April will be the busiest month of perhaps my busiest semester of college. But in spite of (or because of?) the stresses of multiple commitments and heavy work loads, I’m adding a creative writing challenge to myself as well.
“Good suffering” is suffering I declare to be necessary for my development, that I can convert into power & knowledge.
National Poetry Writing Month (or NaPoWriMo) is an open project that asks you to write a poem a day, all through April. You can share or self-publish if you want, but there’s no other requirements besides to yourself.
I’m choosing to share them, starting with this surreal little ditty I wrote on the Light Rail home last night (after the jump). I’m starting a little late, but oh well…
The New York Times, and the power
that was never really there. Three girls
and the dream they spoke
in. Six false eyes, and visions
of thoughts printed not on paper.
The first one said:
“Paint me liquescent and gold—
ladylike—pale and strangely beautiful. Not
in shadows but in pain, because the sunburns
are peeling.” Three apples, and the second
didn’t speak. “Never waste,” she thought,
“a good crisis.” No mouth,
taut body of canvas, uncensored, without praise.
“Even reporters have to make
a living.” Like storms before clouds
or the wet touch in our mouths
caused by the damp, clean smell, the third dream
apple girl whispered into the desert rain: “Paint this wall green,
miraculous and hard,
like the bordering islands