In what universe have I been living? It’s only about three days ago I realized it’s April and therefore NaPoWriMo. What a loser.
30 poems written; 11 poems either published or accepted for publication; 15 poems still actively making the rounds.
Fairy Tale News Alert by BrianIsSmilingAtYou.
Heh. That’s too cute.
Where’s the party?
Everyone: Please apprehend me and sternly demand my papers and rigorously question my sanity in the completely unlikely event that I should, next year, announce I intend to participate in NaPo again.
When a Ship passes in the Night it Steals your Name by Barbara Jean. OK, not too sure what’s going on in this one yet, but what sonics, what images! Creepy in a great way, or what.
Today we are buying time by Matt Merritt. This is a thread rife with gems that bear much re-reading. Great job, Matt!
Zen by Donner. I can so relate to this one…
Something Watches by Rik Roots – whimsical in concept, very nicely executed. There’s many a piece worth highlighting in Rik’s thread – have a look!
Heh. Couldn’t resist. As I’m sure David couldn’t either.
This is the last NaPo Thread of the Day, folks. As the threads get longer and my brain gets mushier, I fear I am losing the ability to make any critical sense at all. After today, in an effort to conserve fast-dwindling brain cell reserves, it will just be NaPo Poem of the Day.
Going out with a bang here, though, and would like to highlight three threads today. Although they have very distinctive voices and styles, I group them together in my mind just because they all joined PFFA within a few months of each other late last year, and I can remember when all of them were PFFA newbies (ha!). It’s been very cool seeing them go from strength to strength over the months, and I think they all got together and ate some magic thing before NaPo started, since all of them have gone from strengther to strengther in NaPo. Lots of keeper material and can’t wait to see what they workshop post NaPo – they’ll be busy for sure!
HarryR’s thread. A lot of clever stuff here and, when it’s being something else, a translucent delicacy in an into my heart an air that kills sort of way. A light disturbing touch, very nice to fall under. Favorites so far: Nightlife, Blackbird triolet and this delicate piece about birds in ancient art and otherwise. Go, Harry!
I hope it’s OK if I announce I am sick of NaPo. It’s making me barf. I have nothing more to say about anything on this planet or off it, in poetry or prose, with punctuation or without it. The next poem I write should by rights be that green hospital electronic flat-line noise which starts just before the film credits start rolling except I have no more brain cells left with which to figure out how to make that a poem or even a facsimile thereof.
EParsons thread. Stay me with flagons! Someone’s been over-dosing on metrical magic potion. These pieces move you from one luminous set of details to another set so seamlessly you hardly realize the poem is actually telling a story or making a point until you do, for a cool double wow. Description as narration, or what. One favorite is The Fence, which has this bit in it:
But old fences fall
that stood crookedly for years, or leant
against a post fixed in crumbling concrete
for support, yawned through winters, wore
green velvet and a mist of spores
on the soft-biscuit panels, which the snails
had chalked with the diagrams of decay;
Barbara Jean’s thread. A rich thread, in the particular and in the general. Savvy controlled writing and a cool variety of context, all doing just what poems are meant to do, which is make things and experiences new. The thread is crammed with great pieces and needs more careful re-visting post-NaPo. Favorites at the moment are That Moment, Cartographer’s Instructions and Now We Sleep in Double Beds.
Go, Barbara Jean!
Cheating today because it’s not a thread, nor is it from someone whose work has been unknown to me.
So sue me.
It’s a NaPo series by Scavella, which she’s calling The Ceremonial Building of a Waga. Talk about archetypal and resonant. Talk about cool litany and very very cool ritual. It’s like cave paintings. It’s petroglyph poetry, that’s what it is. Go read it.
On the moon I dig holes with a pelvis,
throw in femurs and skulls and ribcages,
then read words from the Songs of Solomon.
And The Gardener. Go, Thorny!