April 2020 – jottings and memos

NaPoWriMo- Day 5

Okay, so here is when I technically began to fall off the wagon. I wrote this on day six, because I was busy on the 5th, and today it’s the eighth, and I haven’t written since then, so errghhh (how articulate). I’m blaming this on my college assignment due tomorrow, because I’ve been procrastinating on it and trying to screw up the courage to do it, and I’ve conveniently convinced myself that if i write poetry, it’ll lull me into a false sense of productivity, so I’ve banned writing till I get my shit together. I’m hoping for a poem to be written tomorrow (I highly doubt it, because you know how deadlines are), but till then, here is this one for your enjoyment.

I’m going to call this one Amby, for obvious reasons. This poem is my baby, my child, and I’m honestly really proud I wrote this. I’m a beginner poet by the way, I’ve written very, very few poems in the past, so there’s not much that I can look back on to be proud of. I do know, however, that this poem wouldn’t have reached this level if it wasn’t for the lovely, absolutely amazing, day 5 prompt, which you can find on napowrimo.net, along with all the other official prompts. The prompt was called 20 Poetry Projects, I think, and it was a list of various things I was supposed to add to my poem that really spiced it up.

Enough rambling, now, enjoy Amby:

If you’re thinking of life in terms of a rat race,

with a finish line, or whatever,

then let’s say people are assigned vehicles upon birth

to get there.

so in that case,

donald trump’s got a fancy, made-over unicycle

with streamers blowing out the sides, gilded,

mirrors all over to deceive the eye

of its size,

but it’s still a unicycle, all the same,

because he hasn’t got the sense to upgrade,

and because a single wheel doesn’t give much insurance,

he’s beginning to lose his balance.

you’d find me, on the other hand,

in a paavam* Ambassador,

sturdy and reliable–

but only at a slow pace.

because pushing me can lead to grating complaints,

bitter-tasting anxieties at pit-stops,

gritty worries in the oil gauge.

I say this because

eventually is my middle name

when I lose a hair tie, or my keys,

it’s eventually that I rely on,

and two days later, there it is,

under the temperamental lampshade in 133.

eventually, she’s her own person,

she lets her ideas steep and brew in her head,

tea-stained puffs of aroma finally

spilling out over pages and pages.

eventually isn’t sustainable in the rat race, however,

because

ay, dios mio,

another deadline missed,

another paper due,

eventually smells houses burning

but eventually

does not

extinguish,

and, in 2014, the Ambassador was manufactured no more.

but now, when the world is at a halt,

with Ferraris idling in garages,

nursing worries of maintenance, obsolescence

and with unicycles struggling to stay in place,

— as balance requires momentum–

I sit in my Ambassador,

quiet and content,

because there is nothing this car knows better

than to wait out the years

and come through.

for it may be true what they say,

about slow and steady

winning the race.

* paavam- a malayalam word meaning poor, in this context, used as how poor would be used in the phrase ” oh you poor dear”

NaPoWriMo- Day 4

Poetry

So this was unprompted too. No idea why, didn’t feel like being restrained that day, I guess. It’s fine, because, again, the point of this challenge is to just write, not to produce a masterpiece (though I definitely have created my best work in the next post, because I’d never write otherwise), or follow the prompts exactly. Anyway, here goes:

I can’t like something for long enough

can never see it through

i think,

my preferences are like bread

when fresh and new, simply fantastic,

deliciously mind-consuming,

finger-licking.

but soon enough it

tastes boring, dull,

makes my mind feel like cardboard

and I leave it aside,

untended

and of course,

nature takes her course.

Soon enough, the bread’s stale-

the guitar is unplucked, books half read, scarf unfinished (child sized)

-and grows fungi

the strings get rusty

vocabulary drops to sub-standard,

yarn stringy, loosened, unspooled.

That’s when I notice the bread on the countertop,

guilty I hadn’t put it away

or eaten it in time,

that now,

because of

me,

it had turned the colour of my table

smelled putrid, like neglect

of someone who could never do a thing right,

a jack of all trades,

a disappointment,

a woman (un)done.

NaPoWriMo- Day 3

Poetry

Not at all related to the prompt, but it was something I wrote in a couple of minutes, so here it is:

raindrops whirring,
tapping on your head rhythmically,
cyclical.
your favourite song in the background
your heart mirroring its beats—
I'm sorry, was I misleading?
A shower can be as romantic as an evening in the rain, you know?

NaPoWriMo Day 2

Poetry

None of my poems really have titles, also I tend to veer off a lot from the original prompt. The prompt is there just to get you writing, because the challenge is about getting you to write, not what to write.

Anyway, this one’s inspired by James Schuyler’s The Fireproof Floors of Witley Court. Don’t ask me how.

I find it interesting how people twist reality to sound
positive.
You'd call it a slender storybook
I'd call it a children's tale
and shame them for reading it.

You'd say hard worker 
I say not talented enough
and shame them for their efforts.

You say fat is not an insult
I say you're deluding yourself 
and shame them for their appearance.

You ask them for their preferred pronouns
I say there are only two genders 
And shame them for their existence.

You say there's always other options
I say you don't deserve it 
and shame them for their aspirations.

You say it's okay to be emotional
I say wallowing gets you nowhere
and shame them for their emotions.

You empathise
I call it selfish 
and shame those in early graves.

You say obstinate 
I say strong-minded
And shame myself for believing it.

NaPoWriMo is here and believe it or not, I’m doing it

Poetry

Yes, I know, it’s been days since the challenge has started and only now does it occur to me that I have a blog, meant for writing challenges — but I swear, I have been doing them. So here’s day one of NaPoWriMo, horrendously shitty, but here it is:

Prompt: as brunette as crunch (??)

The sky is warm and bloodlike
We spent the whole day at the beach
today
and it felt warm and mellow

We had a picnic in the sands,
and afterwards,
I stroked her hair gently,
as she lay in my lap
the brown mixing with the blonde,
sand as brunette as crunchy toast,
hair as vibrant as liquid gold.

The sky is hot today, it's peppered with scars
Like vericose veins on a smurf
It rained a lot, and we sat in the patio
I took my blue pills, my green tea,
She held my hands, as I squinted up at
the hot, rainy sky.

The sky is bloody today again
The day feels like a war
I have fuzzy visions —
a phone dialling, a stretcher racing,
red contrasting with blue, blue, blue and
now that
I come to think of it,
I'm pretty sure I've never seen toast-like sand
I think hard, pushing the fog in my brain ,
going back to another day with a bloodlike sky,
and glimpse a flash of grainy gold

And when I open my eyes, look up,
She's there.
Hair as brunette as crunchy toast,
eyes wide.
Don't worry, I say
but the edges are getting fuzzy.

Kindly do not judge my poetry writing skills by this… monstrosity, because this is probably the worst one I’ve ever written. I had a concept, but didn’t execute it properly, but that’s okay because I got better as the days passed. I’m posting this one only because it’s the first one, and practically no one knows about this blog, so what’s there to lose?

Anyway, happy writing! Check out napowrimo.net for the prompts, and if those don’t tickle your fancy, there’s always other poetry accounts and resources on instagram that are doing their own!