Official DUP NaPo/GloProWrimo 2018
4/30
Back to Golden
I've been back too many times
To not know the bottom.
I know its caverns and mazes,
Its vines waiting to wind
Around your limbs
And shut your lips.
I know it's thorns.
I have felt the power of its storms,
The icy slap of wind -
Freeze me stagnant,
Freeze me inside,
Dead.
I have felt its burning summers.
Sweat dripping mirages
Of hell or better days.
I melt in the hope of agony and
In the agony of hoping.
It's a cycle.
I walk the halls, chin up, backbone.
And the marks on my paper should make me smile.
Good girl brainy, back on track to golden -
But inside
Still feeling
Like I'm running on something borrowed,
And it is
Slowly
Running out.
Like a gold coin bitten
And bitten
And bitten to check if it's the real thing,
I am bent,
I am broken,
I am waiting to be set on fire -
Melting -
To finally build my statue.
Standing tall.
To know if I'm the real thing.
But I am flesh and bones.
Still waiting for something to bleed -
Something to show -
That all this pain
Is
Real.
Back to Golden
I've been back too many times
To not know the bottom.
I know its caverns and mazes,
Its vines waiting to wind
Around your limbs
And shut your lips.
I know it's thorns.
I have felt the power of its storms,
The icy slap of wind -
Freeze me stagnant,
Freeze me inside,
Dead.
I have felt its burning summers.
Sweat dripping mirages
Of hell or better days.
I melt in the hope of agony and
In the agony of hoping.
It's a cycle.
I walk the halls, chin up, backbone.
And the marks on my paper should make me smile.
Good girl brainy, back on track to golden -
But inside
Still feeling
Like I'm running on something borrowed,
And it is
Slowly
Running out.
Like a gold coin bitten
And bitten
And bitten to check if it's the real thing,
I am bent,
I am broken,
I am waiting to be set on fire -
Melting -
To finally build my statue.
Standing tall.
To know if I'm the real thing.
But I am flesh and bones.
Still waiting for something to bleed -
Something to show -
That all this pain
Is
Real.
5/30
Hi again, Chief.
Mr Officer
I've been holding my hands up for so long
My arms have gone dead,
My limbs unresponsive
So when
Will you dish out your sentence?
When will you decide how we leave here
Together, or with a slap to the wrist?
Because I'm thinking, although it's an offence,
It hurt no one, but myself.
Mr Officer,
Why have you not called for back-up?
My heart is racing, mind erratic
Yet you're so calm, slick and silver
And I just want to slither in
And hide, shrink,
Peek out from behind your teeth
The length of a white sand beach
And silently judge passers by
Without any authority.
Hi again, Chief.
Mr Officer
I've been holding my hands up for so long
My arms have gone dead,
My limbs unresponsive
So when
Will you dish out your sentence?
When will you decide how we leave here
Together, or with a slap to the wrist?
Because I'm thinking, although it's an offence,
It hurt no one, but myself.
Mr Officer,
Why have you not called for back-up?
My heart is racing, mind erratic
Yet you're so calm, slick and silver
And I just want to slither in
And hide, shrink,
Peek out from behind your teeth
The length of a white sand beach
And silently judge passers by
Without any authority.
Anonymous
Anonymous said:<< post removed >>
Yes.
Anonymous said:<< post removed >>
So in the event participants actually read the rules, said participants are mindful that their entries conform to ALL of the Rules before posting and avoid being disqualified for not following SOME or ALL of the rules.
Also, this being for their benefit, so they don't squander all of their time returning to perfect posted poems instead of writing new poems.
And we also wish to verify that each entry contains 50+ unique words, perhaps the most important rule of ALL. As opposed to you returning at a later time to add more words.
Anonymous said:<< post removed >>
Post them here first on the day they are meant to be posted.
Then add them to your prrsonal page.
And don't forget to theme your poems #NaPo2018 for the additional searches it could receive.
