Tuesday

Today is the perfect day for collecting stars.
Why is that, you ask? Because it’s a Tuesday.

A friend of mine, Ben
(he’s a little cracked),
he likes to collect them from the sky,
but that’s crazy dangerous.
I am sensible. I gather them
from the bottom of a well while
the moon is still asleep.

You can join us, if you only take
blue stars from the green glass lake.
However, if you crave thrill as well,
and don’t dare seek sunbeams during daytime,
then you may accompany Ben. But beware,
there’s a crack in the dashboard,
if you don’t fill it with mountain dew,
star-matter might leak in.

I am sensible. I never forget
droppers of dew when
I go exploring night skies.
Ben likes to catch stray star-matter
in a spittoon and let the crack
leak silvery dust over the floor.
But only today, which is a Tuesday.

We have no limits, for we have gone beyond the sky.
Our stars know when we have missed the moon,
and so we keep them closer by. Ben,
(who as I have said is a little crazy)
believes in releasing stars from his jars
after he has kept them only a night
back into new space so they don’t die.

I try to tell him, stars are only distant
cousins to the fireflies.
Fireflies are a little more literate, after all
jars of them have illuminated summer reading
books for generations, following along eagerly
till their lights fade, and return to the night,
scatter into stardust,  and land like
sleep sand in the dewy morning.

But not on Tuesday. On Tuesday, Ben and I
collect expired firefly light, since that is best
for luring stars into our eyes. We know
it’s crazy dangerous, but what have we to lose?
We have already lost our minds.

 

 

This was inspired by an adorable picture of Benny from the Lego movie walking along picking stars like flowers, with the caption, “On Tuesdays, Benny collects stars”. I can’t find the picture now to actually reference it, but if I do, I’ll put a link to the artist, whose art in general was awesome. For some reason, that picture just sort of struck me and i came up with this weird poem that’s still not quite right, but I’m posting it anyway because it’s Tuesday.

Poetry Slam

She’s found that she prefers the obligation.
A few days without lifting the lid,
and she’s already going blind again.
She tells herself not to give up,
but let the monsters out,
black and white like music.
Don’t silence the broken notes,
she’ll put them together,
make them make sense.
Shout out to the void and listen
here comes the echo,
understanding and connection.
Fellows of the forms reach out.
One voice across the chasm,
two hands to bridge the gap,
a hundred hearts swept up by the rhythm.
She opens her eyes again.

 

I love poetry slams. I couldn’t get up on a stage to save my life, but watching other people perform poetry is always inspiring. This weekend I went to a festival with music and art and dancing, and I spent Saturday afternoon listening to and writing poetry.

Last – Day 30

Fresh spring waters bubble up,
leap from the earth, swirl and boil
down to rivers raging and deep calm lakes.
These are waters I have explored before,
yet new curiosities lurk beneath murky depths,
catch at my ankles, nibble my toes.
I discover them nervously, tentative.
It’s dark inside, deep and wild
like a strong current beneath the
Rock, and though my descent is gradual,
watch for my bubbles to rise. I drown
eyes open, hands reaching, I am not
merely sleeping. But don’t save me, oh no.

This is just the beginning. The moment
when my lungs are bursting, I will gasp
water through new gills, my feet fusing into
finned flanges, my hands into paddles.
And I am a maiden of the waves, I swim
effortlessly, though there stalk challenges from the
dark, I am slipperier than a fish. I dart and
flash, leap with west winds, dance with wavering
moonlight, here I am, don’t fish in my pond, I’ll
tug you in with me, and play with you till you
drown in my depths, beware, I am malicious,
I am the lurking curiosity, the lounging
muse upon a sun-warmed stone, who would
kiss you as soon as kill you. Tempt me with
a story song, and I might recite for you.
But be warned, I am fickle, flighty as a wind-tossed
wave. So fare thee well and do not splash
lightly the waters warm, lest a maiden’s alluring
melody snare you, and drag you under. 

 

 

I have no intention to stop after this month is finished. I won’t post every day, but whenever the inspiration strikes. I may also branch out to posting other things like recipes or short stories. I’m not generally an active blogger except in April, but that could change. Anyway, this month has been fun, reading all the wonderful poetry and finding interesting blogs and people. Can’t wait for next year’s International poetry month!