What if every dawn illuminated hope? What if every house was a home? What if words had only positive meanings? What if gross only meant twelve dozen? What if thirst only happened to plants? What if everyone holding hands produced a circle of love? What if politicians had no power over a woman’s womb? What if simple soap and water could eliminate prejudice? What if war was only a card game? What if every dawn illuminated peace?
Written for NaPoWriMo day 14. The prompt is to write an anaphora: a poem of 10 lines where each line begins with the same word. Photo is from Cape Cod some years ago.
Mr. and Mrs. Tabby Cat sat down to have a very long chat. They’d just returned from quite a sail that really produced quite a tale.
They bravely decided to set afloat in what they thought was a sturdy boat. They left at night under a harvest moon only to be met by a horrific typhoon.
The seas roiled and got very rough, they soon decided they’d had enough. Now back home, they sat in a puddle whiskers rattled, feelings a muddle.
Boots came off, dropped with a plop. “What can we do so our spirits don’t flop?” “I’ll bake a pie,” said Mrs. Cat. “We’ll savor its scent then eat, until we’re quite content.”
Tummies full, their dreams so sweet and now this prompt is finally complete!
Image created in Bing Create.
This was quite a prompt for day 13 at NaPoWriMo! Yes, April is National Poetry Writing Month and the challenge is to write a poem every day.
Today’s involved prompt: create a word list that includes 5 words related to the senses, two concrete nouns, and two verbs. Then come up with a rhyming word for each of those 7 words! See my list below. And then, of course, write a poem using all those words, trying to include the rhyme in the poem! It’s what I call a sudoku prompt!
5 sense words chosen with they rhyming word sweet : complete for taste scent : content something you smell rough : enough for touch plop : flop a sound you can hear puddle : muddle something you can see
Two concrete nouns and their rhyming words cat : chat moon: typhoon
Two verbs and their rhyming word sail : tale float : boat
Namrah soared through night skies, finding his way back to the Pepperdine home. He’d not returned for many years. He’d spent that time in Europe, delighting so many children, guiding them through star dust fields until they grew beyond what adults called their pretend years.
Namrah is not an imagined creature. He appears at night, silver wings softly flapping, golden beak tapping upon a child’s window. He hums softly, the reverse of a lullaby tune, waking them from the deepest of sleeps. They climb upon his back, fingers entwined in crimson feathers, flying past Venus into the glorious galaxy. Namrah tells them wondrous tales and listens to their dreams.
Once the elders agreed Namrah was ready to join the fleet, Jarrad Pepperdine had been his first assignment. He remembered Jarrad’s soft brown eyes, opened wide as they flew. The whispered secrets he’d shared and how carefully he listened. His job was to instill everlasting wonder and hope in children, understanding that far too soon, they would inevitably part. Tonight, Namrah breaks every rule he agreed to long ago, returning to the Pepperdine’s street, hoping for a glimpse, if not a visit, with Jarrad, the adult.
Written for Day 12 of NaPoWriMo where the prompt today is to “write a poem that plays with the idea of a “tall tale.” American tall tales feature larger-than-life characters like Paul Bunyan (who is literally larger than life), Bulltop Stormalong (also gigantic), and Pecos Bill (apparently normal-sized, but he doesn’t let it slow him down). If you’d like to see a modern poetic take on the tall tale, try Jennifer L. Knox’s hilarious poem, “Burt Reynolds FAQ.” Your poem can revolve around a mythical character, one you make up entirely, or add fantastical elements into a real person’s biography.”
Namrah is a wonderful creature I wrote about frequently in the early days of this blog. Go to the search function on this page and plug in the word Namrah and you’ll find some very early poems about this wonderful imaginary friend. Have not written about him in many years so very fun to revisit him.
Sporting a Gibson girl hairstyle, always the first to beguile. She artfully arched her eyebrows, never intended for marriage vows.
Expelled from finishing school because she’d broken many a rule. Back at home with daddy dear, all his money was temptingly near.
She arose very early that particular day, absolutely not allowing any kind of delay. Murder weighed heavily on her crafty mind, the perfect crime, she’d cleverly designed.
Poison added to daddy’s cornflakes, doused all over his yummy pancakes. And wouldn’t you know, one glorious week later she was named the estate’s sole curator.
Grinning, she thought, no need for a suitor, and there’s no one that would possibly suit her. Now she’s contentedly ensconced, happily rich, fully independent and a liberated bitch.
Written for Day 10 of NaPoWriMo. Also using at OLN Thursday at dVerse.
I had so much fun with this one!
The challenge today was to “write a poem based on one of the curious headlines, cartoons, and other journalistic tidbits featured at Yesterday’s Print, where old new stays amusing, curious, and sometimes downright confusing.” The image above is from The Buffalo Times, New York, June 12, 1910. I think it might be an ad for breakfast cereal?
Praises to the table, the one our family gathered round. You held court with meals, never minded spilled morsels. Gained rings in the process from sloppy milk glasses.
You listened without judgement. Heard the hijinks of Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, knock-knock jokes, teacher complaints, family disagreements, high school gossip, vacation plans, college choice deliberations, and joyfully sung table graces.