Yes.
Anonymous said:<< post removed >>
So in the event participants actually read the rules, said participants are mindful that their entries conform to ALL of the Rules before posting and avoid being disqualified for not following SOME or ALL of the rules.
Also, this being for their benefit, so they don't squander all of their time returning to perfect posted poems instead of writing new poems.
And we also wish to verify that each entry contains 50+ unique words, perhaps the most important rule of ALL. As opposed to you returning at a later time to add more words.
Anonymous said:<< post removed >>
Post them here first on the day they are meant to be posted.
Then add them to your prrsonal page.
And don't forget to theme your poems #NaPo2018 for the additional searches it could receive.
Anonymous said:<< post removed >>
Firstly, yes. Secondly, the purpose of NaPo is to write, write, write. It's not about editing or perfection. That comes later. Last year you couldn't edit at all (two people who edited multiple times almost didn't receive a trophy ). This year we're more lax in that we allow it after 24 hours. Being comfortable in your own skin with mistakes is a process of NaPo. You're not writing for the sake of writing a poem a day, but with purpose. You slow down, pay attention, double-check your word count, etc.
You typically only make the same mistake once. Whereas, wothout the editing rule most wouldn't learn the discipline of paying attention because they could edit after throwing it up there.
NaPo isn't just a poem a day, which is why we disallow haiku, etc. It's a process of evaluation and self discovery through writing and paying close attention, particularly to self.
Furthermore, if I write ahead can I post the poem to my personal profile and then post the poem the following day here or does it have to be something never before shared till the day it is submitted here? I figure as long as it is something I wrote this month it wouldn't be a problem if it was written prior to the day it is shared unless it has to be something written the day of?
It's a problem. Your NaPo poem needs to be posted fresh daily, not drawn from your DUP catalogue. Your poem must be posted here prior to submitting to your catalogue, or simultaneously within a few minutes of posting on DUP. Which is why the rules state you can submit your entries to your personal catalogue. You can also write extra poems this month, but you must submit them to your personal catalogue, not here.
Hope that's clarified.
Firstly, yes. Secondly, the purpose of NaPo is to write, write, write. It's not about editing or perfection. That comes later. Last year you couldn't edit at all (two people who edited multiple times almost didn't receive a trophy ). This year we're more lax in that we allow it after 24 hours. Being comfortable in your own skin with mistakes is a process of NaPo. You're not writing for the sake of writing a poem a day, but with purpose. You slow down, pay attention, double-check your word count, etc.
You typically only make the same mistake once. Whereas, wothout the editing rule most wouldn't learn the discipline of paying attention because they could edit after throwing it up there.
NaPo isn't just a poem a day, which is why we disallow haiku, etc. It's a process of evaluation and self discovery through writing and paying close attention, particularly to self.
Furthermore, if I write ahead can I post the poem to my personal profile and then post the poem the following day here or does it have to be something never before shared till the day it is submitted here? I figure as long as it is something I wrote this month it wouldn't be a problem if it was written prior to the day it is shared unless it has to be something written the day of?
It's a problem. Your NaPo poem needs to be posted fresh daily, not drawn from your DUP catalogue. Your poem must be posted here prior to submitting to your catalogue, or simultaneously within a few minutes of posting on DUP. Which is why the rules state you can submit your entries to your personal catalogue. You can also write extra poems this month, but you must submit them to your personal catalogue, not here.
Hope that's clarified.
And then there were 23!
Welcome to day 5, poets!
