National Poetry Writing Month 2024: Poems By Willow Williams

Hey there all you Beautiful Disaster Lit lovelies!

Thought I'd do something a little different for this post. I've written a lot of heavy stuff recently. And unfortunately, I sense more dark matter on the horizon as I work through some recent happenings and unresolved issues. You know the issues I'm talking about. The ones that you thought were dealt with, but the universe peels off yet another layer for you to dissect, ingest for a period, making you sick to your stomach, all so you can vomit it out of your system yet again. Yeah, really looking forward to it...

So I thought I'd post some of my poems I've written for NaPoWriMo 2024. You are probably wondering, "What the hell is NaPoWriMo, Willow?" NaPoWriMo is short for National Poetry Writing month, a yearly poetry writing challenge I've participated in for several years. Here's the "About" section of their website https://www.napowrimo.net/:

NaPoWriMo, or National Poetry Writing Month, is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.

This website is owned and operated by Maureen Thorson, a poet living in Washington, DC. Inspired by NaNoWriMo, (or National Novel Writing Month), she started writing a poem a day for the month of April back in 2003, posting the poems on her blog. When other people started writing poems for April, and posting them on their own blogs, Maureen linked to them. After a few years, so many people were doing NaPoWriMo that Maureen decided to launch an independent website for the project.

This site was designed by the very nice people at 2the9design, who know waaaaayyyyy more about back-end coding stuff than Maureen does. But this site isn’t meant to be “official,” or to indicate ownership or authority over the idea of writing 30 poems in April. There is no corporate sponsorship of this project. No money is intended to change hands anywhere. Maureen just likes poems and wants to encourage people to write them. The site doesn’t ask for your email address, or any other personal information. Heck, you don’t even have to give your name.

My kind of place!

I never complete a poem each day, but I try to be creative every day, and in April, a bright and shiny new writing prompt is readily available. I love it immensely. I hope you enjoy!

~

my ocean

inside me is an ocean

locked tight in a cage

a sliver of light from a tiny barred window

my only view

my ocean is fidgety

it teems with words and phrases like sharks stalking a kill

I am populated with the wisest of cedar kelp,

long and mighty, rooted down to my guts

in my ocean ideas are schools of fish darting one way

then the other, synchronizing

my ocean swims with jellyfish squishy with hugs

but capable of a stinging sword of death if needed

how much time will pass before my cage breaks

and my ocean bursts out of my mouth, my eyes

a mighty roar of wild, fluted waves

that crashes me onto the shore

alone, naked

panting, covered in sand

laughing

weeping

breathing

~

alone in my head

where snails become flowers

and mice become men

where birds become airplanes

and snakes become friends

is where I will go

when the world seems to end

it is here I am safe

alone in my head

where trees are quite chatty

and so are the ants

where streams teem with tea

that's gulped by the plants

where words grow on stems

in little neat rows

where I gather and sort them

so more of them grow

where naps are encouraged

and lovemaking too

where money is kindling

for the fireplace flue

where clouds are potato chips

and I'm surrounded by heat

where my tears are sweet blessings

not a salty retreat

this is where I go

when the world seems to end

it is here I am safe

alone in my head

~

keep refrigerated until ready to use

in the days after I left

there was a lot to eat

to digest

there were the sweet candies of emancipation

and plates of refried beans and woman grit

I had salads upon salads of good intentions

followed by hollow, pukey junk food

piles of moldy, fermented mushroom mistakes

bowls and bowls of liver and onion pain

it was a smorgasbord of sentiments

expiration date: never

taking all this in at once gave me a sour stomach

and then I remembered what I told my kids

"you can only eat one alligator at a time"

they'd "eww" and roll their eyes

but it's gospel

you can only eat one alligator at a time

fight one battle, one demon at a time

and when you're finished

you eat the next alligator

so I ate my smorgasbord of sentiments

slowly

one dish at a time

chewing each bite thoroughly

no matter the gruesome taste in my mouth

or how angrily I wanted to vomit it back up

or starve to death

and now

after all those heavy main courses

I'm ready for a light dessert

~

unthinkable

onions in ice cream

garlic in tea

leeks in cereal

these things should not be!

shallots in cookies

scallions in pop

chives in chocolate

these things need to stop!

get me a baked potato already!

~

friction writing

writing words in pencil

not to be erased

replaced

but to feel the lead

scratch

scratch

scratch

against the paper

melding lead and wood

paper rasps in response

a bashful lover's whisper

murmur

receives the leaded words

yes

yes

yes

from the pencil

birthing more than words

~

how to

my smoky rib for the giving

I slid too quickly

convince my jumpy heart

not to be bitter

to glitter

how to

handle your bright eyes and stony lips

your thoughtful vibrations

our bumpy road violations

the eternal fights

to play, to stay

to make a way

I've bottled my loud, my proud

for too long now

to not eat the cake

~

a trio of friends

petals that cascade

overflow like a swollen river

shades of midnight

of shadows and royalty

and argyle socks

twinkly stars centered

so

precisely

deep green leaves

line the riverbank

sentinels support and guard

wave hello

and goodbye

simultaneously

in the breeze

from the window

a terra cotta ecosystem

keeps everything contained

safe and warm

securing the core

from invasion

the trio of friends bumps

awkwardly against the sliding glass door

as they try to leave

~

my body, my weapon

my body, my weapon

gets all the attention

bury me in a shallow grave

my mind, spirit, soul

has taken the toll

is it too late to be deeply saved?

~

adjust

adjust the thermostat to a habitable temperature

adjust the faucet so it stops drip, drip, dripping wet thought drops

adjust Lily so he doesn't get burned, so he can bloom

adjust these rose-colored glasses to see through dark

adjust wandering feet back to basecamp

adjust my shirt to cover my body, for now, not for keeps

(god I pray not for keeps)

adjust the clock to correct timing

adjust the crooked, star-crossed path

adjust the world to common sense

adjust the thermostat to a habitable temperature

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