I know I have gotten slow in posting these prompts – but life has been happening – either too slow or too fast. And I seem to be on a slow boat to nowhere. Just not quite able to slow that Entropy Express. – Just keep reminding myself I am a Rebel Princess; courage and audacity run through my veins!
Monday’s prompt was “Wisconsin” – a prompt honoring a favorite February baby from there!
Today’s prompt is “a can of spray paint” – probably because being the week of the Final Friday Art Walk, I knew my thoughts would be art-related.
So whether it is a poem about painting, refinishing furniture or graffiti – write it!
And How about I grab a past poem about graffiti to get the juices flowing. Caution – there is a little profanity in this one. However, I only include profanity in a poem when it is absolutely essential to the poem’s message.
This one is from 2010’s November Poem-A-Day challenge.
today i want to write on the bathroom stall;
it’s an overwhelming urge. i want to
write your letters in big balloony alphabets
as if i were still in high school, and you
were my latest crush – with big
i “heart” you. I want to write
“for a good time, don’t call”
in sharp “fuck you” letters, as if i’m tattooing
the metal. my hand wants to feel
the movement of your name
as if that will translate
to the feel of your flesh as if writing
it down, repeating it will spell you to me,
spell your love. it is strong
this temptation –
to mark the virgin paint with your mark –
fingers wrapped around the pencil, my arm
starts reaching for the wall, stopping
right before exposed graphite makes contact
then I pull back. what will people say,
what will they think –
to come here and be exposed
to your name
to my unspoken passion?
how will I defend the forbidden act?
i pull back, rest the graphite instead on my exposed flesh,
draw the undisguised T, draw
your name instead on my flesh, again –
my flesh already hungry for your name; my body vibrating to it
as if it’s some mystic tone calibrated, opening
a spillway of cosmos – and perhaps for my heart it is –
a gravity well that captured my will. my elbow
yearns to pull your name,
pull it and swirl it on the flat cold metal, as if
hips in a primal thrust,
urge to merge as translated in graphite – in your name –
the act of drawing your name.
the drawing and twirling of the O,
the swirling and twining of the M,
the urging of my arm to acknowledge,
to plead your name. but I pull back
tuck that nagging elbow into my side,
let the pencil tip dig into my flesh in sharp “fuck you” letters
You know, you can leave comments … I would like this to be a two-way conversation.:)