Desperation (a story in 6 words)

DESPERATION

Medium wanted. 

Must specialize in children. 

No More Last Days (#NaPoWriMo 30)

The last day of NaPoWriMo is a Lady Danger poem. If you've followed my poetry, that name will probably look familiar to you. She actually didn't pop up in any of this round of NaPoWriMo (I believe) which is very strange, so I'm glad she decided to grace us with her presence in this one.

No More Last Days

Lady Danger is six years in her death bed.

But she never goes cold,

Never stiffens.

Like preparing for impact, she stays loose

And revels in the blow.

She knows how this will end:

Sweetly,

But always incompletely.

There will be a final battle she won't win,

And her mourners will be mine:

The same people who hate to see a campfire die.

The same people who cling to the embers

And toast.

True, her eyes are closed,

But Lady Danger sees every creaking dawn,

Every wounded soldier,

Every cigarette turned mushy memory,

Everything withdrawn.

Everything unlike her.

Six years isn't long enough to kill a god.

It takes many lives to learn the word "NO."

The Pay-Off (#NaPoWriMo 29)

The Pay-Off

I enjoy science,
Which makes perfect sense,
But I prefer fiction,
Which makes no cents. 
If a story about science makes me rich,
Those cents in sense would make perfect recompense. 

Apartment 23 (#NaPoWriMo 28)

I remember chablis dreams and the clutter of Apartment 23.

Under the dust, I kept years, excuses, and joys

And reveled in the fact that those small years could still excuse such joy.

There, the apartment brought to a heavenly head

An open heart's last, desperate pump,

And I, made of that useless lump, a ship in a bottle

To set sail,

To see,

To sink,

To drink the saltwater and remember how dry I was.

Apartment 23 was a pit from which I never desired escape.

When I did, shock besieged me,

Though not as shocking as the returning beat

Of a heart I long thought dead meat.

That place still exists, a hovel on a distant shore

That visits me in chablis dreams, though they are few and far-between now:

Better for a consistent pulse.

And I remember:

The best places, you keep forever,

But they never keep you.

It's Only Fair (#NaPoWriMo 27)

It's Only Fair (#NaPoWriMo 27)

When both of you are good to go,
Don't be too fast, don't be too slow.
Enjoy yourself and take your time,
And keep in mind this helpful rhyme:

Someone you love, you want to keep
Close in waking, close in sleep.
So, if bliss is to your kisses follow,
Never spit when you can swallow.

His Side (#NaPoWriMo 26)

The greatest sorrow is a lopsided bed.

It does its own weeping,

While I lay on the edge of sleeping,

Alone in the insomnia you left behind.

Hints of Heaven (#NaPoWriMo 25)

Today's poem is a cento, a poem comprised of lines from already existing poems. My cento "Hints of Heaven" is composed using lines from poems in Walt Whitman's collection "Leaves of Grass."

Hints of Heaven

Have the elder races halted,

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power?

What gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand?

I believe you are latent with unseen existences,

You who celebrate bygones.

I sing the songs of the glory of none, not god, sooner

   than I sing the songs of the glory of you.

Will you give me yourself?

Will you come travel with me?

Will you turn aside all your life?

A man is a summons and challenge.

We will sail pathless and wild seas,

And never be quiet again.