NaPoWriMo--DAY EIGHTEEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Write an ode to life’s small pleasures. Perhaps it’s finding some money in the pocket of an old jacket , or just looking up at the sky and watching the clouds go by.

Six Months Later 

Some day last October, the weather getting colder 

There was extreme exposure, my sandal days were over. 

My toes cried, my soul died, the snow flyed. 

Six months of boots, fuzzy hats, snow suits, 

Thinking of warm sand, umbrella drinks in the hand, 

Falling in love to the rhythm of a steel drum band. 

Now smiling-- morning sun, worst of winter almost done 

Three little birds by my door say the blizzards ain’t no more. 

Singing melodies, sing of fun, sandal days have begun! 

Don’t worry about a thing. Now’s a day to laugh and sing. 

Toes are out, soft and pink, sandal time don’t you think? 

Sky is blue, lawn is grassy. 

Don’t worry be happy.

NaPoWriMo--DAY SEVENTEEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Write a poem that features forgotten technology. Maybe it’s a VCR, or a rotary phone. A cassette player or even a radio.

Soundtracks 

I think Santa brought it. 

It looked like a small suitcase, 

But inside was magic. 

Place a plastic disk 

On the spinning turntable, 

Drop the needle 

And suddenly sounds! 

We bought more records. 

Most were black vinyl 

But some were bright colors 

Some even had 

Colored pictures 

On their grooved surface. 

We had a choice of 78, 45 or 33 rpm. 

Forty-fives had big holes—played one song. 

Thirty-threes had a gentle turn. 

Seventy-eights went fast, 

We’d have to be ready 

To flip or change. 

Dad was known to spin Mom 

Across the living room 

To dance tunes. 

We heard silly melodies, 

Funny stories, 

And adventures 

To open our imaginations. 

We listened until the grooves wore down 

But left grooves in our memory 

Which can still resonate 

When conditions are right.

NaPoWriMo--DAY SIXTEEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: (using a prompt from 2017) Write a poem that recounts a creation myth. It doesn’t have to be an existing creation myth, or even recount how all of creation came to be. It could be, for example, your own take on the creation of ball-point pens, or the discovery of knitting. Your myth can be as big or small as you would like, as serious or silly as you make it.

Mysticetes

Many, many years ago
When things were not like they are now 
The hippos lived a lovely life
Eating grapes and pomelos.

They played along the river’s edge
Because they feared the water deep. 
All hippos swam in muddy ponds 
Except the two they called the freaks.

Those two dove and swam so much 
Their nose holes moved up on their heads. 
They lost the legs they had in back 
And grew flappy tails instead.

They swam so far they found the sea. 

They learned to sing a lonely wail.
And over time they grew so big
That both of them became a whale.

NaPoWriMo--DAY FIFTEEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Try to recreate the sounds and timing of a pop ballad, a jazz improvisation, or a Bach fugue. That could mean incorporating refrains, neologisms and flights of whimsy, or repeating/inverting lines or ideas – whatever your chosen musical form would seem to require!

And Further More—Get Off My Lawn!

I’ve said this so often that it prolee makes you sick;

Rap is just bad poetry somebody set to myoozick.

All these guys with chains and knives all tryna make a rhyme.

They’ve got no clue ‘bout meter or the rules set down by time.

They wouldn’t know a sonnet if it punched them in the face

Calling rap words lyrics is a horrible disgrace.

NaPoWriMo--DAY FOURTEEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT--Write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems.

Two Summer Days 

William Shakespeare and Mary Oliver: 

Both skilled writers, 

Both observers. 

They knew nature’s changing course. 

Each spent time watching 

The grasses in the wind, 

Clouds across the sun. 

Both saw the shifting of seasons, 

The passage of time 

And the fickleness of life and love. 

But doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? 

Still, death can’t brag over Mary and William. 

Their words live on. 

What can I learn 

From two poets 

Born centuries apart 

Whose words live 

Beyond their life? 

If you want love to last

And beauty 

And hope

And joy--

Write it down.

Share it.

Art is long. Life is short.

NaPoWriMo--DAY THIRTEEN

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Write a non-apology for the things you’ve stolen.

Not Sorry 

Remember when you saw her weeks ago? 

How smitten you were with those big brown eyes? 

You said, “I’ll bring her home,” and I said, “No!” 

That she’d be trouble and a pain besides. 

You brought her. Then you left her here with me. 

While you were gone away I saw those eyes. 

She made a mess and thought the food was free 

Then cuddled up and wooed me with her sighs. 

One afternoon we went out for a walk 

She has that smile. How could I tell her no? 

I told myself that all we’d do was talk. 

I didn’t realize how far we’d go. 

Your dog is my dog. You can see it’s true. 

Not sorry that she loves me more than you.

NaPoWriMo--DAY TWELVE

NaPoWriMo PROMPT: Write a triolet. These eight-line poems involve repeating lines and a tight rhyme scheme. Note: I didn’t stick strictly to the form but did have fun with the pattern.

Turnabout

The streets are empty, the people inside. 

The world is doing a big lockdown. 

Noise is gone. Quiet’s amplified. 

The germs take over and people hide. 

The empty streets do have an upside. 

Creatures enjoy the kid’s playgrounds. 

The wild which the tourists occupied 

Is now alive with animal sounds.

Ouch

This poem isn’t by Chekov. 

It isn’t even by his wife. 

It’s not a vision from above. 

I wrote it standing by the stove. 

It’s not inspired by lost love 

But makes a point sharp as a knife. 

While reading it you’ll see that you’ve 

Lost twenty seconds of your life.