NaPoWriMo: Last Day Part II

Last day, I know I’m not going to be able to concentrate on anything else till I’ve done this post and can put NaPo 2013 behind me. Like a meal at a restaurant you didn’t enjoy but paid money for. No I’m kidding. I always get a lot from doing NaPo, I feel my poetry becomes more versatile and interesting as a result, and I discover different forms, I get inspiration from other poets work. It’s enriching :D.

I’m using the NaPo prompts to finish, combining a poem about colour with a poem that uses words from another language.

My colour is yellow, my languages are: English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Japanese, Chinese, Patois, Lithuanian, Polish, Hungarian, Indian. I also got some dictionary words for yellow. All mixed up.


the jaundiced, yellowing world comes tumbling in

through the open door, like a book’s pages

creased and muttering of age, flutter in the hands

dry wings that thinly gelb and gel at the fingertips


we can get gelato icecream and play at being in Italy

giallo sorbet and pistachio and lavendar

but we are not in Italy we are in England where the sun

is weak and waves in the wind, a yellow flag at half mast


the ponderings of insects in Hyde Park, amarillo

scuttles on the ground like a handful of coins

that a person counts in a cup to buy a burger with

sticky, plastic yellow American cheese


the kind of amarelo that I found in a small cup

of melted plastic, I ate it with a pretzel going to see

the Statue of Liberty. I thought it was grossly zolty

enough salt and sugar to send me to the moon where I’d eat chalk


citrine and tasty, moon dust coating me like dough

pounding sarga horses throw up golden clouds

it is cheap stuff, sand, and spills through an hourglass

carelessly, gamboge and gallant eking out the day.


find me a geltonas giraffe who will speak of tallness

legs melting into shadows and a tongue whose length

can measure my body out like you measure a room

through your footsteps that pitter and patter, pila huge.


There’s a cactus somewhere wanting to yello

yala flowers peeking through the spikes, it mutters

to itself of rain, it sings the song by Everything but the Girl

tenderly under its breath, like the desert…


large and huangse it claims land and me

I panic and pace up the walls to the sky

kirro birds calling me forwards the kind of bright

that I could be jealous of, jaune bright, gorgeous.


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