APRIL 2014: 30 Poems in 30 Days. Click on the NaPoWriMo2014 image for the day's prompt.
Why do I need to sit?
What am I closing my eyes for?
Why, when you say empty your mind, do I think of everything?
Is it working if I’m thinking?
Does it happen if I fall asleep?
Who relaxes when told to relax?
Am I the only one who feels the entire weight of the world?
Is there a pill that I can pop to go deeper?
How long have I been doing this?
How much longer do I have to go?
Has it only been ten minutes?
Do I have to go for more?
What am I supposed to think of?
How am I supposed to feel?
At the end of the session, do I need to be a different girl?
Is my inner world small or big?
Is it dark or bright in there?
What is the weight of nothingness?
Can that be my weight for real?
Is it OK if I pee in my pants?
Because, damn, my bladder kills.
I haven’t written
About the female-wombskin
I truly adore;
It’s time she gets hailed
For the human udder that
Filled the bellies four;
Two lawyers have lived,
A mother flew down under,
Another wears pink.
Day’s not for wrapped buys
But you are truly the best
Mama in this link.
(Catching up with NaPoWriMo. Been absent the past days. Also, daily haiku is back. ~ M.)
Your delight filters the air you breathe,
removing dust, germs, and irritants.
Your delight warms and moistens the air
to keep your lungs and tubes
that lead to them from drying out.
Your delight also contains
the nerve cells that help your sense of smell.
When there is a problem with your delight,
your whole body can suffer.
My ecstasy, beautiful,
Adore your delectable,
Fresh aqua vitae build up
On your moist lips to my cup.
I thirst for you even as
My tongue grazes bermudas.
Tell me you thirst for me, too,
This here now’s our pas de deux;
I shall part my Pearly Gates,
This is where heaven awaits.
Come kiss the sun and caress the sand,
Listen not to blab;
We speak English and live in houses,
In fact, we’re pretty fab.
You may have to go through shadiness
To find a paradise,
But the holy beaches and ambrosial food
Are worth that sacrifice.
So come find us at plus six-three,
Add eight to GMT;
We call ourselves Pearl of the Orient
From down our history.
(It comes to this, some rhyming words
To get the tourists down;
It’s fun, too, in the Philippines,
We very rarely frown.)
(Note: I feel like rapping. I seriously think this is how the Tourism Department should advertise our country — a hint of truth with the best of stuff we have to offer. Or better yet, let’s do something about the bad things. Yeah!)
There is a man on the moon,
The stranger said,
Although i never asked.
He’s got to be someone who
Belts an unexpected song
Every once in a while,
Even if it’s too late
By the time he gets to earth.
I stood up and looked up,
If he gets here at all.
(for 8 April 2014)
You mustn’t love till you’re sixty
Or you’ll fall for whys and whens;
And the fresh new paints of summer
Shall only turn black again.
Black again, they are, I’m sure,
The blackest of all blacks.
They will lure you and promise you
The rainbow, crayons, watercolor;
Turn around and walk away,
Face your own canvas instead,
And wait until you’re sixty-one
Before you let them in.
you never see me when
i think i’m at my best;
you always get the drooling,
the barely concealed breast.
you deal with the mess,
be it panties or my hair,
the very misplaced curves
beside tattered Voltaire.
still, you deal with me,
snoring, gritting, dreaming;
the talking in my sleep,
even the occasional farting.
sweetness, always you’re there
to save me from insomnia,
my fear of perpetual sleep
at the end of the day, i do,
i turn to rest my head
on you, my beloved, my dearest,
i love you, oh my bed.
No sun shining, no messy floor,
No overlapping voices;
No birds singing, no open door,
No chubby little faces.
I would observe, I would notice,
If only I could be
The black and white lotus
And not a mango tree.