Home Coming

I see her standing at the sink, wrist deep in suds and the look on her face in the window is sunk in the filmy water, as much as her hands.

My arms rest in the comfortable niches at her sides as I sneak in behind her. I heave a sigh, nestling my nose into the space behind her left ear.

I feel rather than hear the smile in the play of muscles in her neck.

“Your nose is cold,” she says, and I press my returning smile into her skin.

“Yes, it is. Do you mind?”

She smells like her fresh, musky sweat and the sweetness of the soap. I kiss her neck, and pull her closer-

She shakes her head, whispers- “Never.”

 

Danielle K Day

Well, that’s it! Day 30 of 30 days! NaPoWriMo has been an amazing ride, all the way from day one. I’ve found myself waking up in the middle of the night, muttering lyrical words to myself, piecing together images from dream shards, and accidentally rhyming in random phrases in conversations with my friends and coworkers. I definitely think NaPoWriMo is worth it! I can’t wait to do it again next April!

Today’s addition is really a question mark- is it prose or poetry? I wanted to end on this fine line between the two, because I wanted to show how much both are informed by each other. NaPoWriMo has developed my writing so much, and I can’t help but want to share that improvement with you all. I wanted to evoke a feeling today- show rather than tell- and to bring to life the simple desire of coming home. It is an end, a relaxation of tension, and is oddly fitting for this, the last day of a massive project!

I also want to say welcome to all my new blog followers!! I didn’t start NaPoWriMo with the idea that this might happen, so your presence is an amazing, welcome and beautiful surprise. You’ve also allowed me to connect with a huge array of writings, and I am enjoying getting to know your blogs as well.

I hope you’ve all enjoyed the ride!

Now, since tomorrow is the first day of a new month… What project should I embark on next?!

Much love, my friends- Danni ^_^

Intersection

One day, when I get to say ‘I do’ to a girl that stole my heart and agrees to become a part of my life forever, I’ll have to get married on a foreign shore to prove I adore her.

It’s a sad day, when I have to find a way to beg for the right to marry my own wife from men that might agree – provided the straight, white population believe in a democracy where equality is free, and not at the expense of a few more votes on the right side of the political fence.

It makes me tense, because yesterday a young gay man assured me that we’ve won the fight for equality.

Well, fuck you- I don’t feel equal.

Maybe when you fit the mould that was cast by the bold when rolling the dice for the kyriarchy, you can claim that you are free.

But check yourself, your privilege is showing.

I don’t want to be the one sowing all this discord. It’s not because I’m bored, or trying to hoard the luxuries to myself. It’s because I want all people of colour, all my SGD sisters and brothers, the differently abled, the kink enabled- all minorities to be part of one, vast majority.

Intersectional feminism is my vision. I want there to be a frisson cracking fine lines in the armour of the powerful few. Tell me, if it were you, wouldn’t you want equality too?

I want my daughter to grow up knowing that she can top her class, and that’s okay. It’s better than okay, that one day she’ll get equal pay. I want her to expect the right to say yes or no without having to second guess if she’s ‘frigid’ or a ‘hoe’. I want my daughter to grow up not knowing the word ‘virginity’, because it’s a lie that the world believes. A rigidity in your hymen is not a factor that determines your worth. We weren’t put on this earth to be judged wanting by the junk we have at birth.

And the statistics show that 75 percent of you stand with me- well to stand with me, stand with me. It’s easy to be that young man- you agree to agree but don’t take a stand. And I understand that the talk comes cheap, and if nothing we’re a generation who don’t like it steep, but we’ll never reap the benefits of life lived well if we’re waiting on our couch for the marching bell that says ‘this is the last time, let’s send ‘em to hell’. We need to rise on the tide of our cries, until our protest poetry flies out ahead, and we’re being led by the indestructible momentum of our conviction.

When they lift the restriction on my wedding vows, I will marry her under the boughs of my own backyard. And, sure, the journey will be hard. But isn’t it worth it, for a life unguarded against hate crimes? For the sublime light at the end of the climb towards freedom?

I’m dreaming of the look in her eyes, I’m dreaming of better lives.

Let’s rise.

Danielle K Day

I am so fucking pumped for how this poem went down. I’m going to poetry slam the hell out of this one. I’ve been writing it in my head for going on 36 hours, and you can so tell.