1. Ahavati - ✔✔✔✔
2. JohnnyBlaze - ✔✔✔✔
3. OxyMoronicMe ✔✔✔✔
4. JadePandora - ✔✔✔✔
5. Viddax - ✔✔✔✔
6. Mel44 - ✔✔✔✔✔
7. cloventongue89 ✔✔✔✔✔
8. KrystalG ✔✔
9. David_Macleod - ✔✔✔✔
10. rowantree ✔✔✔✔
11. ImperfectedStone ✔✔✔✔✔
12. MadameLavender - ✔✔✔✔
13. ThePositivelyDark ✔✔✔✔
14. RevolutionAl - ✔✔✔✔✔
15. crimsin - ✔✔✔
16. DaisyGrace - ✔✔✔✔
17. Hepcat61- ✔✔✔✔
18. poetryaccident ✔✔✔✔
19. kourtnissixxx ✔✔✔
20. ElrondSirfalas ✔✔✔✔
[s]21. rosegold ✔[/s]
22. Thetravelingfairy ✔✔✔✔
23. MisfitPoet89 ✔✔✔✔
24. Samael ✔✔✔✔
If your name has been struck it's because you haven't posted in three days, nor have we heard from you. If life has pulled the rug out from under you for any reason, message us and let us know why. We'll put you back in and allow you to double post each day until you're caught up.
We want to note that the quality of poems this year is exceptional! Keep at it, poets!
Welcome to day 5, poets!
1. Ahavati - ✔✔✔✔
2. JohnnyBlaze - ✔✔✔✔
3. OxyMoronicMe ✔✔✔✔
4. JadePandora - ✔✔✔✔
5. Viddax - ✔✔✔✔
6. Mel44 - ✔✔✔✔✔
7. cloventongue89 ✔✔✔✔✔
8. KrystalG ✔✔
9. David_Macleod - ✔✔✔✔
10. rowantree ✔✔✔✔
11. ImperfectedStone ✔✔✔✔✔
12. MadameLavender - ✔✔✔✔
13. ThePositivelyDark ✔✔✔✔
14. RevolutionAl - ✔✔✔✔✔
15. crimsin - ✔✔✔
16. DaisyGrace - ✔✔✔✔
17. Hepcat61- ✔✔✔✔
18. poetryaccident ✔✔✔✔
19. kourtnissixxx ✔✔✔
20. ElrondSirfalas ✔✔✔✔
[s]21. rosegold ✔[/s]
22. Thetravelingfairy ✔✔✔✔
23. MisfitPoet89 ✔✔✔✔
24. Samael ✔✔✔✔
If your name has been struck it's because you haven't posted in three days, nor have we heard from you. If life has pulled the rug out from under you for any reason, message us and let us know why. We'll put you back in and allow you to double post each day until you're caught up.
We want to note that the quality of poems this year is exceptional! Keep at it, poets!
Dad. *5/30
He always knew what made me blush.
I’ll always remember his laugh.
He made a chair to rock me in.
This carpenter I won’t forget.
When he watched me take my first step,
I could run before I could walk.
He gave me a real microscope.
I’d climb up a tree to watch birds.
He’d to take me along when he fished.
I’d be on deck fishing for bait.
He gave me bikes, Mom gave me dolls.
I’m Dad’s little tomboy for keeps.
And as I grew he was the world
That said I could be anything.
He always was there for us all.
And as he got ill I was there.
He was the one larger than life.
Tallest of trees, in memories.
He cradled me in his strong arms.
I warm’d his cold hands as we pray’d.
He’d wait through the night l was born.
I was there when he passed away.
He sang lullabies when I cried.
I felt his deep love, then he died.
He said he’s got all the time now.
Till then he’ll be waiting for Mom.
Copyright©️Jade Pandora 2018. All Rights Reserved.
