NaPoWriMo - Day Eighteen - And yada yada yada and...

I never dreamed that a nieces wedding could totally monopolize and entire weekend, but it did and so I find myself four days behind, before I'm finally caught up from the lovely festivities. It was a lovely wedding though and the wedding cake I made turned out quite lovely despite its catastrophe on Friday that required a near total salvage effort, and the cupcakes my daughter made were oh so cute. The bride was beautiful, the tent that was destroyed by high winds on Friday night was repaired early Saturday morning and no one would have ever known so much bad luck preceded the actual event. So now that I've attempted to get back into my poetry, we'll see what happens, three poems in one day might be more than I can manage, but we shall see. So for the NaPoWriMo prompt for the day, a poem that begins and ends with the same word, let's have at it!


Alone I sit
at my small desk in
the hallway
I don't know
what to write anymore
each evening, after dinner
I reach for coffee
and cigarettes
staring at blank pages
that stare back at me

They've laughed before
those papers
knowing that the pen
I hold
will never touch them
that listless fingers
will give up,
walk away, defeated.

There is so much
I NEED to write
so much that needs
to be expelled,
to be birthed
but a friend said
"Never, ever write
what should be written".

So I argue
with myself, my writing
afraid to violate
some unwritten rule
of poetry by needing
something or anything
this badly.

Finally,
words are born
but the struggle to
answer questions is immediately
followed by questioning
of those answers
just found.

A never ending
circle of words, poetry,
healing
that is mine and mine
alone.







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NaPoWriMo - Day Seventeen - A Poem of Greeting

For NaPoWriMo today, the prompt is to write a greeting.


Good Morning Moon

My days and nights are confused
once again, I'm afraid
slumber calls far too often, I
wake to sunsets and quiet
instead of the early morning
bustle of life, of people
talking and living and breathing

I realize there's a problem
when the cats sleep less
than I -- when I drift off
to warm bodies snuggled tight
and wake to a cold and lonely
bed, covers pushed away
thrashing limbs on a
posturepedic battlefield.

I've near forgotten the warmth
of sunlight on skin, the
flutter of leaves sparkling
with morning dew.
I've given up the day
a nightwalker, a star that
blazes brightly, but still
for not nearly long enough.

My heart is given to sunshine
and flowers, to birds singing
and dirt under my fingernails
to newly sprouted dahlias
and apple trees, to the sound of
lawnmowers and trimmers
buzzing along merrily
changing daily the landscape of light

My body though denies me much,
all those things I love,
it battles furiously for the night
holding me down - struggling
against all that is light and beauty
forcing another kind of glory,
a shimmering silver perfection....
Good Morning, Moon.







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NaPoWriMo - Day Sixteen - Yes, in Swedish.

I told my daughter that I didn't want to do the prompt today. She called me a pansy. Yup. Said the prompts were to further my writing skills, and if I didn't at least try, that I was chickening out. She knows me well my kid. So I picked a poem from the list, and as a testament to how much I love Peter Forsberg (The God of Hockey), I chose Swedish. Ugh. Talk about pushing your limits. This is probably my worst attempt thus far, but no one can say I didn't give it a shot. So without further ado, the original work in Swedish, and then my own awkward and pitiful attempt.


Jag har en bärnstensring som
skimrar genom insjövattnet

Jag dyker, rör upp slam, partiklar
av mineraler lösgörs och svävar längs

bottnen, liksom ekblomsknopparnas
stjärnhår svävade och inneslöts i stenen

då, på den sabeltandade tigerns
och de små hästarnas tid

i de subtropiska skogarna med fläder
och kamferträd här, där vi bor i hus

Man ser klarare under vatten
Man ser klarare när man är sjuk

Jag dyker i det svala vattnet, rör upp
slam, partiklar svävar långsamt, mineraler,

som ekblomsknopparnas stjärnhår svävar
i bärnsten genom trettio miljoner år, skimrar

i insjövattnet när jag dyker, allt
rörs upp, grumlas, skimrar

_________________________________

I've seen you listening sleepily
skylight blinking overhead

Stars dying, blazing farflung, particularly
for moonstruck lovers over velvet skies

bubbles, glisten effervescent
sparkling, spinning, our innocence in stereo

Yes, we are sophisticated children
on our way towards love

I want sunlit showers to warm
our moondrenched hair, how long do I have?

How long until demons wander
How long until demons take you to sing

He said I might emerge victorious, or not
Stop, particularly emergent legions, moonstruck

Some enthusiastically stumble forward
I bartered lives against emotion true, lovely

I promised him my death, traded
Them heaven, glistening, lovely.






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NaPoWriMo - Day FIfteen - In Memory (Boston)

In a way I feel that using Boston as a prompt might be insensitive, but again, what better way to remember those killed and injured in today’s attacks. As far as the pantun, I can think of no better example of two things that should never go together, but unfortunately, have. My thoughts and prayers to the families and friends of all the victims in Boston today. 4/15/2013.


Boston is a runners paradise

For everyone from young to old.

Smoke, tears, fear will paralyze

Little lives forever denied untold.






