Rising sun creates shimmering shine on the ocean’s surface. A lone gull floats illuminated in sun’s path, as waves softly lap the shore.
I sit alone during dawn’s arrival, in awe of what is unfolding. Above me, the sky’s bluing gains brightness. I smile and sigh in contentment, thankful for another day.
Written for NaPoWriMo day 26. The the prompt is to “write a poem that involves alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Alliteration is the repetition of a particular consonant sound at the beginning of multiple words. Consonance is the repetition of consonant sounds elsewhere in multiple words, and assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds.”
Photo from some years back at our beloved Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod. View as seen from our deck on the unit we rent every year for two glorious weeks in September.
So many questions I could ask myself. Why this? Why that? Why then? Why now? Why not? Why me?
But those sound too much like regrets. I choose to live my life without regrets.
Regrets indicate a desire for change in the past. One change a ripple makes and then,
life would be different somewhere along the path. Life would be different now. I like my now.
Written for day 25 of NaPoWriMo where the prompt is to “write a poem based on the “Proust Questionnaire,” a set of questions drawn from Victorian-era parlor games, and adapted by modern interviewers. You could choose to answer the whole questionnaire, and then write a poem based on your answers, answer just a few, or just write a poem that’s based on the questions.”
The future is beginning now. When I arrive, I am what was missing before.
Tomorrow always becomes a yesterday. My past was once unknown to me.
Time is after all, a glutton. Best to concentrate on the moment, every time it comes.
Written for NaPoWriMo day 24.
The prompt is to “write a poem that begins with a line from another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it.” “The future is beginning now” is from Mark Strand’s poem, The Babies, published in his Collected Poemspublished by Alfred A. Knopf in 2015. He is a former Poet Laureate of the United States and a Pulitzer Prize winner. Image is from Pixabay.com
Rowan, Puss’ cousin, was the original one. He died on a cold winter’s night giving rise to number two, Tabby Tat. Nearsighted, she met her demise squinting down a busy street. Number three was Kit the Kat, catapulted to fame by a candy bar. Sugar highs and alley fights finally did him in. Mouser came next, not very smart, he followed a mouse into a trap and was last heard to say, oh crap! The next reincarnation came in a far away land. Penelope the Puma, sadly and cruelly killed by a hunter’s hand. Her ghost became the charming Ms. Cheetah, seduced to her death by a devilish Tom. Lorna the Lynx was up next. She lolled through life until her untimely death. And now if you’ve been counting with me we’ve come to the ninth penultimate life. That final reiteration, none other than Felicity Feline, intensely happy, true to her name. I am delighted to report, she found a happy home with the prolific painter, Mr. Louis Wain. Her portrait, painted in joyous colors, stands out in his collection. And so, while all those other eight are forgotten Felicity lives on in perpetuity, frozen in time, displayed on an easel, for generations to visit and see.
Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics on prompt where Melissa is introducing us to the English artist Louis Wain. He is “best known for his drawings of anthropomorphised cats. Born in Londin in 1860…he attended the West London School of Art, where he would go on to teach for a time….In 1884…The Illustrated London News was first to publish Wain’s art. It wasn’t until 1886 that he received more widespread recognition….he was elected president of the National Cat Club….he was a prolific artist. During his lifetime, he drew thousands of cats (it is estimated that the number exceeds 150,000.” Melissa asks us to choose one of his paintings/drawings she includes in her prompt, and to “write a poem inspired by the artwork. Simple enough, right? There’s just one catch – you may not use the word cat anywhere in your poem, including the title.”
I selected Wain’s painting, Untitled.
I had some fun with this….using many different words that refer to cats: puss, tabby, kit, mouser, puma, cheetah, tom, lynx, and feline. I also had some fun with wordplay, without using the word “cat” as in the Kit Kat candy bar, and catapulted.
Yes, the dish ran away with the spoon, but Mother Goose got it wrong. She laid an egg with this one. It was not a happily-ever-after tale.
Turns out the dish was a cad. A saucer with sterling designs, and always a cups man.
Young utensil that she was, she never guessed his real intention to tarnish her reputation.
He led her past the infamous cow the one who jumped over the moon. Romancing her under cover of night, surely, he thought, she’d swoon.
But alas, there were too many stars that night, revealing what he truly was really made of. Just cheap melamine, not Royal Doulton or Spode.
