The Bringer Of Sleep


Over at dVerse Poets Pub in the Poetics section, folks were writing to the artwork of German born artist Catrin Welz-Stein. I chose this piece called The Sandman...



The Sandman
Artwork by Catrin Welz-Stein


Moondust
and grains
of
forgotten dreams
littered
my pillow
one night.


My
parents
told me
it was evidence
of the Sandman's visit;


I believed it was the marrow of crushed prayers.


For
the longest time
after that
when I became sleepy,
I would rush to bed
forcing my eyelids
to remain open


just to see if they were telling the truth.






© 2013 abruvanamedsly

12 comments:

Man of the House

Over at dVerse Poets Pub in the Poetics section, there's a prompt called Try to Remember. That's what triggered this piece...




After
the phone call came,
my uncle looked at me
and said, 


"You're the
man of the house now,
you have to be strong
for your mother and sisters".


So, at eleven years old,


I didn't shed a tear
when I saw my mom, eyes
leaking with pain,
calmly make arrangements
for my father's burial.


I didn't shed a tear
when my sisters 
interchangeably
sobbed on my shoulders,
even though I could feel
their sorrow vibrating
through me.


I didn't shed a tear
at the wake or the funeral;


I just stood stoic
trying to map out
in my mind what exactly
does it mean to be a man?


That night, I remember going into the bathroom and crying uncontrollably into a towel, so no one would hear me.



© 2013 abruvanamedsly



Graveyard Book

13 comments:

Three Words...



You
can write
enough life
to fill an eon
of volumes
and it still
wouldn't measure up
to the power
three words
hold over 
existence.


Three words...



delicate 
utterance
desecrating 
what once was 
while
delivering blunt
force trauma to sanity;


lifting mountains,
igniting the cosmos
and redefining breathing.


Some
chase the echo
of this affirmation
until death;
others have it
fall into their lap


hard,


meteor hard,


burning down the very
fabric of their reality;


they say the view from the other side of the fire is amazing. 



© 2013 abruvanamedsly


Flames



4 comments:

The Other Side Of The Flag

I was never more hated than when I tried to be honest. Or when, even as just now I've tried to articulate exactly what I felt to be the truth. No one was satisfied.
                                      ~ Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man



I.
Walt Whitman's
ghost strolls through
the projects singing
black is a beautiful thang...
while Sylvia Plath's
does the math of why
nickel bags
sell quicker
than liquor.


II.
Inner-city infants 
are greeted with
put your hands
against the wall and spread em'
as they exit
the womb.


III.  
Self indulgence
opens legs wide
for Capitalism
on steroids, whose
empathy shrinks
more and more
with each
passing
day.


IV.  
Crack
vial bones
buried under gentrified
condos and homes
leave no residue;
only microfiched
echoes.


V.  
The
ostracized
dream of being recognized
with dignity and humanity;
a delusion
often dismissed
on a long list
Betsy Ross
never sewed
into the flag.


© 2013 abruvanamedsly


Back of Flag

2 comments:

The Bullet



Over at dVerse, the prompt was to write a poem employing the use of anaphora. Anaphora is a word or phrase used in repetition at the beginning of successive clauses tending to build towards a climax which usually has a strong emotional effect...this is what I came up with:


the bullet is anger's ally

the bullet eviscerates equanimity

the bullet tears through bravery and bones

the bullet causes the ground to turn crimson

the bullet rapes innocence

the bullet massacres sense of community

the bullet conducts a concerto of horror in its aftermath

because in the end,

choosing to use

the bullet is like

adhering to an equation

with no solution.





© 2013 abruvanamedsly


Bullets

7 comments:

At Thirty-Six Thousand Feet


Over at dVerse Poets the Form For All challenge was to write a sedōka, which is an unrhymed poem consisting of two tercets with a syllable count of 5-7-7 and 5-7-7. This is what I came up with...




Floating above clouds,

I scrape my fingers across

the sky and forgotten dreams.



For a brief moment

in this unflinching stillness,

I see why God would live here.





© 2013 abruvanamedsly

Sky

9 comments:

I Am...

Empty Man


I am everything and nothing.

I wonder if death is an end or beginning.

I hear the wind break bones.

I see the sunset crumble into dusk.

I want to live amongst the stars;



 
I pretend pain doesn't exist.

I feel the light cuddle my skin;

I touch the lips of the sun.

I worry about not having enough time.

I cry to the rhythm of her heartbeat;




I understand why it's easier not to try;

I say fuck fear and love courage.

I dream about wiggling my toes in the sands of mars.

I try to listen to my ancestors.

I hope to chart a course beyond the unknown;


© 2013 abruvanamedsly


6 comments:

Addict


Today for Poetics over at dVerse there's a picture prompt based off of images from the blog of an artist named Leovi...I chose this one entitled Your Love Is Like A Mantle Of Bubbles...
Leovi5


Pain

leaves such a

vibrant residue

as it spreads.



