Least Read Poems About NaPoWriMo2019
#NaPoWriMo2019
yelluw_always
Poem Published
12th Apr 2019 7:46am
12th Apr 2019 7:46am
Lakeside 11/30
The water gliders wait
and drift on tension,
Wait to chomp down
on our green bodies.
To mill them down
into a lake floor.
This is what it
means to jump,
To break a surface
and glitter a bottom
in pieces, lower than
what sees the light.
It is cool and damper
than damp. Above, we see
the rain and its typing
un-noised.
The fins whomp
us, the duckbills
nudge us. We twist
and disperse as thoughts,
brown and necessary.
With swords of butter...
and drift on tension,
Wait to chomp down
on our green bodies.
To mill them down
into a lake floor.
This is what it
means to jump,
To break a surface
and glitter a bottom
in pieces, lower than
what sees the light.
It is cool and damper
than damp. Above, we see
the rain and its typing
un-noised.
The fins whomp
us, the duckbills
nudge us. We twist
and disperse as thoughts,
brown and necessary.
With swords of butter...
#identity
#nature
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
3 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
13th Apr 2019 7:45am
13th Apr 2019 7:45am
Lakeside 12/30
People come to our shores,
steal glances, whisper back and forth
or maybe they’re dog-whistling
through the steel tubes of their lips.
I wash upon the world
in hyperbole and they exclaim
so beautiful, can you teach me
how to wave like you do.
I wash upon the world
typecast as a panorama
of dancing hands. Obvious
as nature. My expressions unclothed.
People come to our shores
from their city of ears
and say how pastoral and
quaint are our song of pictures.
I wash upon the world, babbling ...
steal glances, whisper back and forth
or maybe they’re dog-whistling
through the steel tubes of their lips.
I wash upon the world
in hyperbole and they exclaim
so beautiful, can you teach me
how to wave like you do.
I wash upon the world
typecast as a panorama
of dancing hands. Obvious
as nature. My expressions unclothed.
People come to our shores
from their city of ears
and say how pastoral and
quaint are our song of pictures.
I wash upon the world, babbling ...
#identity
#nature
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
2 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
27th Apr 2019 7:20am
27th Apr 2019 7:20am
Lakeside 26/30
A different kind of ending
is happening in the underbrush
you might see it as a kind of matted
with its braids and twisted
bodies making do with space though it appears a mess
a real pollack moment of turning a head
everything appears fast
appears indiscernible and indescribable and streamed
of starved language
pretty much it’s a whirligig or a thingamabob
that all needs to be weed-whacked
to most
flattening what exists in a layer between control and worldview
mowers and machetes, landscapers...
is happening in the underbrush
you might see it as a kind of matted
with its braids and twisted
bodies making do with space though it appears a mess
a real pollack moment of turning a head
everything appears fast
appears indiscernible and indescribable and streamed
of starved language
pretty much it’s a whirligig or a thingamabob
that all needs to be weed-whacked
to most
flattening what exists in a layer between control and worldview
mowers and machetes, landscapers...
#identity
#nature
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
7 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
28th Apr 2019 6:02am
28th Apr 2019 6:02am
Lakeside 27/30
So we clap like trees in a life-
sustaining storm, shaking and
shaking in cheer, we sprout tendrils
with something to say and spread wide
not as a mouth but blanket the air
with our touch and slough the drops
to this lake of ours. Hearts dense of weathering,
here we condense to that of a wave
cresting without gravity. Look, we fly
our thoughts to stage, leaves turning over
our tender undersides, a brightness
that belies the sunny side-up
waxiness of daily frying beach days.
That is not to say we...
sustaining storm, shaking and
shaking in cheer, we sprout tendrils
with something to say and spread wide
not as a mouth but blanket the air
with our touch and slough the drops
to this lake of ours. Hearts dense of weathering,
here we condense to that of a wave
cresting without gravity. Look, we fly
our thoughts to stage, leaves turning over
our tender undersides, a brightness
that belies the sunny side-up
waxiness of daily frying beach days.
That is not to say we...