Avoiding every advance he dished out, she ran back to the cat and the fiddle. She maintained her sterling reputation, after all, she was always a respectable ladle!
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where today is Open Link Night and poets may post any one poem of their choosing.
This little diddle is an edited version of NaPoWriMo’s day 22 prompt: “to write a poem in which two things have a fight. Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips. Or perhaps your two things could be linked somehow – like a rock and a hard place – and be utterly sick of being so joined. The possibilities are endless!”
For those of you not familiar with this Mother Goose nursery rhyme, it goes like this: Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed To see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon.
Living my life as a perennial? Lily of the valley, that would be me. Closest to forever I ever would be.
Lily of the valley, that would be me, planted beneath our family tree. I ever would be blooming and seeing generations to come.
Planted beneath our family tree. Closest to forever, blooming and seeing generations to come, living my life as a perennial.
Written to fulfill the prompts for for day 18 of NaPoWriMoand for Meet the Bar Thursday at dVerse the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
Prompt for NaPoWriMo today is to write a poem where “the speaker expresses the desire to be someone or something else and explains why.”
Prompt for dVerse today is to write a Pantoum: a poem of any length written in quatrains and using the prescribed line directions below: Line 1 Line 2 Line 3 Line 4
Line 5 (repeat of line 2) Line 6 Line 7 (repeat of line 4) Line 8
Last stanza: Line 2 of previous stanza Line 3 of first stanza Line 4 of previous stanza Line 1 of first stanza
When I was very young time meant having fun. The road ahead of me . . . well I couldn’t see the end much less fathom the turns, detours, or optional routes in the long journey to come.
A septuagenarian now, closer to eighty than seventy, my memories are glued in scrapbooks. From early marriage days to birthdays and holidays, newspaper clippings, and recital programs.
Wedding albums, birth announcements. Photo albums filled with tent-camping vacations, early grandparenting days, family reunions, scenery shots from cruising days.
There is no doubt about it, time is a glutton. It eats up seconds, months, and precious years. But if we could stop it, collect special events, and put them in a bottle, the question is, at what point would we do that?
What would be the ripple effect? Which moments might be lost, what aspects of human development might be missed in that stutter moment between stopping the clock and starting it again? Can we really judge what is significant enough to stop everyone’s else’s world to save our own?
And just as important to consider, how many bottles would we need?
Written for NaPoWriMo day 17 where the prompt today is to choose a song, and write a poem whose title is the name of the song. Time in a Bottle was made popular by Jim Croce.
Ah, I understand now. You never cared for the name Mount McKinley. In your earliest years, and many years after, native peoples addressed you as Denali. Translation: the tall one, the great one. They recognized your power and majesty.
How difficult for you to share a name with an American President who never set foot in the shadow of your magnificence. After all, you rule over six million acres of wild land intersected by one road, ninety-two miles long.
You watch over taiga forest, high alpine tundra, amazing wild life, beautiful fauna. You are the highest peak in North America, towering over magnificent landscape.
In 2016, on the eve of its 100th anniversary, the National Park Service righted a wrong. Your name was officially changed to what it should have been all the years before. Denali. For you are the mighty one.
William Shakespeare, you had it all wrong in Romeo and Juliet!
Written for both Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe and for Day 16 of NaPoWriMo.
The Prompts:At dVerse, Sanaa asks us to write a poem in a conversational mode of address. In my post, I’m having a conversation with Denali. The NaPoWriMo prompt is to “write a poem in which we clearly describe an object or place and then end with a more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does.“
The great mountain Denali would disagree with William Shakespeare’s line in Romeo and Juliet“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.”
Photo is from our trip to Alaska some years ago when we did indeed travel through Denali National Park and see this magnificent mountain!
In Lucy’s words: Snoopy’s on a stamp? What is wrong with philatelists? Are they all dog lovers? Do they all have beagles? I’ll bet they all have at least one girl in their family! A mother, a sister, an aunt. When you look at it that way, they probably have more! I’m smart. I give sound advice for five cents a pop. I’m confident and strong. You’ll be calling me Madame President some day! So WAKE UP! It’s Lucy for the WIN!!!
Screenshot
Written for day 15 at NaPoWriMo where we’re directed to a site that includes postage stamps from many countries and asked to pick one and write about it. Not one of my better poems…..but for day 15, it’ll have to suffice.
lillian the home poet 