new buds drip cold rain
birds trill between high wind gusts
no spring in my step
seasonal conflict
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Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo
Funeral
Little cherub on mama’s lap, surrounded by strangers, crammed into narrow pews in a room she does not know. No color, no toys, no talking. No joy. She squirms, but just a little. Everyone stands in unison. An organ plays, slow and plodding. Grownups sing, low and droning. She doesn’t recognize this song, but music! Music is a familiar friend! She listens, watching mama’s lips move. The hymn ends. She knows what follows music. She claps her little hands together and gives a cheerful, “Yay!” The congregation laughs. Thank God for laughter amidst sorrow, and thank God, too, for toddlers who haven’t yet had to learn the somber intricacies of mourning.
Day Five of National Poetry Writing Month! Our prompt today from NaPoWriMo.net talks about the “juxtaposition between grief and joy, sorrow and reprieve,” and asks us to:
write a poem in which laughter comes at what might otherwise seem an inappropriate moment – or one that the poem invites the reader to think of as inappropriate.
Violets (a triolet)
Sweet violets in the garden grow
in dappled shade and summer breeze.
Such vibrant beauty to behold!
Sweet Violet’s in the garden. Grow
strong and wise and free and bold!
May laughter always flow with ease.
Sweet! Violets in the garden grow
in dappled shade and summer breeze.
Day four of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month). The muses at NaPoWriMo.net have provided this prompt for the day:
Today, let’s try writing triolets. A triolet is an eight-line poem. All the lines are in iambic tetramenter (for a total of eight syllables per line), and the first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines. This means that the poem begins and ends with the same couplet. Beyond this, there is a tight rhyme scheme (helped along by the repetition of lines) — ABaAabAB.
My poem today is also a celebration of my sweet granddaughter Violet’s second birthday. Happy birthday, pumpkin!
Reverse Engineering
Passing Through the Lot on a Hot Day Whose parking lot? I have no clue. She probably lives in Timbuktu; Security cams all turned on me, She’ll see each car I’m prowling through. Your big ‘ol mutt is onto me, entering your car without a key. Apart from dog drool, crushing heat; the brightest day you've ever seen. Mutt jerks her leash, the collar breaks. I know I’ve made a big mistake. Her bark so loud, now sirens wail. She pins me hard, there’s no escape. The lot is filled; lights blue and red. I alibi, cops shake their heads. They haul me off, the jail’s close by. I’ve made my bed, so here I’ll lie.
Day Three of National Poetry Writing Month! Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo.net:
Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite. For example, you might turn “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” to “I won’t contrast you with a winter’s night.” Your first draft of this kind of “opposite” poem will likely need a little polishing, but this is a fun way to respond to a poem you like, while also learning how that poem’s rhetorical strategies really work. (It’s sort of like taking a radio apart and putting it back together, but for poetry).
Okay, so maybe I didn’t quiiiiiiite follow the prompt, but I kinda did, in spirit at least.
The poem I chose to use is Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” Here is Frost’s poem:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening Robert Frost - 1874-1963 Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
To see how others have responded to the challenge, go to NaPoWriMo.net and check out the comments section for links to other participating poets.
Waking the Muse
On the book shelf she’d hidden for nearly a year
‘mongst the likes of O. Henry and bard William Shakespeare.
From her disheveled looks and the smell of stale beer,
I assessed that some things are quite as they appear.
“Wake up and come forth,” I commanded my muse.
“I’m penning some poems and your help I could use.
I see that your break has been sorely abused;
I assure you assuredly I’m less than amused.”
Muse swiped at the sleep in her glazed, bloodshot eyes;
attempted to focus, or so I surmised.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, yawning, her ennui undisguised.
“I thought you’d conceded your poetic demise.”
“Au contraire,” I enthused with undeserved pride.
“I’m ready to rhyme with my muse at my side.
But your slovenly sloth I shall not abide.
‘Midst these rival word peddlers you no longer may hide.”
“Is that so?” said my muse with a withering glare.
“You’re forgetting one term of this contract we share.
I only assist you when I give a care,
so your impudent tone is a risk best not dared.”
“I meant not to insult you,” I quickly backtracked
in full comprehension of the talent I lacked.
I knew it was time to attempt a new tack.
“I would be most obliged if you deemed to come back.”
“Then I’ll help you,” she said, “to write exquisite rhymes,
sonorous lyrics, unforgettable lines.
There’s just one condition if I help you this time.
I expect with each poem I shall get a byline.”
“Agreed!” I exclaimed as I quickly agreed.
(My redundant redundancy belies my great need.)
“Then be done with this drivel so that we may proceed.”
Herewith ends this poem, and it’s high time, indeed.
Most gratefully authored by Yours Truly
AND my most eminent Muse
What Rhymes with Stanza? 