It’s that time of year again…spring is pushing at winter in my corner of the world and the month of poetry writing is commencing. I look forward to the challenge of writing and reading all of the wonderful worlds that flow into existence this April. Pick up your pencils, pens, quills, and keyboards…let’s go!
Well, it’s been a while since I visited this page. This April was my first attempt at the annual National Poetry Writing Month challenge. Although I didn’t quite make it to the finish line, I managed to amass around 25 poems. That’s a personal YAY for me! There are a few that I did not have time to post, but they do exist in a notebook somewhere. It’s fair to say that towards end of the month poetry writing got away from me when everyday life took over and distracted me from my creativity. I may post the last few poems at another time simply to acknowledge that they were actually written. In the meantime, I’m happy to report that this exercise did serve the purpose of rebooting my fiction writing – which is why I took up the mantle initially. It seemed that I needed to switch gears creatively for a bit as I became stymied by my fictional world. I doubt that I will completely abandon this format for my blog, but the poetry may be shelved for a bit. Thank you to those who took time to read and comment, I truly appreciate it!
in the night sky
out of reach
You are lost to me
sliding through the black
I watch your path
through the speckled
gravity of your being
pulling stars in its wake
in the sky
NOTE: This poem is inspired by the NaPoWriMo.net prompt for Day #22 – take a statement about impossible things and write a poem in which they occur. I used the saying: “The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.”
The field a restless sea
yellow and white blooms
swirling in eddies
bobbing their delicate heads
with the setting of the sun
sigh to the fading light
against the winds
in the language of longing
NOTE: This poem is inspired by the NaPoWriMo.net prompt for Day #21 – writing a poem based upon the myth of Narcissus.
A sharp elbow in the gut
diving for the ball,
volleyball with amateurs.
NOTE: I struggled a bit with the Day 20 prompt from NaPoWriMo.net – to be rebellious and break a rule. In any case, here’s my reverse haiku.
Is the image something beautiful or lost amidst forgotten dreams
Silently gliding through the unknown, seeking, daring, listing
Memories are fleeting things, darkness, flash, and glow
The riverbed is winding, pathway for the soul
Guardians line the shore protecting every bend
Against the boat that carries them to their final beds
Mists that float and fly away without a second thought
I’ve forgotten the way; I cannot follow beyond this gentle pass
For the source poem, please see By the Stream by Paul Laurence Dunbar.
on the importance of beer
one sunny day,
many years ago,
while water skiing on the lake
Grandpa started to sink
beneath the surface,
somehow managing to keep
his beer from spilling,
yet allowing his dentures
to sink into the seaweed garden below
NOTE: This poem is inspired by the Day 17 prompt from NaPoWriMo.net – to write a poem re-telling a family anecdote that has stuck with you over time.
It’s 2 a.m.
smoke fills the air
in this sound-proof basement
she sways to her own music
singing, rewriting lyrics,
to an old Five Satins song
In the chill of the night
the motley boys behind her
strum guitars, patter at drums,
and one lonely saxophone blows tenor,
lending a hint of blues to the mood
I caught you and held you tight
an accent tints her voice
altering from thick whiskey on the rocks
to something almost…Transylvanian?
her lips curve the words into a playful smile
‘Cause I needed…just one bite
she curls her fingers, lunging
pretending that she is vampire and I prey
when she invites me, I sing with them
a pre-pubescent voice struggling to match her
Later, I remember how I lived
for these moments, center of her
spotlight sun – smiling, tragic, beautiful, wild
living life with arms outstretched – more sister
than mother, a grown woman
she never stopped playing
NOTE: This is poem is inspired by the Day 16 prompt from NaPoWriMo.net – to write a poem that prominently features the idea of play.
The Tragedy of Being a Villain
One sometimes wonders
what leads a villain down the path
of being miserable and evil.
Is it a simple turning point
or something more?
Would the Evil Queen
have been quite so vile
if when asking her mirror the fateful question
it had simply fallen from the wall
have been so malicious
if her invitation to the grand celebration
had been sent and not simply
Would the Sea Witch
have been so devious
if she hadn’t been banished from the kingdom
and instead given a seat at least
near to the throne?
Would the Wicked Witch
have been so vindictive
had someone not committed larceny
and murder against her sister
with a house?
What turning point
would it take,
for a hero to simply become