Tawny Donny wealthy and sly,
kissed the girls and made them cry.
When they told the world their tales
tawny Donny lost his veils.
Day 15, Napowrimo : using Hansel and Gretel and Blackbeard the Pirate as examples, today’s prompt asks us to rewrite a villain’s unfortunate situation. Today, Georgie Porgie’s friend gets caught in a kettle of fish. ILLUSTRATION from Volume One, Poems of Eary Childhood, Child-Craft, published by The Quarrie Corporation, Chicago, in 1947.
Decision must-do list sits crumpled,
blue pill bottle tipped askew.
Disturbed sleep awaits release,
sweat covered head buried in down.
adrift on wobbly table legs.
slice mahogany waves,
slivers shred my hands.
Teeth grit like hammer’s vise.
One thousand dentists drill,
prying, prying, prying still.
High pitched metallic sound
gathers sharks, circling round.
Close to waking, tossing, turning
seagull’s wings appear.
Flapping madly, madly more
tip the cup ‘till I spill forth,
swim across the dawning rays.
Sea of calm upon my face
hands relax, fingers curve,
arms arc upon the bed.
Dream softens in balletic pose,
body slips to denouement.
Curtains rise on new world.
Written for Napowrimo, Day 14 where we’re asked to consider dreams….and to include one or all of the following words/items: teacup, hammer, seagull, ballet slipper, shark, wobbly table, dentist, row boat. I’ve included all….using balletic and slips for ballet slipper.
“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”
Mark Twain, aka Samuel Clemens
Welcome to the Ball and Socket,
newest hip joint in town.
Formerly Mark Twain’s Pub,
still catering to the hale and hearty.
Specialty drinks have disappeared,
Huck Finns and Tom Sawyers gone.
But never you worry and never you mind,
what matters most, is easy to find.
Old Sam leans on the bar,
pours drinks and sloshes the foam.
Jaws and listens and nips a few too,
just like the place, he’s as good as new.
Written for Napowrimo, day 13, where the prompt is to turn a famous saying upside down and have fun with it. I’ve had a bit of fun with Mark Twain’s quotation, cited at the beginning of the post.
Slowly saunter, savor pine scent
see sun-lattice pattern through breeze blown leaves,
feel rock-strewn ground beneath your feet.
Find toadstool mushrooms
nestled in myriad shades of green.
Hear birds cackle, warble,
cry monosyllabic shrieks.
Or just get through.
Enter to exit the other side.
Rush from point A to B or G.
Been there but never saw.
Word forest, thy name is Poetry.
Slowly saunter through words
letters arranged, thought path on a page.
Smell rain. Picture grey clouds shifting,
sun blocked above the trees.
Hear rhythmic patterns,
singing sounds, harsh plosives,
hissing sibilants, warbling vowels.
Or just get through.
Enter to exit the other side.
Scan from point A to B or G.
Read that but never saw.
Written for dVerse where Paul asks us to consider Ars Poetica: a term meaning “the art of poetry. ” An Ars Poetica poem expresses the poet’s aims for poetry and/or the poet’s theories about poetry. Also used for Day 12 Napowrimo. Photo taken in Ireland last year.
My mind says do it.
Muscle memory falters,
too many springs have sprung,
the daffodil kind.
Too many candles have crowded flowers,
the icing kind.
Life’s become a carousel ride.
I’m the unbolted horse,
slowly getting up from down
moving slower still from down to up.
Au naturel, gold gilding eroded by time
ultimately rounding the bend.
Walking to my once busy house,
I imagine that merry-go-round
music wooing, colors shimmering.
I smile as my mind reminds me done that,
and I pick up my pace,
kicking through the autumn leaves.
Day 11 of Napowrimo. April is national poetry writing month. Today’s prompt includes these words, “If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?”
City in a hill
hustle bustle back and forth
across sidewalk cracks and squares.
Ants peril, old shuffling feet.
It’s Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Jill asks us to write a poem about a city, town or village. Can be imaginary or real. Did you know there are actually ants called pavement ants? Also posted for day 10, Napowrimo.
As a youngster,
she loved playing outside,
building dirt castles with lollypop flags.
Grade school entrepreneur,
her lemonade stands featured mud pies,
hand crimped with sand frosting on top.
Today, a sweet toothed geologist,
she loves layer cakes, marzipan sculptures
and all rock candy.
Quadrille (44 words exactly, sans title) written for dVerse, where today we’re asked to include the word “zip.” You’ll find it stirred into the marzipan! Also posted for Napowrimo, Day 9: prompt to write about the large and the small….stretching it here….from dirt and sand granules to geologist?
mushroom cap rooftops
sleeping faeries’ protection
from drizzling spring rains
Written for Napowrimo day 8, a poem a day until the first day of May. Today’s prompt is to write about magical things.
Red ibis frozen in time
millisecond before flight
haphazard photographical luck.
I could bring back
one precious moment
from my life’s entirety?
All would be as it is now
except for a room-sized box
where the moment lives
exactly as it was
and I can step in and out
and in and out
of the box
back into that moment.
Savor and touch
live it again and again
inside the box
whenever I want,
only one box.
What would be
my red ibis
frozen in time?
Photo taken at Bermuda Aquarium, Museum and Zoo, BAMZ. Posted for Napowrimo Day 7. Prompt is to think of different roles we occupy, different parts of ourselves and then write a poem where two conflicting “selves” have a discussion. Here, the realist talks with the dreamer.
Eyes closed, gaze within
picture sun and feel its warmth.
Searching deeper . . .
deeper still . . .
seek the ocean’s glistening path.
Breathe in . . .
and now sigh out . . .
bask in rest within your mind.
Permit the balm, accept its calm.
Slowly begin to open . . .
eyes . . . heart. . . soul.
You are a gift within the gift,
God’s new day.
Napowrimo Day 6: Pay particular attention to line breaks, pauses, space. A poem a day until its May. April is national poetry writing month.
Photo is Easter morning’s dawn from our deck in St. George, Bermuda. We return to Boston today.