*NaPo/GloPoWriMo 2018
5/30
"Naming future daughters pneumonia: vending machines eating seventy five cents"
Wisteria jumped out of the purple bushes across North Fourth avenue,
past the trash spilled out onto sidewalks.
i tried to block the voices,visions for a few days to determine where i stood.
underneath the doctors table was a underworld maze from my memories as a
child;
architecture scalped me with curved corners,rabbit holes,silver bricks, and
fast food joints remodeled.
a longing for my father to be proud of me,
plaid piled dirty laundry,keyless gun cabinets.
steel bars; ribbed for her pleasure over orange coin shop windows
in questionable parts of town.
rain water trapped in red back left car break lights driving in front of us.
taking my mother to the ER for the fifth time in two months for heart failure.
letting strangers presumed as friends down for not reading the writing on the walls.
climbing steep hills with V6 motors,
peaking mountain ranges conquered by concrete.
the decent that takes me back to being a child.
i dropped out of high school,
got my G.E.D. at seventeen to help support my family and still failed.
i let ten years worth of hours slip by,
milk from the tilted cereal bowl.
dogwood trees bloom pink,
a rattling that reminds me of oil change stickers eleven months past due.
if you stand still even for just a minute and listen
you can hear fishing line in the wind,
the world changes and unfolds before fly fishing stream eyes.
black Ray-Ban wayfarers block sunshine Days,
my clear coat comic book poetry bookshelf piled up.
there's never enough time to catch up on reading,
fish built of verbs, vertebra, and vernacular as a disease we'll never escape.
"Naming future daughters pneumonia: vending machines eating seventy five cents"
Wisteria jumped out of the purple bushes across North Fourth avenue,
past the trash spilled out onto sidewalks.
i tried to block the voices,visions for a few days to determine where i stood.
underneath the doctors table was a underworld maze from my memories as a
child;
architecture scalped me with curved corners,rabbit holes,silver bricks, and
fast food joints remodeled.
a longing for my father to be proud of me,
plaid piled dirty laundry,keyless gun cabinets.
steel bars; ribbed for her pleasure over orange coin shop windows
in questionable parts of town.
rain water trapped in red back left car break lights driving in front of us.
taking my mother to the ER for the fifth time in two months for heart failure.
letting strangers presumed as friends down for not reading the writing on the walls.
climbing steep hills with V6 motors,
peaking mountain ranges conquered by concrete.
the decent that takes me back to being a child.
i dropped out of high school,
got my G.E.D. at seventeen to help support my family and still failed.
i let ten years worth of hours slip by,
milk from the tilted cereal bowl.
dogwood trees bloom pink,
a rattling that reminds me of oil change stickers eleven months past due.
if you stand still even for just a minute and listen
you can hear fishing line in the wind,
the world changes and unfolds before fly fishing stream eyes.
black Ray-Ban wayfarers block sunshine Days,
my clear coat comic book poetry bookshelf piled up.
there's never enough time to catch up on reading,
fish built of verbs, vertebra, and vernacular as a disease we'll never escape.
Big Dave's Scottish Recopies - - - - - - - (5 / 30)
Tuna Milkshake:
Take one live yellow fin tuna
force it to drink a large glass of milk
Attach the tuna to your electricity supply
And leave to shake for about five minutes
or ten minutes if you think it's funny
Place the Tuna into a liquidiser
add cashew nuts and bat eared mushrooms
blend on full power for about two minutes
pour into a glass and top with sugar
frosted cheesy pasta and garlic marshmallows
turn off your central heating and serve chilled
Haggis Pizza :
Take one Haggis be it bald or hairy
delicately cut its legs off with
a chain saw, this should be done whilst
the haggis is still alive as fear make
a much better flavour I suppose it
depends on your sense of humour
and whether you can put up with the screaming
Hang on a meat hook for four days or until he confesses
Place in a pan of boiling water
add whisky and coriander to taste
drain after 20 minutes sprinkle with parmesan
and roll in grated chocolate and raw sewerage.
