Day 7: Poem~ Epic Cocktail Party

Day 7: Poem NaPoWriMo
But I have to ask them you say, almost spilling a dirty martini
I have to know- what they would say, of shaking planets and seas
possessed with taking. Joan of Arc leaning against the Paris skyline,
overhears, takes Antoine’s glass, his last sip. To live is to believe.

This is Day 7 of the 30 poems in 30 days NaPoWriMo challenge. I took my prompt for this one from Jack Edwards who suggested being a fly on the wall some place.  I chose a wall of my studio- crowded with photos of historic legends, art, and quotes. At a friend’s party.

But I must ask them, you say, dangerously tilting your dirty martini
I have to know what they would say- of shaking planets and seas
possessed with taking back.   Joan of Arc leaning against the Paris skyline,
overhears, takes Antoine’s glass, his last sip. To live is to believe,
Living things shudder.

Che offers a cigar to Buddha, reclined on tres lounge, his Voysey serpents
slowly swimming to pectorals,  No thanks CheI’ve had enough.
And to you~ No one saves us but ourselves.  Don’t take it personally.
Frieda, shouldn’t we call it a night

But wait. Really Che, Kurukule challenges, leveling her red bow just over
the Himalayas, be realistic; everything is impossible, yes?
Ah! Thank god he wasn’t Buddhist!  Shrieks Edith, raspy voice booming under lizard drunk eyes.  And that death does not exist.

And what of revolutions ignited by hunger, you say, defiance spilling into the streets,
our hearts holding their fear-

the room falls silent.
Geronimo lights his cigarette with a match.  Night falls.
While living, we must live well. The world is our oyster.  Antoine slowly refills his glass.  It is impossible to live without poetry, color, and love. Che stands up, catches the butterfly about to land near Winston,
Never, never, never give up.

copyright Tara Linda 2011

Day 6 Poem- My Second Muse

When the second Muse came, She filled the house with laughter, promises and a faint scent of jasmine with lemon grass.

My Second Muse     (A prose poem)   Day 6. NaPoWriMo

When the second Muse came, She filled the house with laughter, promises and a faint scent of jasmine mixed with lemon grass.  At first, ‘this is too much’ I thought, just returned from the South Seas, waiting to meet her in the foyer. But she refused to show her face, racing barefoot down the hall in gossamer thread and giggles.

More shy than the first, happier, more impish, this Muse rose early, pulling curtains to wake us, tossing things carelessly and humming in a voice so faint you had to strain to hear… “fireflies and little lies are all I want for breakfast!”.   My laughter would bring her closer.   She was Silly but Industrious, working late into the night on sweet tea and blackberries… wearing velvet hats, pearls, and exotic ribbons.   Soon she sang  constantly.  I borrowed her keys for silk thread transitions, while she danced tempos and  allegrettos con brio.

A dark swallow, she hovered and dove while I worked- throwing things if she heard notes misplaced, giggling in G when vibrato behaved- but all wordless. Until the day I placed certain lyrics within the cove of one of her melodies- the one with the flying tempos and swan dive horns. I was thinking of one South Easterly with a certain laugh pattern as I scratched lyrics in indigo-

“Don’t dare waste my melody on that one.” Her voice was sweet. Firm.  Low. “These notes are ONLY for the Ones You Have Yet to Meet.”

Her ONLY made me resist. She stamped her feet. I explained. She shouted. I defended. She pouted. Woods beneath us swelled and retreated. Drama came for Days to the little green house, rain pouring all around us.   Thundering mad, we ate in silence, skirting all shadows and obvious artifacts.   We finished several songs, between storms, but this one had us loggerhead red for four nights.

Until the morning- she stood crying at the side of my bed,  “Stupid girl!  To waste such Beauty on fumeroles!- fat and spouting toxic! When will you learn! I’m leaving” she declared.  I paniced. “No. We’re not finished.   You give me no robato! Please- Just give one clue about the One  I Should Be Writing For- I can’t see through this passion play!”   She sat up straight through crystal tears. “’Bout time you asked.”

“They will be 5 in 1.  And playing my ghost notes- the ones I made you write with invisible ink on papyrus sash.  And they will be smiling.  For you. My smile.  Because you will finally sing my secrets lighter than air.

30 poems in 30 days: NaPoWriMo

A classic red cruiser: the Schwinn Phantom. Th...
Image via Wikipedia

I just realized that this, being April, is National Poetry Month- and so the NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month challenge is ON! “Participants attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.”   i like how they say “attempt.”  How gentle.  😉   I’m going to do this one,  though I’m 4 days late.  I hope you don’t mind- I may throw in lyrics occasionally too- as I am supposed to be finishing 3 songs this week before recording next.   Ah  yes, recording… am finishing my CD this month too!  Taking this on will be a true challenge.   But I put it off year after year, and this time, I want to do it.

To catch up, I’ll first post a poem that I just edited/finalized- though I didn’t start it from scratch today.  I do promise to write and post 30 from scratch this month though!  This one harkens back to my days in Sacramento, riding my favorite cruiser, and being passed by a siren of a girl riding her cruiser too  😉

Grrl Cruising

Brunette beach is rolling in ~
no faster than a single speed
can crest, its smooth mint frame
and chrome shiny handle bars
grabbed wide for laying back
riding low and just before beyond,
behind everything that once


Phase un-phasing, cycle un-snaking
sinoidal.  Unflappable, she rides

~ oscillation onyx ~

hair waving, turning wide, leaning into
the red, the highlight, the backside of creshendo,
apex basking in slow motion glow.

She rides in pocket & groove
between bell & basket
assailing swells on panting pavement
the magnanimous magnolia
& its julep on a cruiser~

polka dots scream- jumping from her dress
to mine, this thirst, this rhythm
this hands-free life.