Tag Archives: poetry

untended

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The hedgerow of knee-high slender saplings
now towers and spreads with abandon.

No longer sure of myself but –  faint and insistent – 
do I hear knocking at the door?

I should have known, of course it wasn’t;
just a large crow, pecking bugs out of the gutter.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Twenty-Eight prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: 

Victoria Chang’s poem, “The Lovers,” is short and somewhat shocking, bringing us quickly from a near-hallucinatory descriptive statement to a strange sort of question, before ending on the very direct statement of a “truth.” Six lines, three sentences, and to top it off, a title that I think works for the poem but is only obliquely related to its text. Today, try writing a poem that follows the same beats: three sentences, six lines: statement, question, conclusion.

Cat and Mouse

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14 
Snoozing on the back of the sofa,
one eye just a slit open to surveil,
and I see it: movement, a streak of color.

In a snap, I’m wide awake, muscles tensed,
prepared to pounce. 
I’m a missile, flying through the air.
Direct hit! I have it pinned beneath my paws,
squirming and squeaking.

I bat it around, let it free, then catch it again;
toss it in the air, even take a little nip 
to see how it tastes. 

Then suddenly it goes silent and limp.
I poke at it, but it doesn’t move.
Well, that’s no fun.

I turn away and focus on paw licking and
whisker grooming, but there it is again! 
That blur of motion. I swing around, but 
all I see is a scrawny tail slipping through
a crack in the wall. 

And this, you see, is how I write poetry,
chasing ideas as they scurry by,
pouncing on furry little words,
chewing them to see if they taste right.

Sometimes I fuss with the lines too much,
and they die right there on the paper.
Sometimes I think I’ve got the perfect phrase
pinned to the page, but it slips away and disappears.

But there are other times when it’s a clean catch,
when I finesse my prey into a perfect, plump little gift
that I proudly lay at your feet, confident of the
appreciation and praise it will garner. 

And then I –  warrior of words, slayer of syntax – 
strike out in search of another poem to wrestle.
And that, you see, is why I write poetry.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Twenty-Six prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: write a poem giving the reader some insight into what keeps you writing poetry, or what you think poetry should do.

unsown

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6 
It's time, my little raised bed garden.
This is the year I’ll plant the seeds,
and you will have them grow
a copious crop of carrots, peas and such
as I have yet to determine.

No more a fallow field of failed fecundity,
unfilled, unfulfilled… fill in the blanks.
In fairness, also faultless, as it was I who –
in seasons past – failed to plant the seeds.

A battlefield devoid of bullets.
I did not engage the enemy weeds.
No tanks rolled in to claim the ground,
no trenches dug to shelter in. 
I fled, falling, failing, foiled, felled…
so many four-letter f-words can apply.

A shallow grave without a body, living or dead.
Unsullied by shovels, spared of spades 
that may have turned up sweet surprises,
or skeletons with bleached, broken bones and 
smiling skulls. 

But not this year!
This year I will 
quell the weeds, 
plant the seeds,
and watch my 
raised bed garden grow.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Twenty-Five prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: write a poem in which you use at least three metaphors for a single thing, include an exclamation, ruminate on the definition of a word, and come back in the closing line to the image or idea with which you opened the poem.

I didn’t ruminate on definitions, I suppose, but I had fun playing with words!

Homecoming

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8 
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.

Law Gone ~ an erasure poem

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(Text presented at bottom of post if you don’t want to wade through the erasures. )

Law Gone! Introduction: A Neatly Cut American Dream

Since the development of our earliest law,
a privileged founding father of America
sought to elevate our nation's fence 
for keeping out lives. 
He envisioned a wall like the aristocrat model.
Drive the streets today and you'll see one law 
flowing into the next. 

It's easy to see how the law became so popular.
When maintained with regular grooming, it can be
used for play and relaxation.
Installing a law is fairly tidy. 

Law culture applying -- and suppressants -- became
firmly entrenched and today many councils have codified
standards for a front. Just look at the law -- 
packed with big business. 

The Grass is Always Greener

The fact is, traditional laws aren't well suited to our country.
The particular, as well as the drought-prone law, 
often require copious toxic cover, 
require several hours of maintenance and the power
comes with a high cost. 
Today we have a better understanding of the law's impact.
We're tainted.

All around the country you can find a nation differentiated.
We deserve better -- and we can make it happen.

People hardly use the law, and it can seem awful to
maintain something that you never use.
Other types do a beautiful job of covering, and 
help reduce the law that afflicts so many.
Adapt and ultimately use fewer. You'll have the 
satisfaction of harming the environment. 
Let's reclaim our space. 

Law Gone! will show you how to remove the law.
Walk through the methods of law removal and 
install your new guard. 
If you have rules or ordinances to contend with,
minimize their impact. 
Find picks and experts to pinpoint plans. 

Explore the possibilities!

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Eleven prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own erasure/blackout poem. You could use a page from a favorite book, a magazine, what have you. It can be especially fun to play with a book you don’t know, particularly one that deals with an unfamiliar topic. 

I chose to usurp the introduction from the book Lawn Gone!: Low-Maintenance, Sustainable, Attractive Alternatives for your Yard by Pam Penick. My apologies to the author.

Garden Gait

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Dead nettle in a kettle, 
     gonna brew some tea. 

Dandelion makes a wine, 
     bitter as can be.

Chickweed gone to seed, 
    feed it to the hens.

Plantain, purslane, 
    salads out of weeds.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Seven prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: In her poem, “Front Yard Rhyme,” Cecily Parks evokes the sing-songy beats that accompany girls’ clapping games, and jump-rope and skipping rhymes. Today, we challenge you to write your own poem that emulates these songs – something to snap, clap, and jump around to.

The Odious Ode

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2 
To think that something so revered
could set my teeth to grinding gears,
	one only needs to ken
	I hate to structures bend.

Too oft I fail to recollect 
the rules an ode dost interject.
	I’m simply left to guess
	and strive to do my best.

I’m sure this poem proves my case
though I confess 'twas penned in haste;
	the ode – no friend to me –
	remains a mystery.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Five prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: write a poem in which you talk about disliking something – particularly something utterly innocuous, like clover. Be over the top! Be a bit silly and overdramatic.

Horizontal Rain

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2 
It blusters, it billows,
the rain comes in droves.
It's typical winter 
on the north Oregon coast. 

No point in umbrellas,
The wind is a beast;
shreds the cloth with its talons,
snaps the ribs in its teeth.

The rain hits you sideways
soaking deep to the skin,
but springtime comes swiftly
to atone winter's sins.

Now the rain’s slightly warmer
when it slaps at your face.
Umbrellas still useless
as the winds keep their pace. 

You can spot season’s changes:
birds perched high lest they drown,
and the newly sprung flowers
soon blown flat to the ground. 

It blusters, it billows,
the rain comes in droves.
It's a typical spring day
on the north Oregon coast.

It’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)!

Day Four prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: craft [a] short poem that involves a weather phenomenon and some aspect of the season. Try using rhyme and keeping your lines of roughly even length.

Guard Up

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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.

NaPoWriMo, Day Five