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NaPoWriMo - Day Fourteen - I AM A Superhero!

The NaPoWriMo prompt for the day was to write a poem in a voice not your own, specifically that of a superhero, or perhaps a supervillian. So here goes! Of Superheroes and What Not.

If you’re a perfectly honest person,
You’ll have to admit I’m the best.
Look at things intellectually,
Put your old superheroes to the test.

Bat Man is all dark and emo,
Robin’s a little bit gay
I’d say Catwoman is kinda hot
But I’m a guy, so what else would I say?

Is there anything to say about Spiderman?
The Captain is a little uptight
Hawkeye just shoots his arrows
But Hulk is actually alright.

Thor tries just a little too hard
Colton ended up dead
Nick Fury’s a bit of a jerkoff
Messing with everyone’s head.

I can’t say much about Black Widow
At least not and sleep well at night
Because Pepper is probably listening
And then we’ll just get in a fight.

Then there’s moi, devilishly handsome
smart, and rich, and all that,
a billionaire philanthropist
I’ll suit up at the drop of a hat.

So some might say I’m a meanie
Other’s say I’ve no heart,
I’ve got one right here, plugged into my chest
And another in a box just to start.

So maybe I do my own thing now and then
A team player I am not
But when you look as good as I do,
Well you just have to use what you’ve got.








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NaPoWriMo - Day Thirteen - The Walk

A Walk

Most often when taking a walk
One chooses somewhere quite lovely

Picks a partner with whom they can talk
And sometimes a cute little doggy.

I see them walking, holding hands
talking, laughing, looking round,

discovering history, or botanical lands
Joyful with discoveries newly found.

The walk that I chose will sound odd to some
One that perhaps wasn’t all that smart

For the walk that I chose was ….dum dum dum…..
Our always quite busy, local WalMart.

I walked past peaches, and plums and pears
Past sprouts and spinach and bags of kraut

I walked past ladies with odd colored hair
and some with a WAY too much skin hanging out.

In the meat aisle, I stared at a man in brassiere
A woman with butt cheeks hanging right out

A person with a belt from an old goodyear
Did they look in a mirror before running about?

I walked through the dairy
past milk jugs and OJ and yogurts with cherries

nearly run over by a little one dressed like a fairy
her smiling face liberally stained with blueberries.

I wandered around a bit aimless and lost
Past ladies with clothing three sizes to small

and men who I’m quite sure have never once flossed
I thought to myself I should have gone to the mall.

I was jostled, and crowded and once even pushed
by two little boys with plastic crossbows

Waiting for someone or something to ambush
Their sticky little fingers clutching plastic ammo.

At that point, I decided I must find the door
Past the lady with no pants and very high boots

dodging wheelchairs and buggies and sticky spots on the floor
and two men or women dressed in spacesuits.

I bolted like bambi, or a cheetah in the chase
I lost track of myself about then I must say

The door looming large at the end of my race
Then a pat on the shoulder and “Have a Nice Day!”






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NaPoWriMo - Day Twelve - Spit it Out!

I thought too much on this.
Probably because I've already
written one poem for you
and I think that two might
make you too important.
The fact is though-
you're not.

You're a closed chapter in
the book of my life.
A footnote that literally
means nothing other than
lesson learned - I'm
moving on now.

Yet here I sit, writing about
you, or to you - again, and
NO, it's not because you're
that important, regardless
of what you might think
it's simply because....

I was taught respect.

I was taught to never talk back
to my elders
or to those in charge
to those who warrant some
modicum of regard
no matter how you might really feel.

You though?
You don't deserve any of that,
even though I could never
bring myself to say the words
aloud.
At least not to your face.

You, my dear, are a travesty
of holiness, a black smudge
on the face of humankind. You--
with your fake smile, your
holier than thou disposition.
A parody of good intent.

You're everything that makes me
sick. The game-playing, the whispers
to one about the other, then back
again, spreading lies and filth with
every breath, but I at least, see truth
I see the false intentions.

You destroyed a part of my life
that I cherished deeply.
You wounded the ones I love most
hurt them in that place in their
hearts that matters most.
Destroyed self-confidence. Trust.

You're nothing but a pretender.
A false prophet, not in sheeps clothing
because sheep are cute and fluffy. You?
You're a reptile, a leech, something
that lurks in the dark because
in the light, even you could see the ugliness.

You're a hypocrite. A liar.
I can almost hate you because I
wanted so badly to believe
that I could have something that
I needed so desperately, but in the end
you have to have cared to hate.

I feel good, because I don't hate you.
I feel sorry for you.
I pity you and your fake life.
I can't imagine how shallow you must be
For your pettiness to have grown
and grown to take you over so completely.

I feel better because I know
that I am the better person.
Maybe that's spiteful, but I don't
think so. I think it's honest.
I think it's important that I've
restored what you stole from me.

I've also been taught
not to judge, but I do.
It might never be spoken, but it's there.
I hope that you've changed
although I doubt you have
because otherwise,

I'm fairly certain
your destination will not
be the one you sing about
on and on and on and on
I'm sorry to say
but a place much darker indeed.







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