Haven't had the time to read anymore these past few days, hopefully I can read a few more books of poetry before the month is over.
I enjoyed the prompt #13 over at NaPoWriMo and decided I'd partake in that challenge.
The prompt went something like this: In keeping with the mysterious quality of the number 13, today I challenge you to write a riddle poem. This poem should describe something without ever naming it. Perhaps each line could be a different metaphor for the same object? Maybe the title of the poem can be the “answer” to the riddle.
And here is my poem:
I’m a red, bulbous thing
In an all-white room
And everyone is staring,
The cough that catches
In the base of your throat
Like green bile, and you strangle.
I am banquet-full of the
Finest food, but no one’s hungry,
And sometimes I’m as insensitive
As a slap to the thin skin of your ego,
The kind of thing that hurts
Although that was never the incentive.
You walk circles around me,
Sometimes for years and I grow,
A circus-thing to marvel,
So large you can no longer swallow,
A neck-lump that won’t go away.
Until finally one night, after too
Much wine and a letter that
Won’t send itself, I drop the heavy
Sack of all your unspoken
Words like land-bombs,
Sneaky things you step across,And then the world goes pop.