My friend Yen and I are going to record it as a spoken word poem, because it really is meant to be read out loud. Stay tuned for that!

I hope you all like!

– Danni

Eco-Movement

Do you remember when we were kids,
And the piles on the tiles by the shopfronts weren’t leaves,
With people discarding cigarette butts in the street.
We’ve come so far, at least,
But still I wonder what can be done.
It’s all downhill, when you’re battling the sun
That seeps in through a veil of unbecoming oil-slick waste
In the atmosphere.
I fear that we don’t know how to stop,
That we’re delaying inevitable entropy
By trying to save the life of one tree,
When a forest overseas is going to be
The paper I used to write this, in about five minutes.
There’s no way to win it,
We’re killing the planet while we’re still in it,
We can’t stop.
We can mouth words that sound real,
But we can’t appeal to the masses.
Self-indulgence is the weapon of choice,
And we can’t hear the earth for lack of a voice.

The food we shovel is getting us in trouble,
From land that’s dying to a plate for frying,
I can hear my heart crying.
I’m standing in the centre of a body that’s lying to me.
We’ve forgotten what it feels like to really feel healthy.
And this is the tail end of a life spent
Ignoring advice from well-meaning parents,
Who just sound condescending and frustrated and mean
When telling you stop reading, go and be lean.
Well I’m trying.

It’s hard to fix this mixed up situation,
We’ve got an infatuation with blaming
People of a higher station,
But the nation needs to get down off its pedestal,
See that this is real,
Your next meal could be stealing the years
We have left.

We’ve seen the work we can do at our best.
This city is littered with leaves
Rather than the cause of cancers in our chest.
It’s a mess, that we can clean up.
We don’t need that trash,
Let’s give it up.

 

Danielle K Day

Closure

Once upon a rhyme,
Back in time,
I felt her
In my heart strings she lingers,
Her fingers pluck,
I come unstuck.
And I miss her
And I wish her the best.
I guess at the time
I failed to test
The waters of
Her borders
Before I dove right in-
Too late to wish I could swim.
I could dine, sublime,
If she were the dish.
But the plate is mine,
Too cold to be fine
And I guess there’s plenty more fish.
Out here in the dust
Of her dusk
I am busted up,
Alone, and waiting.
And the wait has a weighting
That makes me think,
I better get dating.
If I want my mate,
I’d better get mating.
And I’m salivating,
Because the smell of her,
Has me hating myself.

It’s all just chemistry,
I promise you,
It’s a tendency to feel
Like this was destiny-
It’s gotten the best of me-
But I’m packing it in.
Because the lies I told
My own brain,
Strain the bounds of
What’s sane.
It’s an echo of an echo of a refrain,
Spoken too long ago
To be spoken again.
I’m unchaining myself from it,
I’m freeing myself from the bit,
I’m letting go.
And I know that I let go so slow
That it seemed like I should have done this
An age ago.

And, hey,
I don’t miss her,
But I wish her the best,
Now that my heart can rest.

Danielle K Day

Now that we’re heading toward Day 30, I’m starting to strain for topics! Is anyone else out there feeling like their muse has forsaken them? My fiery little muse is usually dancing in my brain, spinning about like a fairy and generally getting me all inspired. At the moment she feels like she’s hiding in one of the back corners of my mind, chrled up and whimpering. Every time I approach for inspiration she seems to throw some regurgitated sparks in the air, curls up smaller and holds her breath so I can’t find her. I’m going to need a break to recharge her batteries after NaPoWriMo, I think.

This little poem is half about letting go of exes, and half letting go of something as seductive as a muse. We can’t rely on our muses forever! If I want to move towards a viable novel, I need to work around writer’s block! 😉

Happy Day 27 everyone! – Danni

Lady of the Lake

The lake’s words are drowned vowels,
Ground from the bushes and brushes that line her bank.
I am still, a rock amongst the winds,
Craning to hear the words the water mouths.
A cushion of moss and mould rounds her voice,
Rolling around the mouth of the lake.
I wait, bound to the spell of the water,
Looking out beyond the headland,
Pen poised at my book.
All the nooks and crannies around fill with
The pipe and trill of little creatures,
And the leaves sigh and whisper in the eaves.
I urge them all to shush,
And lean into the wet, wild slope of mud and moulding weed,
Eager for secrets only the burly brown water could sound.

