NaPo came and went. I didn't care too much; now I have more of a challenge facing me. My friend from youngwritersonline.net and I decided to write a poem or so a day inspired by headlines from the almighty BBC. Here is yesterday in poetry:
mexico police find bodies in bags
A list of art (definition: asphalt, on other wavelengths- headlines):
49 bodies 49 nouns
110 miles (180 kilometers) 110 verbs (180 irregular)
04:00 local time 12:00 time of the muse
18 people in 2 abandoned vehicles 18 words in 2 stanzas
35 corpses in Veracruz 35 rhymes in a masterpiece
26 corpses in Guadalajara 26 similes in Poemcity
47,000 people killed in 6 years 47,000 commas vanquished by 6 poets
1 me reading 1 me writing
nepal's mystery language on the verge of extinction
To fall out of a language like a myap at night.
Even the frogs have their hymns after darkness steps in.
Silence is guiltiest of all. Bells remind of sin.
A woman is trying to break the chair she is sitting on
to get rid of the voice, and the voice follows the creak
of wood, a full sentence like a stomach overflowing with plums.
Your language expresses your guilt
while a confessional takes it, hand-washes and hangs
on a metaphysical line until it's bleached.
What if the moon spoke to you, child of the myap?
What if you are the moon, dying, as the chair creaks?
rise and fall of underwater volcano revealed
there are uprisings and there are falls
there are rainbow lollies melting in sun
heat always makes the headlines
the pacific also feels like fame
the mountains of underworld
have special cores for reciting poetry
that advertise once in a while
but art is drying up
and hades is snoring
his sheets violent waves
sweeping us off the mattress of the world
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