2022 NaPoWriMo – Day 15 (No Interest)

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is: Write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in.

I am not interested

in restraining, containing

or wasting,

what I feel in my heart.

I am not interested in skipping even the hard parts.

I am not interested

in ok enough,

skinny love,

giving in, giving up,

or getting by,

until I die.

I am not interested

in glasses half empty,

almost maybes,

or not taking the leap,

whatever it means.

I am not interested,

in counting down time,

coloring in the lines,

even if it means a mess.

I am not interested,

in living less,

or with regrets.

I am not interested

in lowering expectations,

or aspirations,

just for some satisfaction.

I am not interested

in minimizing,

waiting for better timing,

toning down,

or living less loud.

I am not interested,

in anything less than,

using up my life,

the best I can.

Your Soul Swirling

It all seemed possible then,

laying outside watching the stars, when,

the rest of the campus slept,

sharing our deepest secrets and scars–reworking them from impediments to impetuses–

teasing us out.

We were still so young, and we didn’t know as much as we thought,

but we had so many thoughts …

Thoughts about how the world should be,

and how we would be in it.

(You, a politician fighting the good fight, and I, writing your biography.)

We analyzed everything, from conversations with crushes to the constancy of change,

making sense of the little of life we knew.

We repeatedly played the song Gardens and Graves during our nightly charades,

so adeptly describing the urgency of our lives,

the eagerness to matter,

the restlessness of becoming.

How wild we thought it was,

to just be with the stars, and the music, in the middle of the night,

to experience such a life.

Life! Opening up right in front of us,

trying to live it because we could,

far removed from our contained childhoods.

One night, we detoured to a tattoo parlor,

just for the hell of it (to say we lived!).

You got a panther, of all things, on your ankle.

It excited us, to be more than who we seemed to be,

You, a tatted man, of all things!

The sheer thrill of it.

I think we got it wrong though, my dear friend,

we didn’t know then, what I see so clearly now:

You never had to be more than who you already were.

You were always amazing,

your life always rippling,

simply by existing.

I choose to suspend you here, in the shadows, looking up at the stars, your soul swirling.

Still possible. Still dreaming. Still alive.

Earthly Poem

Still working on this poem, but posting anyway!

This earth
your blood,
to give rise,
to new life.

For years
your tears,
to bring waves,
of change.

Your hands,
on this land,
deserving most,
the promise owed.

Your skin,
in the dust,
coating the very structures,
built to keep you contained.

But the steady heartbeat,
of your feet,
are battle cries,
that the Earth,
who has mothered your dead,
recognizes and liberalizes.








Sometimes I feel like I’m falling,

And there’s no saving me now.

Sometimes I feel like I’m crawling,

Trying to feel my way out.

Sometimes I feel like I’m standing still,

While everyone’s moving so fast.

Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning,

And the waves are about to crash.