so much depends
upon
the Wyndham
hotel
flooded with sprinkler
water
beside the BOS
center
(A nod to William Carlos Williams and “The Red Wheelbarrow” while looking away from The Wyndham Hotel)
The Wyndham Hotel
Tag Archives: poetry
“Inside My Shoes” (with a nod to researcher-poet Dr. Darius Phelps)
Inside my shoes
are my feet
that have been running since I was 2.
At first I ran
hoping to be chased—
by my big brothers,
my big sister,
maybe even one of my parents.
Eventually I ran
to get away—
from my big brothers,
my big sister,
maybe even one of my parents.
Inside my shoes
are feet with scars—
hardship
fear
sadness
loss.
Inside my shoes
are feet with stories—
standing up
Strength
resilience
victory.
Inside my shoes
are feet that still run—
sometimes, when I don’t want to,
but I do it anyways because I know that it
makes
me
stronger.
Inside my shoes
are feet that run
around the block,
across the bridge,
toward a 3K
and maybe eventually a half marathon
Running toward myself
In promises of
progress and
healing.
#VerseLove prompt: Write about a scar, one that may be physical in nature or one that might be more emotional. To get started, think about these questions: Where did it come from? How did you get it? Who was with you at the time? What is the story that goes with the scar? What would the scar say about you? etc.
I was also inspired by poet-researcher Dr. Darius Phelps who prompted me to write “In My Shoes.”
A Weekend Glimpse Toward Eternity
The weekend’s upon us—the time to behold—
Time to recalibrate, connect, and just hang
Though this weekend might be rainy and cold,
When we look back, we will remember that we sang.
I intend to appreciate each second of the day,
As the sun moves east to west.
Believe it or not I will be home, not away,
So I might even get some rest.
Under myself I feel the need to start a fire—
Inspiration and more joy—because I’m telling no lie,
I’m seeing the approach of my eventual expire,
As we all know that life quickly goes by.
I hope to retire while I am still strong,
And do everything I love all day long.
#VerseLove—The prompt suggested to borrow the end rhymes from another poem or song, preferably a famous one, and create a new poem. I chose to use William Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold”
NaPoWriMo 2025
Daffodils—
Pushing through
Into Bloom—
You are the
Big sisters,
Singing spring.
Tulips, then
Irises,
Follow you.
- Tricube
- Each line contains three syllables.
- Each stanza contains three lines.
- Each poem contains three stanzas.
This is Just to Say
I have eaten
the pistachios
that were in
the cabinet
and which
you were probably
saving
for quarantine snacks
Forgive met
they were satisfying
so crunchy
and so salty
Another nod to William Carlos Williams!
This is Just to Say
I have used
the toilet paper
that was in
the bathroom
and which
you were probably
saving
for lockdown
Forgive me
it was necessary
so soft
and so clean
This is a nod to William Carlos Williams and his poem called “This is Just to Say.” You may know it as the plum poem.
How to Write a Poem
Day One — National Poetry Writing Month http://www.napowrimo.net/
“For our first (optional) prompt, let’s take our cue from O’Neil’s poem, and write poems that provide the reader with instructions on how to do something. It can be a sort of recipe, like O’Neil’s poem. Or you could try to play on the notorious unreliability of instructional manuals (if you’ve ever tried to put IKEA furniture together, you know what I mean). You could even write a dis-instruction poem, that tells the reader how not to do something. Happy writing!”
How to Write a Poem
Sit down.
Scribble ideas.
Scratch the surface—
Pen to paper.
Miss the mark.
Pause.
Stand up.
Walk away.
Go outside.
Rake leaves.
Talk to neighbors—
Witty exchanges,
Clever words,
Flowing.
Remind yourself
That you
Were searching
For meaningful words.
Go inside,
Return to task—
Poem-planning.
Dig deep
For expert expressions,
Figurative phrases,
That tell
A secret
Or celebrate something.
Try for a metaphor that
Falls flat,
Like a
Scanty simile.
Scratch.
Scratch it out.
Start again.
