the end. {napowrimo '11, # 30}

this year didn't flow like last year...

for one thing, the month went by much faster. i wasn't able to queue poems as readily. and the other work i'm doing right now forced quite a few stops and starts.

however--similar to last year--it was an interesting exercise in creativity. it got me journaling more and pushed me to be present with my emotions. sometimes they were my only source of material.

who knows if i'll do this in 2012. i can't say where i'll be, or what other obligations i'll have. but thank you for reading, congrats to all those who made it through another year, and i look forward to catching up with the stuff folks wrote that i didn't get to read during the month.

all praises to the word.

a thought {napowrimo '11, # 29}

endings don't get enough credit.

they are just as deep and wide
as beginnings
and lead to
just as many
interesting places.

spring {napowrimo '11, # 28}

the earth
offers her gifts,
sending visions
of fragrant,
growing
green things.

who am i
to refuse?

living deliciously {napowrimo '11, # 27}

i don't know if i can explain
the many ways
pleasure has saved me.

this is not a treatise
on hedonism
or naivete;

pleasure permeates
every bit of air
we breathe,
begging
for conscious inhalation.

it is inviting the sun
to play in your skin.

it is
loving children
flowers
and music.

the flavors
and scents
of food.

it is dancing
for no reason at all,
anywhere at all
...even while sitting still.

or
simply
smiling sweetly
at myself
(or a lover)
in the morning.

untitled {napowrimo '11, # 26}

inspiration's short,
but sleep is long. the struggle
continues. four days.

something sweet {napowrimo '11, # 25}

bathed
in lover's honey
waiting
for warm moments
to crash over me
like ocean waves.

mercury retrograde {napowrimo '11, # 24}

retrograde shatters
illusions; we make room for
new realities.

sista {napowrimo '11, # 23}

a tanka

mami wata hair,
knotty like tree roots. lagoon
eyes, black, reflect your
image, not color. she is
proof: beauty's diversity.

untitled {napowrimo '11, # 22}

i've been
one of those women
weeping in your arms
helpless against
your particular enchantment...

but in the end,
your ice
cooled my core.

you could
listen
lust after
but not love.

lost signal {napowrimo '11, # 21}

for twin flames & linked destinies

a lovesick morning
punctuated by
cool clouds
and
we're on that
universal telephone again
struggling to connect
across crossed stars...

i've grown tired of seeking reasons
for this lifetime's meeting;
what i need now
is a balm
for your absence.