Spam (NaPoWriMo – Day 9)

SPAM

I can meet other folks,
Cure illnesses and strokes,
And win lotteries in Chad.

Change sizes of things I don’t own,
Qualify for a hefty loan,
And pay off debts I never had.

Princes will send lots of dough —
I have to open these emails, though.
Hmm, maybe it won’t be so bad.

NaPoWriMo.net – Day 9 Prompt “Because today is the ninth day of NaPoWriMo, I’d like to challenge you to write a nine-line poem. Although the fourteen-line sonnet is often considered the “baseline” form of verse in English, Sir Edmund Spenser wrote The Faerie Queene using a nine-line form of his own devising, and poetry in other languages (French, most particularly) has always taken advantage of nine-line forms.”

My Tears Make Me a Warrior (Day 8)

I don’t need nerves of steel
To be allowed to grow and heal.
My tears make me a warrior.

Call me sensitive, if you will,
Emotions don’t scare me — 
I’ve had my fill.
My tears make me a warrior.

It takes courage to face the things I’ve seen.
Bliss, pain, and everything in between.
My tears make me a warrior.

Depression, sadness, and despair?
Bitter and angry beyond repair?
My tears make me a warrior.

I may scream;
I just might cry.
I won’t pretend
Something’s in my eye.
I have no need
To hide or deny.
Ask about my feelings?
Let me demystify —
My tears make me a warrior.

I don’t need to act tough.
Reality is enough.
It takes guts to cry,
That’s why I’m so fly—
My tears make me a warrior.

NaPoWriMo.net Day 8

“Today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that relies on repetition. It can be repetition of a phrase, or just a word. Need a couple of examples? Try “The Bells” by Edgar Allan Poe, or Joy Harjo’s “She Had Some Horses”. Poe’s poem creates a relentless, clanging effect through the repetition of the word “bells,” while Harjo’s repeated use of the phrase “she had some horses” and variations thereof gives her poem poem its incantatory effect, while also deepening its central philosophical conceit of what things are the same and what things are different.”

Still Life with Elephant (NaPoWriMo 6)


Still Life with Elephant (Denial)


O.
Because I have no words—
Only images—
Memories—Pain—
I will carry as much as I can.

I.

Mommy?
Daddy?

III.

Look! Duckies!
Skip, run,
Play, hooray,
Hop,
Heavenly
Happiness.

VII.
School
Safety
Study
Serenity

 X.

 

 

XII.

Achieve
Achieve
Accomplish
Achieve
Do more.
Everything
Is fine.

XVI.

I didn’t mean to be
Rebellious,
Sassy, or
To talk back.
I just thought I
Saw an elephant,
maybe.
Whatever.


XX.

Yep. Definitely
An elephant, maybe several.
I can see the grey
And smell the evidence
Of their presence.
I can’t talk about it
Right now, though.
The stench is too
Raw.
Maybe I just need to
CLEAN
Everything.

 XXXII.

I hear rumbling.
Perhaps roaring?
Who is this
That cries and screeches for
Help? 

XL.

I was born to be a mahout.
I am becoming whole,
Learning to balance,
And I now recognize this
Behemoth as
A healer And my friend.
The elephant
That was once “in the room”
Is now free.
Together we face
Our journey.
Our pain.
Our story.
Our trumpeting.
Our victory.

NaPoWriMo.net – Day 6 Prompt “And now for our (optional) prompt. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that looks at the same thing from various points of view. The most famous poem of this type is probably Wallace Stevens’ “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”. You don’t need to have thirteen ways of looking at something – just a few will do!
Happy writing!”

Iris (NaPoWriMo – Day 5)



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Sometimes, when home was a battleground
And the rest of the world seemed equally formidable,
I’d escape to the tiny fir fortress
That lined the front of the house.
Armored behind an Arborvitae acropolis,
I would wait out the storm
Of drunken denunciations
and loaded questions. Cradled
Between bricks and bushy branches,
I discovered a fragrant friend.
Iris.
She was late, as the flowers of spring
Had come and gone.
Lily of the valley
Whispers could no longer be heard.
She was diagonal—
Leaning toward the light
That forced its way between the shrubs.
She was evanescent.
As soon as I discovered her each summer,
I knew she would only be around for a few days.
Then, she would wilt, shriveling
As she aged.
Fortunately,
She would return each summer—
Just when I forgot, or thought
She’d forgotten—
She would rise up,
A Champion,
Flaunting her fruity falls,
To remind me—
To make sure that
I see—
Even in the darkest corners,
Even when I had waited longer than
I thought I could bear,
Beauty,
Hope,
always pushes through.

Day 5 Prompt from NaPoWriMo.net “In honor of Mary Oliver’s work, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that is based in the natural world: it could be about a particular plant, animal, or a particular landscape. But it should be about a slice of the natural world that you have personally experienced and optimally, one that you have experienced often. Try to incorporate specific details while also stating why you find the chosen place or plant/animal meaningful.”

A Day Late and a Dolour Short

 

Sometimes she tries to give it her all.
Others notice this about her, too. I
Can’t compete with her; don’t want to, really.
So, what is it that I honestly want?
Time to trace my toes in the sand. More
Magical moments – more meaningful than
A number, score, rank, grade or anything
Quantitative could claim. Time to be in
Company of colleagues, comrades, peers – the
People who know me best in all the World.
I want to travel to where there is
Culture, flavor, sunshine and music to
Remind me that I can taste, smell, feel,
See, and hear all that has been valued.
New faces, voices, ideas and
Chances to say that I have lived and loved.

