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.
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.
Red is the way I once loved you (Day twenty eight) (www.postcardsfromtheattic.wordpress.com)
29th April (www.cathysnapowrimo2013.blogspot.co.uk)
Language of Play (www.sarahldixon.blogspot.co.uk)
Blue Monday by Diane Wakoski (www.poetryfoundation.org)