Stack short sayings
One upon another—
Expressions
That may
Topple over because
There
Is
No
Meaningful
Foundation
On
Which
The
Blether
Blather
Babble
Gabble
Prattle
Chatter
Jabber
Can
Stand.
Parcel
Today’s Napowrimo.Net prompt is to write a haibun, which combines prose and haiku.
Sliding out the side door, you step onto the deck to smell spring. Worn wood tells the tale of quiet days reading in the sun. Summer soon shows up. Before you set up the patio furniture, tulips have come and gone. Lilies crowd around each other comparing their outfits and gossiping. Before the sunburn cools, a brisk autumn breeze rustles the foliage and reminds you how quickly time flies.
Overfilled fire-pit
Branches, grass clippings, leaves and
No promise of s’mores.
Response to “Waiting”
The beautiful and brilliant Nikki Grimes wrote the following poem today:
While I know it was not about me, it hit home so hard. Hard. After crying, I put my warrior pen in hand and wrote this response:
Julie no longer plays into the big hand,
The heavy hand, the upper hand,
The hand that silences, shames, smacks.
She used to plead, “Pick me! Pick Me!”
In a rush, she’d cast her heart into pools of abandonment—
Pearls to swine, like clockwork.
They could count on her to bear the secrets,
The stains, the scarlet paragraphs and
Chapters that chronicled cries and crises.
But in the hour of need, past half the darkness
The second hand clicked into place. . .
Safe hands and second chances surfaced.
This is her day in the sun. Love won.
Flourishing, fostering freedom and hope,
Counting on truth—not time—to heal her wounds.
THE MAN WHO SEES THINGS
The Day 5 prompt from NaPoWriMo.net was a wild one. I clicked on each link and counted to 23 in order to randomly select the image and the poem. This is what I found:
DE GEBRUIKER VAN DIT LICHAAM
Vliegangst is het scherpste protest tegen CO2: thuisblijven en
pissen in de pompbak, gedistilleerd drinken tegen waterschaarste
schepje rijst per dag. Kluizenaar met wilde haren wist het
stilzitten is de beste bescherming tegen pijn. Blijf binnen.
pissen in de pompbak, gedistilleerd drinken tegen waterschaarste
schepje rijst per dag. Kluizenaar met wilde haren wist het
stilzitten is de beste bescherming tegen pijn. Blijf binnen.
Isolatie is het beste antwoord op hitte, kou, geluidsoverlast en
information overload. Keuzeverlamming wordt lifestyle. Gelukkig is
een leven niet groter dan het blikveld van een oude kat die zich
oppervlakkig ademend steeds kleiner oprolt tot ze in zichzelf verdwijnt.
Kluizenaar vergist zich. Een lichaam kan niet niet bewegen
altijd pompter iets in rond: verlangen, verlangen en lucht. Sterven is
stilstand is sterven maar zelfs na het zwijgen van de pompen
het verteren van de cellen het verkleuren van de huid
het verteren van de cellen het verkleuren van de huid
zelfs binnen het dode lijf is er geen stilstand: sterrenstof werd kind
werd kluizenaar wordt sterrenstof wordt opgevreten, meegedragen
laat los, waait steeds verder van de kern, maar waait, beweegt.
-Runa Svetlikova
THE MAN WHO SEES THINGS
Some say that he is a ghost—man who is spirit, or at least
a man who knows his spirits well. His boozy breath gets
worse through the evenings when his mind needs escape
from the desperate darkness troubling his bones. Sadness.
He moves through town quietly, a nod, a smirk, a chortle
when he eyes someone eyeing him. Aye, to see him
is to question everything—humanity, peace, poverty, power.
He holds these things with fingerless gloves and grace.
He holds these things with fingerless gloves and grace.
Rumors tell of a riches to rags route, a journey he will
confirm and deny with a shrug of his shoulders. Chin tilted
sideways, he turns the other cheek while gazing at
the infinite above us. He sees things that we don’t.
I want to know and understand as he does. What wisdom, what
freedom, what calm he seems to know; while I am more familiar
with clean clothes, new car smell, bills, anxiety, and fear.
The Read-e-ologist 