Sunday, April 4, 2010

NaPoWriMo #4: Inside-out/Outside-in

Outside-in

In bed
the fan on
I smell the sky
I taste the salty stars
I inhale the moon into
my dreams.

Under layers
of quilts my body
cocooned, nestled, snug.
My head on a bracing ski slope
rushing headlong through the wind
into sleep.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

NaPoWriMo #3: Fear

Kathy and I are playing in the Red,
White, and Blue caves
on Mt. Forist. We’ve named

them that because there are three
of them. We play house in one,
school in another, and eat our lunch

in the third. Before leaving
we do a little exploring
and I notice a slim passageway

like a flat snake leading out.
Kathy’s too big so I start slithering
through. There are rocks

in the way that I bend my body
around. It smells like dirty feet,
skunk urine, and rotten hamburger.

The tunnel gets narrower,
my head scrapes against the rock
above and the ground below.

I decide to retreat, start backing up
but get snagged on a rock. I try
going forward, again. Nope.

My chest swells like an air mattress
being blown up. I can’t breathe.
Confetti is waltzing in front

of my eyes. The cave is shifting
and falling in on me. There is no way
out. I scream, taste salt and dirt,

then hear Kathy’s voice at the end,
open my eyes and see daylight
just around the curve. “You can

make it.” I begin to deflate, wiggle
my head and body to make them fit,
and claw my way out. Kathy

saved my life that day. Whenever
I get an attack of claustrophobia, now,
I picture her face, like a full moon

bathed in morning light, smiling
and encouraging at the end
of the tunnel.

Friday, April 2, 2010

NaPoWriMo #2: RWP=Regular White Paper

On Tuesday
Katelyn came into class
almost crying.

She shook her head
when I asked
if she had her homework

then said, “I got
beat up last night.”
Since we do journal

writing on Tuesdays,
she took a piece
of regular white paper

out and started
writing. I could see
the black anger

scrawling across the page
like stitches
from a cut.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

NaPoWriMo #1: Song Titles

ReadWritePoem's first prompt for National Poetry Writing Month is to jot down the titles to five songs and then incorporate them into a poem.  I randomly picked: "Knowing You, Knowing Me" by Abba, "Just Because" by Bernie Williams, "Beautiful Tragedy" by In This Moment, "The Freshman" by Verve Pipe, and "November Rain" by Guns and Roses.

It's horribly dramatic and depressing.  Sorry! It's just what came out!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Beautiful Tragedy

The freshman girl
walked into school
in September
her eyes bright
as flashlights
casting around
for friends.

She smiled
at people
but no one smiled
back.
She went to class
alone.
She sat by herself
at lunch.
By October
the batteries
in her eyes
had dimmed.
Her hair hung
over them.
Sometime in November,
rain felt like knives
slicing her cheeks.

She started smoking weed
and enticing guys
with promises…
just because…
Her grades plummeted
and in art class
she drew
a picture of garbage
surrounded by flowers
and called it,
“Knowing Me, Knowing You.”

By June
she was wearing
ragged clothes.
She walked
with her head down
and in July
she swallowed
too many pills.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Poetry Train: The Sad

Kylie and I
are snug in a recliner
watching Snow White
and the Seven Dwarfs.

When Snow White
is in her glass coffin,
I think of my mom
in pain and how close

she’s come to death.
Kylie wipes tears away.
She sniffles
and says, “Sometimes

the sad comes out
through my nose.”
I reach for a tissue
and give Kylie a hug.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

3WW: Modify, Obedient, Veil

The English Teacher’s Lament

They sit, obedient.
“What do adverbs modify?”
I watch a veil fall.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Fluent

This happened yesterday.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The call comes
while I am walking.

Nancy says, “Mom
fell and is in the hospital

with a cracked pelvis
and other injuries.”

As Nancy talks
I picture my mom

so healthy until five
years ago when cancer

struck. Since then
she’s had heart surgery,

compression fractures,
infections, falls,

bruises, and now this.
My beautiful mother

who never hurt anyone,
is now fluent

in the language
of pain.
Linda's Poems