You welcomed guests who crammed in extra chairs. More elbows leaning in, more spills, raucous laughter. Birthday party guests and gangly teens who occasionally kicked your legs.
Now in another house but still in the family, serving another generation. From toddlers punching playdough to kids’ paints slopping on your surface, you still stand proud after all these years.
Written for day 9, NaPoWriMo. The challenge is to write a poem every day in April, which is National Poetry Writing Month.
The NaPoWriMo challenge today, takes a page from the famous poet Pablo Neruda. His poetry, translated to English, is treasured by many. Among his poetry are a series of Odes. An ode is a poem written in praise of a person, place or object. The challenge today? “Write your own ode celebrating an everyday object.”
Photos are of our family table over the years….could not find any when our kids were infants or toddlers. We sure celebrated many a birthday at this table! The table has been at our daughter’s home since her children were very young. They grew up at the same table their mama and uncle did. Last two photos are of our daughter’s and son’s children sitting at the table in more recent years.
She’d lived with her widowed grandfather since she was orphaned at twelve. He proudly walked her down the aisle when she married. Every year since, she’d returned to the cabin to spend his birthday week with him. They watched movies on VHS tapes. His favorites were the old ones starring Cary Grant, Spencer Tracey, or John Wayne.
This year, she’d brought the Harry Potter series on VHS tapes. They were twenty minutes into the first one when he complained loudly. “Wizards? This is ridiculous!”
She started to ask, “What does it matter that . . .”
“The stars we see are already dead. The ones we always watch. They’re in plots you can understand,” he harrumphed. “I’m gettin’ a beer and goin’ out to watch the moon. Seein’ a man up there is more real than this!”
She smiled, “Okay, Gramps. You win. I’m coming too.”
Written for Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Dora is hosting and introduces us to Amy Woolard. She asks us to include the line “What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead” from Woolard’s poem, Laura Palmer Graduates, in our post.
Prosery was invented by dVerse: one line of poetry is provided and we must include that line, word for word, within a piece of prose/flash fiction that is 144 words or less (sans title). It’s the one type of prompt on dVesre, that does not involve writing poetry.
There are certain phrases we hear so often we just naturally assume they’re true, or at the very least, in our experience we never hear them as new.
All through our married life we always had dogs, as in two, because everyone knows “two is easier than one” is true.
You’ve heard that well worn phrase, “they fight like cats and dogs.” We always assumed adding a cat to the mix would result in a myriad of scrappy conflicts.
So it was with great trepidation, we agreed with significant hesitation. Buckling under to our daughter’s frustration we agreed to her pleas, with much consternation.
We added a cat to the mix expecting a storm of scrappy conflicts. Blossom was a Siamese kitten so cute, we were all quickly quite smitten.
And weren’t we incredibly surprised when our fears were never realized.
Lyra stretched out her long Shepherd frame, Blossom circled round, staking out her claim. Lyra settled in for a nice long nap and Blossom curled up, at home in her lap.
Written for NaPoWriMo Day 8. The challenge is to write a poem every day in April, National Poetry Writing Month.
The prompt at NaPoWriMo today is to “write a poem that centers around an encounter or relationship between two people (or things) that shouldn’t really have ever met – whether due to time, space, age, the differences in their nature, or for any other reason.” Photo is of our very large German Shepherd, Lyra, and our Siamese kitten, Blossom: taken many many years ago when our kids were very young.
. . . these Norwegian trolls are kind of creepy souls. But with you by my side as my trusty guide, I’d concentrate on the fjords and never be bored!
It’s day 7 in NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month where the challenge is to write a poem every day in the month of April.
Today’s prompt is to “write a poem titled “Wish You Were Here” that takes its inspiration from the idea of a postcard. Consistent with the abbreviated format of a postcard, your poem should be short, and should play with the idea of travel, distance,sightseeing.“
Photo taken two years ago on a wonderful excursion on our Celebrity cruise to the Norwegian fjords.
have some aches and pains but able to walk and reach dishes on the second shelf. Enjoy a good book sleep beside the love of your life and have family that cares, said the septuagenarian.
To be blessed is to be with your forever family who plays fetch for hours on end, lets you get on the couch with them . . . occasionally, and get kibble treats for just sitting still, said Zoey, the dog.
To be blessed is to enjoy sunshine filtering through your leaves provide shade to a couple’s picnic beneath your branches sport reds and burnt oranges in the autumn season mourn the dropping of leaves and skeleton shivers knowing your resurrection will come next spring, said the seventy-six year old Metasequoia.
Written for Day 5, NaPoWriMo where the prompt is to “try your hand at writing your own poem about how a pair or trio of very different things would perceive of a blessing.” The line “to be blessed” and the idea for my poem is taken from the poem used to illustrate the prompt, “The Blessing of the Old Woman, the Tulip, and the Dog” by Alicia Ostriker.
*There is indeed a Metasequoia tree planted in the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University in 1948. It is one of the oldest and first of its kind to grow in North America in over two million years according to the City of Boston official website. The photo, however, is of a tree in Boston’s Public Garden taken during an autumn walk several years ago.
lillian the home poet