Phone Pizza Hut and order a Large deep pan
swimming in grease, egg and anchovy special
with extra hormone injected animal fats
when it arrives, shoot the delivery guy,
There can be no witnesses
take the pizza an roughly scrape the topping
on to the haggis and flush the base down the toilet
grill for ten minutes or interrogate for 20 minutes
then serve bagpiping hot, as The Breakfast of Champions
Whisky and lamb Casserole :
Take one sheep,
take it again,
take it again and again
Take it as many times as
the Viagra will allow,
don't kill it or eat it,
there's tomorrow to think of
and the next day and Saturday night
Take one large enamel bucket of scotch
and drink all at once, I assure you
that sheep will become even better looking
offer her some of your favourite tipple
you never know you might get lucky
who needs a casserole
this is really
living
Glesga Shortbread :
Shortbread derived for the Gaelic Short 'a' bread.
Invented in ancient times (2016) a poor man's cookie
it has taken a more sinister meaning in urban patter
you must be so poor you'd eat a church mouse
First and foremost you must knead the dough
Take one large fence post treated or untreated
wrap around the top with lashings of razor wire
Hammer three six inch nails sticking through the end
enlist the help of six psychotic hairy haggises,
roam the streets of Glesga looking for American Tourists,
once found hit three times with the chib
and then demand all their bread
(Money, dough, dollars credit cards etc,)
uttering the immortal line " Don't you try and run on us,
cause I got six little hairy friends and they can all run
much faster than you"(Best George Clooney Impersonations please)
give the haggises their cut and head off to the bar
Tuna Milkshake:
Take one live yellow fin tuna
force it to drink a large glass of milk
Attach the tuna to your electricity supply
And leave to shake for about five minutes
or ten minutes if you think it's funny
Place the Tuna into a liquidiser
add cashew nuts and bat eared mushrooms
blend on full power for about two minutes
pour into a glass and top with sugar
frosted cheesy pasta and garlic marshmallows
turn off your central heating and serve chilled
Haggis Pizza :
Take one Haggis be it bald or hairy
delicately cut its legs off with
a chain saw, this should be done whilst
the haggis is still alive as fear make
a much better flavour I suppose it
depends on your sense of humour
and whether you can put up with the screaming
Hang on a meat hook for four days or until he confesses
Place in a pan of boiling water
add whisky and coriander to taste
drain after 20 minutes sprinkle with parmesan
and roll in grated chocolate and raw sewerage.
Phone Pizza Hut and order a Large deep pan
swimming in grease, egg and anchovy special
with extra hormone injected animal fats
when it arrives, shoot the delivery guy,
There can be no witnesses
take the pizza an roughly scrape the topping
on to the haggis and flush the base down the toilet
grill for ten minutes or interrogate for 20 minutes
then serve bagpiping hot, as The Breakfast of Champions
Whisky and lamb Casserole :
Take one sheep,
take it again,
take it again and again
Take it as many times as
the Viagra will allow,
don't kill it or eat it,
there's tomorrow to think of
and the next day and Saturday night
Take one large enamel bucket of scotch
and drink all at once, I assure you
that sheep will become even better looking
offer her some of your favourite tipple
you never know you might get lucky
who needs a casserole
this is really
living
Glesga Shortbread :
Shortbread derived for the Gaelic Short 'a' bread.
