Tag Archives: poem

The Ocean

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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.

Our first (Early Bird) prompt from NaPoWriMo.net is to 

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.

Waking the Muse

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books2

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