NaPoWriMo – Day 4 Prompt 

“One of the most popular British works of classical music is Edward Elgar’s “Enigma Variations.” The “enigma” of the title is widely believed to be a hidden melody that is not actually played, but which is tucked somehow into the composition through counterpoint. Today I’d like you to take some inspiration from Elgar and write a poem with a secret – in other words, a poem with a word or idea or line that it isn’t expressing directly.”

K ‘Bye!

K ‘Bye! or If Only I’d Been Prudent
(NaPoWriMo2017 – Day 3)

Breakthrough
Adieu
Untrue
Withdrew
Wishing for a breakthrough? – Adieu! – See?
Knowing you’d been untrue withdrew me.

 

This is a Tyburn Poem, which is a six-line poem. The first four lines consist of  a single, two-syllable word, each rhyming with the previous and subsequent word. Line 5 has nine syllables, with the fifth to eighth syllables using the words from lines 1 and 2. Line 6 has nine syllables too, with the fifth to eighth syllables using lines 3 and 4.

 

Training


(NaPoWriMo2017 – Day 2)

5 years friendship
12 miles bike path
4 gym shoes, slightly worn
2 caps baseball
3000 milliliters water

Locate 6-mile bike path, and confirm that at least one end has parking.  Fill 2 water bottles for each person, set aside.  Dress comfortably.  Be sure to use baseball caps to protect eyes and face from the sun.  

Walk together. Share funny stories. Ponder aloud. Reveal fears and worries. Discuss emotions.  All of them.  Listen.  Provide pep-talks.  

Pause

Notice the breeze.  See the color of each leave, noting the differences since the last walk.  Celebrate the slivers of sunshine that drip through the canopy of trees above. Pay attention to the beauty around you.  Declare the metaphor among long walks and important friendships.

Continue walking to the end of the path.  Drink more water.  Turn around and make 6-mile return hike.

Prompt for 4/2/2017

Today, I’d like you to write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.  NaPoWriMo.com

Later (#NaPoWriMo2017 – Day One)

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     Two pine trees stand next to each other, like best friends who have walked next to each other for a lifetime — buddies, pals, comrades.  I can practically visualize their outstretched hands, in the form of a hammock, reaching to each other in perfect backyard bliss. Immediately, I know that I must go shopping. Several stores later, I find the colorful hammock that promises rest and relaxation.  The tropical colors sing Caribbean beaches and mango-flavored moments.  This is the one.  I buy it, bring it home, and put it in the garage.  It is getting dark and there are papers to grade, dishes to wash, and laundry to fold.  The afternoon of spring warmth and hope sets with the sun, and the hammock will get hung up the next time I have an hour to spare.


Backyard hammock bliss —
Roped between trees and wishes —
To enjoy “someday.”

“The haibun is a combination of prose and haiku. It was originally developed as a sort of travelogue or character sketch , in which the writer would first describe a place in prose, and then pen a haiku appropriate to the place or scene.”  –  (This was actually the prompt from 3/31, not the one for 4/1, but that’s okay.)  http://www.napowrimo.net/

Later

When I Grow Up, I want to be a Fire Truck

screen-shot-2017-02-10-at-6-22-30-pmFire truck

I remember looking through
an old childhood book,
In which I had added
My two cents.
With all of my sense,
And my backward-letter
Penmanship, I had plotted
my plans
on the page.

“When I grow up
I want to be
a firetruck.”

Since then,
I had laughed at
Such silly, sophomoric
Sentiment.

“Look,” I’d say, and point
at my self-prescribed,
Pre-school script.
“I really took it to heart
When they told me I could be
Anything I wanted.
A firetruck?
What could I have
Been thinking?”

But, tonight,
As I listed and lamented
The long list of
Other occupations

I had once considered:

Interior designer,
Psychologist,
Cultural anthropologist,
I realized something. . .

Haven’t I since,
In a sense,
Become all of these things?

Except for the fire truck.

But that, perhaps, is
What I am to become.

I still
Want to be
A fire truck!

You see, of a fire truck,

Nobody has ever said:

“Don’t listen to her,
she’s just overreacting.”

“He’s making all of that noise,
Because he didn’t get his way.”

When fire truck wails and screams,
nobody says:

“She has become angry and bitter.”

“Maybe he wants something to really cry about.”

“She’s probably about to get her period.”

“He’s being irrational and crazy.”

As the fire truck
Declares an emergency,
Nobody dismisses it with:

“I don’t know why she is crying. It was her own fault.”

“There he goes, getting all political again.”

“She has no reason to be upset.
She is just being manipulative.”

“Dude, seriously?
Are you complaining again?”

But, a fire truck is respected,
Heard, heeded, honored.

The fire truck is a warrior,
Shouting out
An alarm call,
A barbaric yawp,
A siren cry to save lives.

The fire truck is
not a second-hand good.
Not a victim,

A fire truck is not
Something to be seen and not heard,
But instead,
Is a voice.
A voice that matters.

A voice that pushes through denial
Saying
“Hey!
There is something wrong here.
I can point it out.
I can lead the way.
Hear me.”

I still
Want to be
A fire truck!