Glopowrimo #17 (another one presenting another point of view)

For Antonie de Saint Exupery.

The little prince
sat on the beach
made sand castles so many, many
for the waves whom he loved.

The waves came up to him
surrounded
licked liked loved
embraced
caressed
washed bathed wetted pampered him
then withdrew
leaving
taking the sand-castles
with them.

Only
bubbles sinking
of froth into the darkening sand
as his companions, remained.

The sun, of another planet not his, in front of him
into the wine-dark alien sea, sank.

Glopowrimo #17 (mixing up two prompts from yesterday and today.)

I could say they reminded him of his mother

I could say they made him reach out for a cigarette

I could say they made his mouth develop a nervous tic

I could say they made his hands agitated

They wired his brain and unwired his mind

They made him lick his attractive lips

They made him lick his meaty chops

They made him run his tongue over his lips

They made him go mad

Did it want him like that?

Did it want him vulnerable, and dangerous?

Did it want him down on his knees, begging me please?

Did it want him to take them in his hands?

Did it long for his mouth and his lips and his tongue?

Did everything hang around this centre of bliss?

Did it or didn't it, Freud be hanged!?

It wanted a head to rest on it

It wanted a hand to be gentle to it

It wanted hands, later, to be harsh to it

It wanted whispers to run tremors through it

It wanted attention, it screamed for it

It wanted to be freed, to be seen, to be appreciated

It wanted to be taken or left to be. Just as it is.

It wanted more than the whole world could give

It was the tip of his unexplored planets

He was the waiter and he wanted his tips

It was an obsession, lack of control, possession

Was it only lust or more than it?

It wanted to be wet, to blow hot, and hot-cold

It was a poem with no end to it

"Oh, do not ask what is it."

If it lets you, come, go, make your visit.

Glopowrimo #16 - An Alarm Clock and a Glow Toy Sends You all a Poem :)

I begin teetiteetittiteetiteeing
at him
at six
Sometimes he lets me go on
for an hour
before he stirs

My numbers glow green
in the brightening...
before his hand
stops me
hitting me on the raised promontory of the back of my head
white
square
glass-faced
CASIO box
that I am
from 'alarming'!

When he was a new
father
at night from the open carboard or wooden toy-box
would climb out
Glo
and glow
see him and her
sleeping
with their two girls
all somehow squeezed rough and tumble
in on a small bed rumble toss turn and mumble snore
turn toss and grumble snort
Glo would laugh
as in the day time
he had heard him tell them
stories
of how in the night
the toys
would come out of the box
playing
in the moonlight
and starlight
and Glo's light
if there was no light
on a dark night
not knowing
it was so
nightly!

The fluorescent Glo
&
the phosphorescent hands of his alarm clock know
things are not as they seem

We, not them, seen from what they are
who they are
their side
their eyelessness
their non-being;
are illumined, luminous
joyful, joyous
weird
us human
beings
defamiliarizing our 'mundane'
and listing
our antics.

Teetiteetititeetiteeing.