I saw your magnificent blooms sprawling as only magnolias can do, soaking in the sun’s warmth under a balmy blue sky.
Caught by a sudden springtime squall, your drooping petals skittered to the ground, blown away like loose debris across a windy beach.
Growing up on the Pacific northwest coastline, I was taught to never turn my back on the ocean, lest I be caught off guard by a fast-moving sneaker wave.
My dear magnolia, it appears you would benefit from a similar vigilance. Never, never turn your back on April.
Day Three of NaPoWriMo! Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.net:
write a surreal prose poem. For inspiration, check out Franz Kafka’s collection of short parables (my favorite is “The Green Dragon”).
Here’s my attempt:
Just Silly
When the zebra’s spots turn paisley, you know it’s time for lunch. You may cook oatmeal, but don’t expect it to pop up from the toaster when it’s done. It will, instead, crawl from the slot like a drunken Tuesday, and wrap itself into a Celtic knot in the center of your plate. Not to worry; there will be room on the side for marbles and mood rings.
Soup goes well with oatmeal, but do not put the soup in the toaster. That’s just silly. And besides, zebras prefer their soup strung on skewers and roasted over hot pink.
Day Two of NaPoWriMo! Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.net:
write a platonic love poem. In other words, a poem not about a romantic partner, but some other kind of love – your love for your sister, or a friend, or even your love for a really good Chicago deep dish pizza. The poem should be written directly to the object of your affections (like a letter is written to “you”), and should describe at least three memories of you engaging with that person/thing.
Herewith, A Cut Above;
We’ve been through things, you and I. Some good, some not so. I can be dismissive, careless. You can be cutting, unforgiving.
I take advantage of you. Use you. I planned to paint my bathroom, and somehow it turned into a near-total remodel. I called on you, and you were right there helping me, seeing it through to it’s (not quite) glorious end.
We have traveled cross country, sharing long drives through snow or heat or rain. Getting lost together when Siri suggests an alternate route. You never complain, and I never feel the need to apologize.
We’ve sat on the back deck together, whittling wood on warm summer afternoons. Sometimes in conversation; sometimes in silence. I feel comfortable with you.
I feel safe with you.
I am artistic; you are utilitarian. I guess that’s why I am the artisan, and you are the utility knife.
Today, we’d like to challenge you to write – without consulting the book – a poem that recounts the plot, or some portion of the plot, of a novel that you remember having liked but that you haven’t read in a long time.
Unfortunately, I can’t remember the book’s title*, but here’s my go at it:
WhoDunnit
When first we met on that bright, crisp page, you seemed to have your life together. The edges just a tad bit frayed, but that’s -- of course -- how humans weather.
A dark and stormy night [cliche]. He warned you not to drive that road. But in your rush, you went that way. What followed is what was forebode.
What did you see through rain-streaked glass? You’d ponder that for many days. Should you have stopped? [We second guess.] Debate, deny, deflect, delay.
A murder! Could you have intervened? The fear, the guilt, the blame, the shame. What is is never what it seems. The killer saw you! (And knows your name.)
Stalked and taunted, played a fool. You wonder, have you gone insane? Your spouse, best friend, they ridicule. You call the cops; it’s all in vain.
I start to think you’re sad and weak. Fearful, whining to no avail. Is it just attention that you seek? My trust in you begins to fail.
I’ll save the rest, won’t spoil the plot; the twists, the turns, the dead end trails. The ending does not disappoint. And – as it should – the good prevails.
* Edited to add: I found the book! The Break Down by B. A. Paris.
Day Zero of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month). Or is it NaPoWriMo eve? I shall endeavor once again to meld with my muse and meet the challenge of writing a poem a day for the entire month of April.
Pick a word from the list below. Then write a poem titled either “A [your word]” or “The [your word]” in which you explore the meaning of the word, or some memory you have of it, as if you were writing an illustrative/alternative definition.
From the list (which I won’t reproduce here) I chose the word “ocean.” Hence:
The Ocean
Bestower of bounties: one may fish for a feast or dive to the depths plucking pearls from the peace.
Betrayer of boys setting sail on the seas, seduced by the Sirens, then besieged by the beast.
Mantra of mindfulness, mysterious muse, meandering metronome, hewer of hues.
Destroyer of destinies, splitter of seams, shattering ships and drowning brash dreams.
Thunderous thralls turn to tranquil translucence. Balmy or bawdy, a nymph or a nuisance.
Such is the kaleidoscope, the ebb and the flow. We are moored to this tempest; mind, body and soul.
What Rhymes with Stanza? 