Quick-minded youth leap to decisions, days assumed to blaze in glory. Bright eyes focus on the glossy blind to consequential reality.
Those with blue veined maps on their hands contemplate the world as a Pensieve. Luminescent vapors teem with incandescent memories, decisions weighed accordingly.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe where today Mish asks us to create a quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words sans title) that includes the word blaze.
Also written for NaPoWriMo Day 29 where the prompt is explained in this way: “If you’ve been paying attention to pop-music news over the past couple of weeks, you may know that Taylor Swift has released a new double album titled “The Tortured Poets Department.” In recognition of this occasion, Merriam-Webster put together a list of ten words from Taylor Swift songs. We hope you don’t find this too torturous yourself, but we’d like to challenge you to select one these words, and write a poem that uses the word as its title.” One of the words in the list is incandescent.
Rainy season’s nourishment for the earth cleanses my soul. Wet moisture brings life to spring flowers, relieves summer heat. Cherry blossoms succumb to spring breeze. Rain gently on me.
Day 28, NaPoWriMo. We’re asked to to try our hand “at writing a sijo. This is a traditional Korean verse form. A sijo has three lines of 14-16 syllables. The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise.”
Photo taken some years ago on a cruise to Japan. Cherry blossom season was beautiful….
I want to write an American sonnet today without writing the orange guy’s name. The pathological liar who mocked a disabled reporter, bragged he could grab a woman’s pussy at will, enabled and brags about the end of Roe vs Wade. The one who was impeached and is an accused felon. The guy who wants to axe the Affordable Care Act, ending health care coverage for 45 million people; hawks bibles and tee shirts and golden sneakers. The self-serving bastard who denigrates Gold Star families, and the war record of John McCain. Silences a porn star and makes deals with the tabloid press. The narcissist who incited an insurrection and turned the once proud GOP into a cult.
I want to write an American sonnet today but I can’t – because it’s too depressing. I want this orange man to rot, collapse, be tossed from the public’s eye. I want sanity and real truth and empathy. This is my addendum to the prompt, I want hope to prevail.
Written for NaPoWriMo, day 27 where the prompt is “to write an “American sonnet.…an American sonnet is shortish (generally 14 lines, but not necessarily!), discursive, and tends to end with a bang, but there’s no need to have a rhyme scheme or even a specific meter. “Image is from Pixabay.com at least six years ago.
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
lillian the home poet 