Invented in ancient times (2016) a poor man's cookie
it has taken a more sinister meaning in urban patter
you must be so poor you'd eat a church mouse
First and foremost you must knead the dough
Take one large fence post treated or untreated
wrap around the top with lashings of razor wire
Hammer three six inch nails sticking through the end
enlist the help of six psychotic hairy haggises,
roam the streets of Glesga looking for American Tourists,
once found hit three times with the chib
and then demand all their bread
(Money, dough, dollars credit cards etc,)
uttering the immortal line " Don't you try and run on us,
cause I got six little hairy friends and they can all run
much faster than you"(Best George Clooney Impersonations please)
give the haggises their cut and head off to the bar
Lavender Town
I've slipped into that sleepless realm
Watched as the shadows wrote ,
their language on my bedroom floor
A contract of selfless ink ,
lending my mind to them
Hundred of those damned sinners ,
dancing their decadent afterlife nights
Cowering naked with their pale loose skin ,
dangling in my psyche
Gnarled hair tethered
in the most decrepit of patterns
Fetal positioned victims of wrath ,
Whimpering at the sight of another vessel
Stepping through the gates of life itself
Like a hunted animal in flight
Enveloped by the sheer horror of the human frequency ,
passing onto the other side
That innards-out rodent gnawing
on the remnants of the imp at my side
The esophagus shaped parasite
pressing his moist face through broken dry wall
Sending their twisted energy into the palm of my hand
Then the blowtorch chemist
barreling his aggravation ,
into my disassociated senses
Hand gun holes in ever nook of my periphery
Power drill microphones listening
to every thought I contemplate
Silhouettes of the future already walking ,
through my timeless reality
Playing Nicky-Nicky-Nine-Doors ,
through every vibration around me
Engraving strange messages ,
in their finger paint condensation
Purgatory's spoiled children ,
posing as sadistic poltergeists
5/30
I've slipped into that sleepless realm
Watched as the shadows wrote ,
their language on my bedroom floor
A contract of selfless ink ,
lending my mind to them
Hundred of those damned sinners ,
dancing their decadent afterlife nights
Cowering naked with their pale loose skin ,
dangling in my psyche
Gnarled hair tethered
in the most decrepit of patterns
Fetal positioned victims of wrath ,
Whimpering at the sight of another vessel
Stepping through the gates of life itself
Like a hunted animal in flight
Enveloped by the sheer horror of the human frequency ,
passing onto the other side
That innards-out rodent gnawing
on the remnants of the imp at my side
The esophagus shaped parasite
pressing his moist face through broken dry wall
Sending their twisted energy into the palm of my hand
Then the blowtorch chemist
barreling his aggravation ,
into my disassociated senses
Hand gun holes in ever nook of my periphery
Power drill microphones listening
to every thought I contemplate
Silhouettes of the future already walking ,
through my timeless reality
Playing Nicky-Nicky-Nine-Doors ,
through every vibration around me
Engraving strange messages ,
in their finger paint condensation
Purgatory's spoiled children ,
posing as sadistic poltergeists
5/30
(nursery rhyme)
formule poésie érotique 5/30
Oh! how we love the Maypole Fair
Exciting us like Spring.
We always find surprises there,
What wonders it can bring.
Begins at twin fields intersect
How bare the palates seem.
But once the Maypole stands erect,
How do the dal’es teem.
How hard hands work with mouths send up,
In comers’ cheery tone,
And bring out all, where gates end up,
The place the fun is sown.
The bearded lady’s sure to please
And strong man’s dumbbells, too.
The bell, the hammer’s fall will tease,
Don’t take the prize too soon.
Both Lover’s Lane and Tunnels boat,
A joy for everyone,
And once beyond the castle’s moat,
Into the House of Fun.
And then the Maypole dancing starts,
Lasts far into the night.
As rhythmic motions stir our hearts,
We go with all our might.
We dance until we both are spent,
And then we find our rest.
Our ends have come without lament,
For Maypole Fair’s the best.
Oh! how we love the Maypole Fair
Exciting us like Spring.
We always find surprises there,
What wonders it can bring.
😇/😈
6/30
"My b's look like 6's so when should i exit at stage right ?"
I question who i am wholeheartedly
a theater play so perfectly planned out when curtains are drawn
poignant
who i want to die as
someone who left it all on the goddamn table
not a Benedict Arnold turncoat to my own emotions
feelings laid out
as work clothes on the bed
white scratch paper brainstorm from science class desks
the man i'm striving to be
bring meaning to the maelstrom inside
i sit down and think of what values i wish to instill in my son
does music preference make a man
eye color
contradiction in a conversation
how well we handle Death
looking at the lines & creases on the backs of my hands
i run through my life's biggest mistakes
more than a few to mention
taking a reverse page out of Elvis's "my way"
a poet
pretentious asshole
pocket dreamer
python because the year of the snake snuck up and bit me
chest cavities expand and retract
this breath brought me back to this point in time
following a web work of veins up arms and necks so neat
troubled seems fitting of a word to whisper as i pass
maybe one day i'll darken your doorstep
or you could come and darken mine
until then i'll drench myself in a cold slumbers sweat
hounds of Zaroff chase me through woods of my dreams
i'll lay in wait
tricks up my sleeves to slit throats by
"My b's look like 6's so when should i exit at stage right ?"
