Tag Archives: Naprowrimo2026

Control Issues ~ a villanelle

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How strangely life unfolds,
Are we merely standing by
with our fates beyond control?

At the outset we are told
we can reach beyond the sky.
How strangely life unfolds.

We set out proud and bold,
but our paths soon turn aside.
Are our fates beyond control?

We rethink what we were told.
Were they dreams or outright lies?
How strangely life unfolds.

So we struggle at the shore
to restrain the ebb tide high.
Are our fates beyond control?

Ah, the tide will ebb and flow.
Just relax into the ride.
How strangely would life unfold
if we let fate take control?

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Twenty-Three prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: write a villanelle, and have the poem end on a question.

Achilles and the Queen

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In my garden, wild and free,
Achilles roams with dignity.
Feathered leaves and upright stems,
Achillea millefolium.

Native to where I oversee
this plot of land that humors me
as owner and conservator,
may yarrow bloom forevermore. 

The Queen is not so dear to me,
invasive spreader deemed a weed.
Our native plants cannot keep pace.
Daucus carota, Queen Anne’s lace.

The two have similarities
flat clustered blooms; light, airy leaves.
It’s clear, though, to identify
which one I love, which one despise.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Nineteen prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: pick a flower or two (or a whole bouquet, if you like) from this online edition of Kate Greenaway’s Language of Flowers. Now, write your own poem in which you muse on your selections’ names and meanings.

The two plants I chose were not listed in the Greenaway’s book. Apparently I speak a different flower language. Otherwise, on prompt.

Homecoming

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He enters through the laundry room,
passes off his domed metal lunch pail,
heavy with the stainless steel thermos that
clips into the top of the box. 

Boots off. Faded denim overalls and wrinkled red
handkerchief dropped onto the dirty clothes pile.
Now in his “suntans”: a khaki shirt and loose-fitting
trousers reminiscent of his wartime uniform. 

At the deep utility sink, water so hot it turns his skin red.
With lava soap and a bristle brush he attacks the 
black tarry substance stuck to his hands and arms. 
Soap lathers up past his elbows. 

Face washed, hat-flattened hair tamed with a 
black plastic pocket comb; only then does he 
enter the kitchen and greet his wife with a kiss. 
Supper is cooked and waiting for him.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Twelve prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: write a poem that recounts a memory of a beloved relative, and something they did that echoes through your thoughts today.