Danielle K Day

I went on a crazy long walk today with my puppies, around the lake in my hometown. I noticed a fantastic rounded sound, followed by a nice slapping suck, that almost felt like words coming up out of the weed and brush. the first time, I thought it might have been a creature, but after a few minutes it became clear that the water was just tricking me. Anyway, it had a special amount of assonance to it, so I wrote this little poem to capture that sense of poised wonder at it. 🙂

– Danni

Tether

I have found an addition,
A taught wire of frisson,
Vibrating out, away from my spine,
It is mine, no doubt,
But a surprise.
I woke up with it,
Stirred awake slowly
And found it in my palm,
A confused bundle of emotions,
Tethering me and turning me,
A seeking weathervane.
The strange thing felt organic,
A natural addition, like a finger or a toe,
Sprouting as a vine in the night.
I cannot recall what magic seeds
Were planted to grow this.
I cannot recall where it leads,
Or what riches might await me in its path.
I am at ease with it, though,
And feel the tugs with curiousity,
To see who might be following it home.

Danielle K Day

Do you ever find yourself in the middle of a group, but utterly lonely? For some reason, you feel like the person you actually want to talk to is missing- a part of you is disconnected while your mind seeks out the gap, feeling at it like a lost tooth. Nothing is sitting quite right. The whole event is pale, uninspiring, confused.

Ritual Femme

To prepare,
Carve from the tired girl a shiny new replica,
Apply thick, the layers of grease and paint,
To define her eyes and lips,
And shape her cheekbones,
Fill in the lines left behind by untended eyebrows,
Sand away the grooves of wrinkles, crow’s feet, frowns
And the odd smile,
Make her smooth.
Tug at the hair, brush and pile and pin,
And situate the fall exactly so.
Dress her as you would-
Too slutty? Not enough? Add a necklace, mess her up.
Once complete, vacuum seal yourself inside
Walk around, try her out,
We brave, be bubbly,
Dredge up the energy left and spin.
My femme is built on rituals,
Stolen time to fill with intricate steps.
Take a tired girl and make new.
Take a tired girl, apply makeup,

Make her you.

 

Danielle K Day

This week was very long, and then a party demanded my attention. I’m not very good at parties, especially after the first week back at work after a holiday. Today’s poem demonstrates a little bit of resentment, I fear.

I actually wrote another poem, about the party itself. I personally hate parties, though, so it wasn’t as nice as it could have been. I didn’t want to upset any attendees, so I’ll keep that one to myself. 😉 Danni

Ink Moon and You

The ceramic bowl of the distant moon,
Dipped and dripped in ink,
Pours the night out across the sky
Beyond my square-boxed window sill.
I am curled, small and heavy,
In the giving soft of my bed
And blink at the light, quiet,
Dazzled by the stars.
Those distant points,
The coordinates of made up
Constellations,
Drawn together with spider silk
Unravelled from the tip
Of my drifting finger.
Figures from my dreams
Sleep above me in the ink,
Two soft mouths and two pairs of crescent lids,
And two palms, linked,
By the mess of two drifting masses of hair.
Half-dozed, I will my body to rise,
Trade places with the inky me,
And wake up with you
In my arms.

 

Danielle K Day

Ugh, Day 3 back at work combined with Day 23 of poems, and I am feeling pretty tired! This sleepy dream poem demonstrates this quite nicely, I think. Zzzzz…

😉 – Danni

Spending My Youth

I remember stacking cigarettes in ashtrays,
Sprouting haphazard mushroom colonies around the base of
Sticky-rimmed glasses and red wine stains,
The discarded coin of golden bottle tops,
The loose-curled hands,
And the beat of piercing, sincere eyes
Stating profound truth from mouths
Too full of liquor to say it well
Against ears too sodden to understand.

I remember the low-key buzz of the lights under a steady hum of words,
And the proud embarrassment of sharing the cheese you were saving,
For a long forgotten meal, a girl not coming,
A vintage unbecoming on the likes of us.

I remember the way we talked,
Righteous and loud and swilled up in the smoke of lungs,
Words right out of fiction, and near-sung in lilting passion,
The drum of hands on the table, the kick of heels by the boards,
The slick feel of drawing out what you meant,
In all that romantic hoard.

