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 I 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

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

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.

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

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

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

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...

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.

The prompt for day twenty-five over at NaPoWriMo was to write a ballad poem. Traditionally, ballads were rhymed poems that told a story of some kind and often set to music. They are set in four-line verses, with an abab rhyme pattern, utilizing alternating 8 & 6 syllable, iambic lines. They are also on occasion, long as hell...but not today.



Mitch the wino is always drunk

Speaking a dialect deranged,

Smells like he hasn't bathed in months

Hand stretched out for spare change.



His eyes tell a story of pain

Few will ever notice;

Especially when it starts to rain,

The tale becomes unfocused.



But from a distance I can see

A reason for his suffering,

His eyes have the same vacuous hue

As my Iraq war vet cousin.




© 2013 abruvanamedsly