expanse of skin
ink-stained and thoughtful,
- let the poem begin.

- Mar "Mistryel" Walker
This 30 poems 30 days thing has been fun. Loved the prompts. I need a week off, then I might start again. The photo is of a sculpture of mine that lived in Dedham MA. (a very low res picture altered in an early photo editing freebe.)

NaPoWriMo # 29 - The Wind Farm

The Wind Farm

Down the hill
they raise little breezes, and
let them go free every morning.

These growing aires hustle
climb the fresh trees and rustle
and our delicate spring blooms
their petals jiggle like bangles
and there's cherry petal rain
branches bent at all angles
in the sort of, well,  angry air

The wind is farming now
digging up the dirt
flinging it down
a tornado - mile and a half wide
which takes out ten towns
in a few minutes time.
(Pat Robertson might opine
they were sinning online.)

Without regret or confession,
make this simple concession:
The wind doesn't know your name.
The wind just blows.

- Mar "Mistryel" Walker

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I am having a rhyme problem O dear. Can't believe I have come this far 29 days, 29 poems..... only one more to go....

PROMPT: find words from news paper headlines

NaPoWriMo #28 - Not the result he expected

Not the result he expected

After an hour of waiting
ignored, a girl in a mini
directed me
to the big shot's
expansive corner office.

Behind a flat, empty
aircraft carrier
of a desk, an overlarge
black leather chair
cradled the young CEO.
Heavy braided gold chains
swathed his barely
post adolescent neck.
His shirt was wrinkled
and junk food wrapers
littered the floor.

With my resume
in his hand,
he mocked each line
as he studied me
like a sociopath
studies an animal
he is dismembering
or a fly, just before
he tears off a wing.

After the fifth outright insult
I understood the smirk
the icy neon in his eyes.
He was just getting started.

"Well, well,"
I said as I stood suddenly,
strode forward, leaned
over him and yanked
MY resume, My history
from between his
arrogant fingers.

"I can see that we
are personally
incompatible."
I said,
"irreconcilably so."

"What... do you mean?"
he said, mouth still
open wide as I closed
the door, leaving him
alone
in his expansive corner
office in his overlarge
exécutive chair.

====================
This is a true story.   THE PROMPT was to write a poem remembering an “a-ha moment” from my past,  etc etc

My instantaneous intuitive "Ah Ha!" was this: I suddenly knew in my bones all the following, all at once:
a) there was NO chance of being hired. (All the employees I'd met were 25 or under and I was forty plus at the time.)
b) he was settling in to torture me for fun, maybe to get even with his Mommy.
c), I would have HATED working for this little jerk anyway..
d) I WASN'T HELPLESS - I DIDN'T HAVE TO SIT THERE AND TAKE IT - I COULD TAKE BACK MY POWER, TAKE BACK MY RESUME AND WALK OUT. So I did.

NaPoWriMo #27 Paint Every Day

- NaPoWriMo # 27:

Paint every day,

'Pan,' on the horizon's haze -
agree.  Nod 'yes,' with life
in all its oddity.
Never avert your eyes
to what is immediate.

Enter with color, reason's greater age.
Verify, examine on the fly and on the page.
Enter the living process with extant detail.
Require double-blind evidence for all,
yet look with loving eyes intent

directly, at our variously human form, as
ardently we breathe imagine and invent
year on year, till planets spin no more.

- Mar Walker

The prompt - use your guide phrase as acrostic for a poem

NaPoWriMo #26 - Governmental consommé

Governmental Consommé

"What recipe is he talking about?" Four hundred thirty pages and no one knows. The 1950s - they want to go back. It's like skating near a cliff. I need to keep track of them all - this model time machine has 93 million interlocking parts. There are no directions in the box, so keep stirring. It's past its expiration date. The man is an attorney and the woman is head of World Wrestling.  That is all you need to know. This could spin with history like a tire that fell off the car.  Will he ever come to the point? He's one of those persons who moves ahead by circling around. Politics is a carbuncle on democracy. Looks infected to me. It could pop and get messy. A filibuster, an old cat with hairballs you really have to watch where you step and keep paper towels handy.  I dream about a big teal wave traveling at high speed, covering everything. Could be the debt or maybe the ice caps have melted. Don't cash that check. There is no money. None. Some folks are needing a  rescue. But somebody drank the tea and it looked like Kool-Aid d to me. "Do you want soup" the social worker asks. "Oh yes," he replies. "Hot soup would be so lovely. Does it have salt? Can you have saltless soup?  The carbon traders cheat too" he says. "It's not just us bankers - and may I also have my $47 million bonus?"  Everyone is surprised. Maybe hire a 3rd party to rate the salt content of everything.  Greed lingers,  sours everything including the soup.  How long has it been here? Linda, Linda, we don't need  any more thugs, and no more glossy six page flyers,  though the sequined tights would be colorful. My glasses are broken - you wouldn't hit a old lady with a stigmatism would you? Unless justice is blond. Wait I meant blind. We'll see if the voters are....

-- Mar Walker

====================

THIS IS THE PROMPT"Find a poem that you started, or perhaps one you abandoned. Read it through. Highlight the lines or phrases that please you. Do not cross anything out (yet)! You now have two choices: finish the poem or take the parts you like and begin a brand new piece.

NaPoWriMo # 25 - Green Fuse Ignites!

"The Green Fuse," at the Unitarian Universalist Society of Stamford, CT yesterday, was a moving event. The name was from Dylan Thomas quote - " The force that through the green fuse drives the flowers, drives my green age..."

Put together by professor Ralph Nazareth, and Poem Alley, the event included words delivered in Japanese by two survivors of Hiroshima, Takashi Morita and Junko Watanabe who asked us all to support a nuclear free future. It was an honor to hear their words.


The program included an a cappella duet sung by Dev Crasta and Rebeka Radna.  Ms. Radna wrote the music, for words from Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey” .  Their pitch, blend  and voicing were excellent. A wonderful violinist, Darwin Shea performed four works by Bach. His playing was full of precision and restrained overarching emotion. Dale Shaw told a true story about silent witnesses frozen and unable to take action, and he drew out an analogy out as to how, in the face of environmental disaster today, we react in similar fashion.  Kate Heichler lead a group sing of  Woody Guthrie's tune, This Land is Your Land.

And that was just the first half of the program.  Ed Granger-Happ of the Fairfield Review, journalist Robert Masterson, and green party guy, Richard Duffee and Ralph Nazareth himself, and many others were among the readers I missed. (I had to be in Middletown for a Shijin event, along with Faith Vicinanza who read a Mary Oliver poem in the first half..)   A music finale was by David Balzano on guitar and Lloyd Gritz on drums. There were too many performers to be named herein, -including all of the folks from the Curley's Diner Tuesday night poetry gathering, and many guests.

Below my NaPoWriMo #25
The green fuse ignites.

with gentle arms

illumined in full spectrum
light like a sycamore's pale

upper-story at dawn
singing on every breeze,
with poems and
the motion of birds and men
interweaving, going forward:
tread lightly here,

our home, our nest, the earth.

NaPoWriMo #24 - The Bitters

the Prompt was to find inspiration at PhraseFinder. Sour Grapes is my phrase.

.The Bitters

they are scaling mountains
sailing across the seas
they dreamed they would sail
they are finding love in autumn
giving recitals, getting fit,
winning awards, expanding
achieving, getting promoted
while I am digging this hole
one shovelful at a time
a little deeper everyday
Hmmm. It's time to pour
out this sour grape
into the grieving earth, open to
Merlot, Shabatz, something
with richness and body
tip my glass to
the new.

(I think I am in a mood.)