I question who i am wholeheartedly
a theater play so perfectly planned out when curtains are drawn
poignant
who i want to die as
someone who left it all on the goddamn table
not a Benedict Arnold turncoat to my own emotions
feelings laid out
as work clothes on the bed
white scratch paper brainstorm from science class desks
the man i'm striving to be
bring meaning to the maelstrom inside
i sit down and think of what values i wish to instill in my son
does music preference make a man
eye color
contradiction in a conversation
how well we handle Death
looking at the lines & creases on the backs of my hands
i run through my life's biggest mistakes
more than a few to mention
taking a reverse page out of Elvis's "my way"
a poet
pretentious asshole
pocket dreamer
python because the year of the snake snuck up and bit me
chest cavities expand and retract
this breath brought me back to this point in time
following a web work of veins up arms and necks so neat
troubled seems fitting of a word to whisper as i pass
maybe one day i'll darken your doorstep
or you could come and darken mine
until then i'll drench myself in a cold slumbers sweat
hounds of Zaroff chase me through woods of my dreams
i'll lay in wait
tricks up my sleeves to slit throats by
Anonymous
Estate Sale Basement
(NaPo #5, April 5, 2018)
They sat, huddled, in
dust—
canning jars filled with
old, nameless fruit
or flesh.
“He was a pharmacist.”
I heard, amid chatter of
pickers and clanking
of items grabbed for purchase.
Was he something else, too…?
What ungodly fillings, were those
in the jars?
Such a shame.
A lifetime building collections
and hoards
only to be sifted and sold
at death.
I wanted those jars.
I try to be kind about it, taking
only what I’m sent to rescue.
Some things stay with me, others
are destined for resale, and
I really wanted those jars, just
not what was in them, shiny,
greasy looking abortions
of sorts…
I thought about dumping their contents,
but the gagging stench
that would have surely followed
would have enlightened everyone
to what I had done.
I left them untouched, but
I wanted those jars.
Deliberating, though…..I picked one up—
The stone-heavy weight was wrongly impossible
for the thing inside, and
the festered contents, would no doubt, belch
chemically gasses, while
oozing over the lip, if….
If I unhinged the metal clasp on the lid.
I set it down
and finally left the glass tombs alone, but
I really wanted those damned jars.
(NaPo #5, April 5, 2018)
They sat, huddled, in
dust—
canning jars filled with
old, nameless fruit
or flesh.
“He was a pharmacist.”
I heard, amid chatter of
pickers and clanking
of items grabbed for purchase.
Was he something else, too…?
What ungodly fillings, were those
in the jars?
Such a shame.
A lifetime building collections
and hoards
only to be sifted and sold
at death.
I wanted those jars.
I try to be kind about it, taking
only what I’m sent to rescue.
Some things stay with me, others
are destined for resale, and
I really wanted those jars, just
not what was in them, shiny,
greasy looking abortions
of sorts…
I thought about dumping their contents,
but the gagging stench
that would have surely followed
would have enlightened everyone
to what I had done.
I left them untouched, but
I wanted those jars.
Deliberating, though…..I picked one up—
The stone-heavy weight was wrongly impossible
for the thing inside, and
the festered contents, would no doubt, belch
chemically gasses, while
oozing over the lip, if….
If I unhinged the metal clasp on the lid.
I set it down
and finally left the glass tombs alone, but
I really wanted those damned jars.