We were a mess of talent, slanted in laid-back chairs,
With our messy hair and unwashed beds
Where lovers slept in the hours between sanity and light,
All through the night we were out there, feet bare, undeclared insane,
But brave to face the day with the smeared paint of
Inspiration rain.

What clowns, caricatures of bohemian bedfellows obsessed with our own voices,
Retelling past choices with fervour more grand than our years.
The tragedy, the depravity, the gravity of it all,
When the world slept we examined it piece-by-piece, judged it wanting,
And still wanting more,

Such young poets, with mounds of coffee tar by our chairs,
Pure gin in our veins and the grease of nights just like these in our hairs,
I was too young to get the worth of giving up on trying to keep it together,
Too young to challenge my life with unresolved morals.
I was too fresh minted to get that what this night hinted at, was the dark soul
Of humans existence,
We challenged the dawn with our insistence on meeting it,
Awake and undaunted, three sets of eyes blinking at the sun,
Too young to see that what we were was rich,
Too young to see that what were was young.

 

Danielle K Day

I really enjoyed last night’s beat poem, but I wanted to bring the theme up a notch. This poem is a lot slower, and less rhyme crazy, but it still demonstrates some of the fun word play, assonance and rhyme. I’ve borrowed a more intensely passionate style than my quiet sunsets and meditations of the past week.

The topic is set around the better nights of my first share-house. I learned more from the friends that kept me awake with really real conversation in that year than I ever did in my degree- the liberty to explore ideas beyond the basics and elaborate on our own concepts made me a far better writer. Of course, we also got really, really drunk. 😉

😉 – Danni

The Apocalypse

Across the hills,
A full-on sprint of teeth and eyes,
And bloody smiles,
Less aware than absent mothers,
Fathers, brothers- and
More feral than a cat
With claws front and centre,
And we’d all expected that
The walls would protect us,
Fuck, or old-school blood lust,
That says I’m not dinner, bitch,
And lets you go gang-bust,
Or their ass, on the bastard
That killed your kids- only lasted
About a minute in this shit,
And I’m never gettin’ over it.

When we planned, it was calmer,
We’d steal from a farmer.
I’m on practicalities-
Meds, water, cars, formalities.
Fatalities came faster, though,
And there’s no time for spaghetti.
Cos petrol is important,
But not like a machete,
Or a five iron swung above my head,
Wild at first- then sure and hard,
One, two, it’s dead.
It’s deader than dead,
Just plain dead isn’t dead enough.
And I’m not at ease with the stillness.
A pulse- you wanna feel this.
Because what if it’s just playing?
If it’s dormant, it’s just waiting,
And your hope, it’s abating,
Cos you’re still debating
What could be more horrible
When the dead’s inexorable.

The terror is that shuffling
Towards you is not end.
My mouth, I am muffling,
Cos around that bend,
Could be it for me, and then what am I?
Forever lost in agony, and I’m not gonna lie-
I fear the bite and tear of teeth,
But more so the taste of skin-
I might like that you’re afraid of me,
Or annoyed that you’re so thin.
What if I know it’s happening,
Just riding my own skin.
An inspection of my brain won’t let me win.

A lethal injection, dissection, send it my way,
If you can bring your heart to bear,
I won’t want live beyond that day.

And what if we survive this,
Alive in this, and thriving on the life of this?
Is there anything we’ll miss,
In the grip of death’s last kiss?
What life is in humanity,
When sunk in such profanity?
When neighbours shriek at fences
And you count your last defences,
And the guy at the door,
Keeps you awake more and more,
And you’re not really so sure,
That you wanna stay here anymore.
And you sometimes think it best,
That you lay down to rest
And demand a pound of flesh
To feed the maggots in your breast.

It’s a mess,
And I mostly miss your lips.
The end is nigh, sister,
Well, shit, the apocalypse.

 

Danielle K Day

Today I wrote a rap song! Well, a spoken word poem. Try it a couple of times to get the pace right, and remember- it’s fast!

My favourite movies are zombie films, and I’d spent a couple of hours today with my best friend, who is also my zombie outbreak buddy. I was feeling a bit silly, so this little (heh, or not so little) poem blossomed. It’s a bit different to my usual themes, but hopefully still enjoyable to you all? ;p. – Danni