Last day, Yay!!! The prompt for today as this season of NaPoWriMo comes to an end is to write a poem about something that returns. Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash \\\* The songs the birds bring each spring remind us of the stirring of life, darkness yielding to the lengthening light and cherry blossoms blooming again. Hope is the thing that birds bring that after death comes life, and rebirth.
Off prompt today: \\\* After the rising and the falling of the things that surround, after the letting off of blood for forgiveness, after the release of the pressure building up, Breathe
Today’s prompt asks us to describe a bedroom from our past, inspired by Martha Dickinson Bianchi’s description of her aunt’s (Emily Dickinson) cozy room. My room in the house on 39th street came to mind. \\\* Long days longer nights rubber balls bounced off walls till smudged, comics snuck under the covers, childhood fantasies of meeting George and the other four of being Super Man and Captain America. Behind all the smell of things lived in. These are the things we can never forget.
For the Day 2 prompt, a poem about questions. \\\* What is this which zips around my ears, its sound like the deep hum of an old man hunched down, stirring up the sand. It shimmers in the morning light its back a splash of gold splayed across the sky, against which stand the silhouettes of great metal tubes bending to its will. What is this but the wind, which goes wherever it wills.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash. For NaPoWriMo Day 1. \\\* Fold your hands in quiet contemplation, eyelids shut, pressed tightly together, a wall standing tall between the harsh light outside and the quiet darkness within. Breathe, inhale the scent of home, bread and wine, blended into the memories of your youth, when Faith, child-like, bubbled free. You who have wandered seven hills and seven rivers into a far country, drawn by the lure of freedom but now have had your eyes awakened seek redemption. This is what prayer is, quietly heeding the call of the divine
For S. Six months. Beneath the light of the autumn sun, perched on the edge of that seventh hill we quivered in the chill of the breeze, basking in the delight of a promise shared. I walked away with your name etched on my skin, a weight borne in my heart like an anchor in an uncertain storm. Moons ago there was trepidation there,but now like a once floundering ship finally headed home, there is a whole, where a hole once was.
Sensed, for the Day 26 prompt. --- Sometimes joy is the rush of wind past skin, as one finds a rhythm in which feet pound pavements, the sight of the night sky tinged pink, like a splash of paint on a vast canvas. Sometimes joy is the scent of bread on a cold winter day, an invitation whispered on the wings of the wind to hunker down before a fire and be. Whether in the brush of soft breath on skin, the quiet reassurance of a song remembered, heard in the bottom of the soul, and the warmth of spices on the tongue, joy sometimes is, what is not uncertain is that home is there.
Image by M.E. Grenander Department of Special Collections and Archives, University at Albany, SUNY (via NPR’s Hidden Brain Podcast), for the Day 24 prompt. Inspired by Emma, Carrie and Vivian’s stories. --- They branded them the feeble minded, when all they were were the wronged ones. Once a face begins to fade into the fog of otherness, doubt begins to assail the humanity of the other. We wished we spoke for you when they came - before your lives were stashed behind that cordon of red brick ...
After the sun, for the Day 19 prompt. --- A lone man stands in front of the bus shelter, his bag slung across his shoulder, hands stuck deep in his pockets, staring out towards the square, at the space where the bus should be.Behind him, four bicycles lie in various states of harness. Before him, the square liessuffused with light. The calm, strange for this time of the day, is broken when as though dumped from an arriving train, a flood of people begins to traverse the square. After that comes the rain, after which it becomes clear that the quiet that came before was only the calm before the storm. Alone, his bag slung across his shoulder he stares. The square lies suffused with light. Calm, strange day. Then the rain.
After Eduardo C. Corral’s Ceremonial, for the Day 18 prompt. --- Here I am lord, crouched behind the door of this sanctuary, wedding dress crammed into a closet, clenched fist clutching a rosary hoping the bite of its ragged edges will bring absolution for this fleeing. Like a dream hovering just beyond the reach of remembering the taste of sugared rancid sweat lingers. This war within, between the ghosts of things once thought and things now heard rages. These thick thighs and belly fat belie the assignation of beauty. Prayer cannot assuage this tumult, this self flagellation. I pinch and pull, cry myself hoarse In deliruim.