#identity
#nature
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
17 reads
4 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
5th Apr 2019 6:23am
5th Apr 2019 6:23am
Lakeside 4/30
The tips emerge as a fire bush
of winter with its index
of buds, I make a list
of its sounds of growth.
Creep, feast,
stacked plat
es of blue m
oon, silverwa
re of tiny fists
opening and
squeezing thr
ough the guts,
platforms for
spittle beetles
and their unre
pentant corpu
scular beads-
fight or flight;
they chose fan
cy- camouflag
e is for the lou
dest of us, shy-
sters…. ...
of winter with its index
of buds, I make a list
of its sounds of growth.
Creep, feast,
stacked plat
es of blue m
oon, silverwa
re of tiny fists
opening and
squeezing thr
ough the guts,
platforms for
spittle beetles
and their unre
pentant corpu
scular beads-
fight or flight;
they chose fan
cy- camouflag
e is for the lou
dest of us, shy-
sters…. ...
#nature
#surreal
#NaPoWriMo2019 #identity
#NaPoWriMo2019 #identity
18 reads
4 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
19th Apr 2019 7:37am
19th Apr 2019 7:37am
Lakeside 16/30
Interlude: Here is an inter-
view of those, planks and grout
of silence. Stacked
and stuck together, glued hands
piling up. Quite similar
to signing comfort
only it doesn’t come apart
ever easily. It’s in the attitude
of momentum- of the beat
which lifts up off
the ground. Our hands
rubbing together makes
a sound like heat.
I am levitation. The hands
push me up higher
until I am in the middle
of air. Untouched.
I leviathan as fog
over liquid, spread fingers
circling against each ...
view of those, planks and grout
of silence. Stacked
and stuck together, glued hands
piling up. Quite similar
to signing comfort
only it doesn’t come apart
ever easily. It’s in the attitude
of momentum- of the beat
which lifts up off
the ground. Our hands
rubbing together makes
a sound like heat.
I am levitation. The hands
push me up higher
until I am in the middle
of air. Untouched.
I leviathan as fog
over liquid, spread fingers
circling against each ...
#identity
#nature
#NaPoWriMo2019
18 reads
3 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
16th Apr 2019 7:39am
16th Apr 2019 7:39am
Lakeside 15/30
I have taken nails out of wood
frames and taken the pin out of leitmotif
his eyes sirened like pulsar stars all over
his black surface, shriller than and- then
he is a wheel
emotive in pieces upon which I
paint faces on heads, flat-
-tened them buttercup dumb, everywhere
is spread out of hand, but these
stumps mine moving all the same
here is my touchstone
in the sawdust arboreal of the subject ...
frames and taken the pin out of leitmotif
his eyes sirened like pulsar stars all over
his black surface, shriller than and- then
he is a wheel
emotive in pieces upon which I
paint faces on heads, flat-
-tened them buttercup dumb, everywhere
is spread out of hand, but these
stumps mine moving all the same
here is my touchstone
in the sawdust arboreal of the subject ...
#identity
#nature
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
19 reads
9 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
21st Apr 2019 7:15am
21st Apr 2019 7:15am
Lakeside 19/30
Recreate the geography
of language by coloring
in the phonemes as body
shaped, as where.
Sign language is every
kind of onomatopoeia,
the hands making all kinds
of sounds against our bodies,
through the air, sculpture,
painting, pottery, temporal
and grounding but the after-
effects stay in your throat.
The words are indulged
by your eyes as they close
and you can taste
proprioception.
Space is replicated
into a stack of paper.
Squeeze as if you are seeking
a bed...
of language by coloring
in the phonemes as body
shaped, as where.
Sign language is every
kind of onomatopoeia,
the hands making all kinds
of sounds against our bodies,
through the air, sculpture,
painting, pottery, temporal
and grounding but the after-
effects stay in your throat.
The words are indulged
by your eyes as they close
and you can taste
proprioception.
Space is replicated
into a stack of paper.
Squeeze as if you are seeking
a bed...
