60 life rafts

i tried to write a poem
that rhymes and spans
the monkey bars of complex
construction, times itself
by perils of scansion, but i failed.

as not so long ago, i flew off
the pull up bars
and found myself awake,
270 degrees away, facing
up from the ground to
the bold shout of bluesky,
body longly splatted
in rough sand. i'd fallen off
the structure that was meant for play
-- how it nearly killed me.

i know words can kill
me by how they've saved me.
even in this brief time together,
by the warming flames of
comradely diction,
storm-tousled metaphor,
and by how the hummingbirds
that hold our words
keep flying:
your poems are preservers.
you are weaving, pens as needles,
a durable raft
of creation
with every stanza committed
to the possible.

it might seem that since the poems
are online, that they waft in a virtual wind
that dematerializes the heft of them,
but don't be confused.
i have grabbed onto them at 3am
as have you. we have floated
safely on these words.
i have exercised my emotions
of surprise, gratitude,
revulsion, appreciation, anger
as these have brightly colored the durable
fabric of these poems.
i have been reminded how to be alive,
how to breathe, how to stand
at portalways of possibility
and walk courageously, traveling
into new senses with now-old
friends. whether lit by
light brights, baking sun,
or hidden in trees, whether walking
as faery folk, via birth canals, or by eating lemons,
we arrive.

birthing these 60 life rafts,
we craft a flotilla of peace,
a haven for all the people
whom poetry has saved.
praise be.

Friend

You were clear. I had never met someone,
adult or peer, who meshed with her living
so purely. I called myself Banana-
Man, and you accepted. That’s why playing
with you was so fun. You dressed as a crone—
and became one. All our make-believing
was simply making. No hesitation.
We blurted without fear of mistaking.

Once we even tried to play serious.
It was a blast before we went brittle,
left the highway and broke just a little.
One of us raged, the other outrageous.
We passed one stormy night. But we are us,
so it’s no surprise we came full circle.

Mermaid's Lament

Not so very long ago
our songs would intoxicate
even the most resistant sailors,
lure them to the deck rails
where we would seduce them with
our kelp-filled gazes,
our luscious metaphorical breasts,
persuade them to abandon all,
to leap into our outstretched arms
and endure forever the icy waters
for the thrill of our embrace.
But now the great ships pass us by
and hardly one sailor in a thousand
will stand at the rail to gaze,
and those who do take photographs
seeing only seal skin, whiskers and blubber,
and call our songs 'barks'. 

This Week's Prompt: Imunuri Round 1 Riff Harvest

Congratulations, we've crafted, provoked, and birthed over 60 poems!

As we bring the first Round of rousing writing with Imunurians to a close, plucked up in Autumnal Equinox 2010 and finding closure as Early Spring '11 next week greets us sweetly, here is an invitation for the final of writing in Imunuri Round 1 to be a praise-song or riff and inspiration. Write a poem sparked by a line that someone wrote this season. Or name some favorite lines. Or put favorite lines together in a new poem. Here's some picks to spark you, or dive in and pick your own:

"Sometimes I cough up a ziggurat built by germs,
a fever of tribes who all try to breathe and burn."
From Daniel's Poem "Lung Ghazal"

"Singularity becomes disentangled
and simultaneously also conjoined."
From Janice's Poem "Simultaneity Disambiguation"

"Bow to the stone people. There is a seat waiting for you. Take it./
Put the Spanish moss on top of your head. Not a peep from you."
From Cicada's Post

"check your blade for sharp up against the sun
any dull bit, too wide to splice light,
will glint and sparkle and needs attending."
From Pandora's Poem "A Sharp Remembering"

"This is not an island
of sirens, witches, giants, storms./
This is a place,
alone, to wait."
From TK's "One Stop from Warsaw"

"stir me, furnace of stars, see through my dense and transparent center.
generate something that shines in the night of me
opalescent, generative, possible."
From Scooter's "Coreshine"

"Walk across town barefoot
in search of the burning bush.
Gargle with baking soda,
brush your cat's teeth.
Wait for a moment when your heart is quiet,
then grab a pen and paper
and quickly scrawl"
From Ed's "How to Write a Poem"

An alternate prompt would be to write about this Imunuri experience. How you changed or grew or something you learned or realized. A new direction or insight. Let's raise our praise songs for this fabulous adventure!

Keywords: poem, riff

(thank you, door)