It

bleeds out

across a spectrum

of desolation finding

paradise within beads

of despair sparkling

and fizzing with a

carbonation of sadness

that clouds the judgement

of a life fractured by stalagmites

coated in analgesic

prayers.



As

heaven

becomes a

syringe full of healing,

rehab always seems to reside one rainbow over the spill.



© 2013 abruvanamedsly



Dverse Poets


13 comments:

I Heard...



This piece was a response to a prompt provided by a writing workshop I attended on Saturday...it was based on the Emily Dickinson poem entitled I heard a Fly buzz...




I heard a fly buzz

when I died

but couldn't drown

out the beating of its wings

with the ghost of my

headphones.



I heard a fly buzz

when I died;
 
must have been

payback for the slayings of its cousins

at the hands of my fly swatter.



I heard a fly buzz when I died.



Well, I guess

Curtis Mayfield

was right.





© 2013 abruvanamedsly



Fly Light

1 comments:

2:01 A.M.



The 

words

awaken me

like a bellicose

paramour

at 2:01 a.m.;

tumescent

with purpose

and anxious for attention.



They

roll around

nude on the

dross of salvaged dreams

attempting to find

the thought that will

bring us both to

orgasm. 


Le petit mort always seems to be just one letter away.



© 2013 abruvanamedsly


2:01

1 comments:

Not As The Sparrow (30/30)


Well this is it...the final prompt from NaPoWriMo. For this last challenge, we had to find a short poem and rewrite each line replacing each word (or as many words as possible) with words that mean the opposite. I chose...

As The Sparrow by Charles Bukowski


To give life you must take life,

and as our grief falls flat and hollow

upon the billion-blooded sea

I pass upon serious inward-breaking shoals rimmed

with white-legged, white-bellied rotting creatures

lengthily dead and rioting against surrounding scenes.

Dear child, I only did to you what the sparrow

did to you; I am old when it is fashionable to be

young; I cry when it is fashionable to laugh.

I hated you when it would have taken less courage

to love.





My opposite rewrite: Not As The Sparrow


To refuse decay you must not give into rot,

and as your joy rises round and full

above the healed land

you skip over frivolously outward-fixed shores straightened

with colorful-armed, colorful bellied flourishing critters

momentarily alive and obedient to distant vistas.

Dear child, you do not do to me what the sparrow 

did to me; you are young when it is passé to be 

old; you laugh when it is passé to cry.

You loved me when it could have taken more courage 

to hate.





Dead Sparrow

0 comments:

Thanda (29/30)


The prompt for day twenty-nine over at NaPoWriMo was to write a poem that contains at least five words in other languages...I chose to write about a universal word that needs no interpretation...
 

To

love is a risky

entreprise;

it

requires one to strip away

susceptibilidad and dive

head first into  

l'ignoto.



The

initial pular

can be the most

frightening undertaking

of one's

жизнь;

but the freefall

is worth the effort.



© 2013 abruvanamedsly



Love

0 comments:

Black (28/30)


The prompt for day twenty-eight over at NaPoWriMo was to pick a color and write about it...this is what I came up with:



Atramentous

are we;

noir and unapologetically

piceous;

the supposed stygian

of humanity

with souls blacker than

the space in between the stars.




As 

much 

as folks in this world

would try and denigrate 

our beauty, we still paint

obsidian rainbows

all over their 

hatred.




© 2013 abruvanamdsly



Fist

0 comments:

Isthmus (27/30)


The prompt for day twenty-seven over at NaPoWriMo was to think of a common proverb or phrase then plug the first three words of said phrase into a search engine and use the first few page results as
inspiration for a piece. I chose the proverb No man is an island...


No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main ~ John Donne



No man is an island

but many attempt 

to become isles

mostly British Virgin, 

Cayman & Cook

crooks 
 
who swim 

in the waters of wealth

while the rest 

of the world drowns

in stock prices that stay down

caught in the undertow

of rigged 

annuities.



Maybe

one day

man will learn to be an isthmus

and fly like an eagle

into the future.



© 2013 abruvanamedsly



Flying Island

0 comments:

Erasure Poetry (26/30)


The prompt for day twenty-six over at NaPoWriMo was to perform an erasure poem. An erasure poem is created by blotting, highlighting or taking out words of an existing piece of poetry then using those borrowed words to form a new poem. I chose a piece by Mariahadessa Ekere Tallie entitled Raindrop Women...


Women






Raindrop Women

are like balms

brown skin draped in gold

sunshine on brass

hair tuned

against inevitable crashes

with

chaos.


Teardrop Women

refusing to tip toe

between oppression and

aching wails

are

lightening bolts

speaking in tongues.

0 comments:

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