#identity
#nature
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
#culture #NaPoWriMo2019
19 reads
4 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
2nd Apr 2019 8:40am
2nd Apr 2019 8:40am
Lakeside 1/30
You can spot his festivities,
twin blossoms swiveling
with his awareness
one step at a time. Passer-bys
confuse tenderness
for tenterhooks.
Eye sirens like pulsar stars,
they shutter shriller than,
and then, the trees. Subject
walks along the bank
and is the subject of a panel
at the American
Natural History Museum-
headlined under how lampshades
change and charge the walls
in dreams of information gathering
at the edge of black holes, there
endless light thinly licks
the...
twin blossoms swiveling
with his awareness
one step at a time. Passer-bys
confuse tenderness
for tenterhooks.
Eye sirens like pulsar stars,
they shutter shriller than,
and then, the trees. Subject
walks along the bank
and is the subject of a panel
at the American
Natural History Museum-
headlined under how lampshades
change and charge the walls
in dreams of information gathering
at the edge of black holes, there
endless light thinly licks
the...
#nature
#identity
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
22 reads
3 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
4th Apr 2019 7:03am
4th Apr 2019 7:03am
Lakeside 3/30
Tethered, perhaps mercy is
not the water hiss-hissing
hexes over pebbles,
timelessness smoothing,
how we wish our skin was like this,
how I lift a wind. With a drawn
out breeze my hands sculpt
the subject, he is still
walking off the path plucking his
gempetal eyes. What he calls
the past that comes back
at night, when you’re the least
guarded. I hear them then by
guessing-and suppose the trees
are shrill now inured with the wilting
balloons- the scissors had...
not the water hiss-hissing
hexes over pebbles,
timelessness smoothing,
how we wish our skin was like this,
how I lift a wind. With a drawn
out breeze my hands sculpt
the subject, he is still
walking off the path plucking his
gempetal eyes. What he calls
the past that comes back
at night, when you’re the least
guarded. I hear them then by
guessing-and suppose the trees
are shrill now inured with the wilting
balloons- the scissors had...
#NaPoWriMo2019
#nature
#surreal #identity
#surreal #identity
22 reads
5 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
6th Apr 2019 6:40am
6th Apr 2019 6:40am
Lakeside 5/30
Mostly passage-
we are
quiet
stories of nature, of
reattaching our
selves to
the sides of its book,
as coven to cover
a moon
by this I mean
they are quiet
and saying something,
bald eagle
drops a thorn
and says something
rhododendron
swallows it
and thinks something
the subject
closes in
do you think
he has everything
that
says something
as a strum
upon
dirt
let him approach ...
we are
quiet
stories of nature, of
reattaching our
selves to
the sides of its book,
as coven to cover
a moon
by this I mean
they are quiet
and saying something,
bald eagle
drops a thorn
and says something
rhododendron
swallows it
and thinks something
the subject
closes in
do you think
he has everything
that
says something
as a strum
upon
dirt
let him approach ...
#identity
#nature
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
#surreal #NaPoWriMo2019
22 reads
4 Comments
yelluw_always
Poem Published
8th Apr 2019 5:40am
8th Apr 2019 5:40am
Lakeside 7/30
To unseal the regard of a sky, subject, by your example:
I have poured silence into these glass mouths
of walking jars. It is here at this lake I spotlight
the subject into a line-up.
To identify, to inquisition.
You, my Beatrice, you,
my guide, teacher and infinite student. How is it
you have come to this conclusion of instruction? I
have poured silence and the clouds reveal
the shapes of fireflies, unlit. Imagine, feeling
those words along your soles,...
I have poured silence into these glass mouths
of walking jars. It is here at this lake I spotlight
the subject into a line-up.
To identify, to inquisition.
You, my Beatrice, you,
my guide, teacher and infinite student. How is it
you have come to this conclusion of instruction? I
have poured silence and the clouds reveal
the shapes of fireflies, unlit. Imagine, feeling
those words along your soles,...
#identity
#NaPoWriMo2019
23 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Least Read Poems About NaPoWriMo2019
#NaPoWriMo2019 is curated by Ahavati (Tams).
