Belated Afterthoughts and Thanks

NaPoWriMo. Well what can I say? I tried up until the end. Trouble was, I spent a lot of time towards the end editing the poems I wrote weeks earlier for the April 28th Open Bark reading my parents ended up not being at. This left little time to imagine good poems for the one-a-day, and I even ended up rejecting some of the haiku I was writing towards the end. Still, the goals I wanted to meed this year were met. I wrote the poems I needed to write for the reading, which my parents will be able to hear, thanks to Stone Soup documenter Bill Perrault (who was pulling overtime that night). And I have the start for a new chapbook that I hope start up again after this weekend, if not sooner. Thank you again, Bill and Maureen.

NaPoWriMo, Day Thirty, Poem Twenty-Seven

Poem

Of Course The Eleven year old
nearly cleaned my clock.
Anyone can be hurt when they trust,
and I was just messing around
with the kids and was dumb enough
to include the one whose first name
may as well be Football
while I'm calling time out
to ensure no child is wounded,
he charges hard enough
that my glasses will now make sure
I feel something from this for the week.

His stepfather lax, Little Mr. Football
picks fights with kids half his size and age,
plans a tower of victims to bring him high enough
to be noticed by the absent father.

It was still a pleasure
to pin him down to the point
he feared never moving again.

NaPoWriMo, Day Thirty, Poem Twenty-Six

Riding With Dad

The trick is not to go
looking for revelations
while keeping an eye on him.
I do tryto look for signs of weakness
underneath sunglasses he is overjoyed
to put on again--his first time driving in weeks--
to drop off something at his work
and converse with friends,
deciding he'll never retire.

He doesn't end up needing me
to drive him back,
so we end uphitting spots
for new clothes--cheap because
his weight turns back and forth
like a safe knob being cracked.

Each week, I expect him
back to full-size, not to continue
to stabilize while he takes me
backroads to the summer cabin
he found with help from his old boss,
who now has throat cancer
(40% chance of survival).

He gives me more facts
(the doctor claims my Dad
has the bones of a man
twenty years longer),
all of them small asides
to an unknown ending
I'll just have to be here to see.

Potrait of The Artist As a Total Wreck

I think my contributions to this year's NaPoWriMo will been seen as documenting everything leading to my recent mental and emotional meltdown this past week. In then end, I'm glad my father is better and that things seem to be slowing getting better personally and personally in my life. Still, what a way to document it.

It's interesting how your writing looks after twelve straight hours of sleep you've been depriving yourself of. I'm just glad there have been people who have read and enjoyed my work on this blog.

I hope to catch up by Monday and successfully complete my average of thirty poems for the month. Tonight, it's my reading, during which I'll be premiering several polished versions of poems I've written this month.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Eight, Poem Twenty-Five

Haiku

She asks me what's wrong.
I say nothing, wait to write
haikus she can't read.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Eight, Poem Twenty-Four

Haiku

She politely asks
why I feel pressure. Here feet
squarely on my chest.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Seven, Poem Twenty-Three

Poem

The venue's owner's cat left another dead mouse
at the door. Before today's open mike,
there was a stink when you wouldn't feature poet X.

The mass protest was started by poet
X himself, who, along with his mousy
girlfriend, boycotted tonight's open mike.

The damage is substantial. The open mike's
only other two readers finish before the feature poet
has arrived. Just then, somone throws a dead mouse

On the podium. The mouse, a makeshift prop, marks X's return, who like an overwritten line, uses our shock-induced pause to go from open miker to co-feature.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Two, Poem Twenty-Two

Billy Ray Cyrus Haiku Fifteen
Years Too Late to Be Relevant

Anyone with a
broken achy breaky heart
likely deserved it.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Two, Poem Twenty-One

Haiku

Land development
Company shrubs guard lot grass
like circling shrubs.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Two, Poem Twenty

Sarcastic Haiku 72: Pope Ends Limbo

Mercy to children
or merely the church's way
of dropping daycare?

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty-Two, Poem Nineteen

Update: This poem can now be found in the Spring 2009 issue of The Endicott Review. Email Daniel Sklar at dsklar@endicott.edu for more information

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty, Poem Eighteen

Haiku

Tonight you don't need
to tell me to stop whining.
Frank Zappa's playing.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twenty, Poem Seventeen

Poem

Sick attendee in our training class
celebrated his first of three days in Boston
with an array of Long Island Iced Tea toasts
that required no subjects
to cite before drinking,
making them go down quicker.

By next afternoon, he couldn't hold back the bilge,
ran to the bathroom, came back
to have us call environmental services.
He said he missed the bowl by two steps.

A quick glance inside showed
that it was at least four or five.
He never even made it through the stall door.

Girlfriend, I'm sorry if the lies I tell myself
about the pain you clearly see
are just as obvious.

NaPoWriMo, Day Nineteen, Poem Sixteen

I wrote my first tretina in a workshop with Tom Daley. It was so successful, and I liked it so much, that I've tried to write more since. This needs work, but I do enjoy the process of writing one still.


Edited: This poem for my father made it's way into Issue 1 of Spoonful. Click here to read it.

NaPoWriMo, Day Eighteen, Poem Fifteen

Slowly but surely.

Poem

Whole sections of Genesis
recoginized as lifted
even by decade-long
lasped Catholics
Tree of knowledge
uprooted and
planted in your poems
Don't you think we know
the source of their creation
hidden in broken line
and remaining white space
the way radio DJ's
hide n----- jokes
under bits of dead air
You go up on stage
die each time
only to return to stage
the following week
Jesus can't appreciate
the grandstanding.

NaPoWriMo, Day Sixteen, Poem Fourteen

Haiku

She always asks
why I sound so defeated
after she has won.

NaPoWriMo, Day Fifteen, Poem Thirteen

Visiting my father over the weekend, who is doing much better. Hopefully, I'll catch up by tomorrow. If not, I will eventually.

Lazy

Turn the TV up
Loud clock tics, takes dictation
of lost potential.

NaPoWriMo, Day Fourteen, Poem Twelve

More hay(na)ku. Hopefully, I'll follow up with more work later this morning.

Suspicion/Jealousy?

Beggar
changes clothes
more than me.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twelve, Poem Eleven

Sarcastic Haiku 71: Reason for Fewer Sarcastic Haiku

Slowly realizing
that an insane president
might not be funny.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twelve, Poem Ten

Got to keep on keepin' on. More random lines than a real poem, but I liked what I had on the page enough.


W--- Poem

Despite their uses, for the sake
of security, the higher office
will be disabling the use of CD Roms,
bag lunches, thumb drives, and thumbs.

Every email reads like it's auditioning
to be a Boston Globe pull quote.

I'm now stationed by the methadone clinic
which, I'm told, during the April Fool's blizzard
was all that was open, and had a line.

My office's previous dweller
liked it enough to leave behind
a book and a hot pot.

If I linger, it's only to check
for unlocked doors to offices,
size up desks tables, various
unfavorite chairs, seeing what
could be applied to DIY porno.
That and to charge my phone battery.

All under the new boss, busy writing out
policies requiring two week's notice for sick days.