ignorance is free
while truth costs 30 silver pence
April showers bring only sludge
that slowly birth the sun’s defense
winter cooks hibernate
their tarnished snores fill the air
ungreased wheels forget to squeak
while crowbars pry up penny nails
he burrows deep beneath the roots
and grants the cat his flapping tongue
questions hide from prying eyes
and books come in one color
the milk’s so thick it will not spill
the hotcakes mold and shrivel
with hair piled high, she sits alone
trapped by her fun-house image
as slow as eyes snared by insomnia
find your strength in sameness
you only need a single hand
to make our circle straighten
Day 13’s NaPoWriMo challenge asked us to play with “turning cliché’s on their head.”
Voila . . . hope it works!
three seeds form
one to the pop and sizzle of man-made stars above
one in perfect intent and hope of family, forever formed
one by a spur-of-the-moment, well-stewed gamble
three seeds sprout
one uprooted to granite and sky
two twined together by fear and devotion
three hopeful buds, long divided
three seeds flower
one fears the stigma of pollen’s gift
one longs for pollen’s security
one grafts a new bud and seedlings emerge
three seeds mature
one clings tightly to past joys and tears
one scorns the common account of years
one builds up hope, help for posterity
Day 11 NaPoWriMo's prompt inspired a reflection on seeds. Enjoy!
NaPoWriMo Day 7 asked us to explore points of view. In my family, we always wonder how it is that the grandparents are so accepting and kind, when the parents were so strict. Perhaps, it’s just the natural progression of things?
in my dreams I sit, send heart and spirit to fly –
Day 6 NaPoWriMo encouraged us to play adventurously
with line breaks. I started with a writing a tanka and then
played with line breaks; definitely more art than science.
And . . . we’re off! NaPoWriMo challenged us to write a poem based on a secret shame, or a secret pleasure. So, you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.
I seek the Morning Star delivery
and reverence the King of the Coast;
I snub red and white meat,
for a well-aged substitute
found only under the rind.
Served singly or paired
matters not to me;
the siren song of
my “moreish” delight,
must be answered
bite after bite.
Whether with pinot noir
or between toasted bread,
I skip the roux
to indulge my al dente.
Devotee? Mere fan? Enthusiastic addict?
I ruefully ponder how scientists can consider
35 pounds per year consumed as merely average.
Less than one day to go, fine friends, for April’s poetry writing challenge month. Every day in April, people across our fair globe free their inner muse. It’s a delightful way to welcome spring. Come out and play!
Poetry has been a love of mine for as long as I can recall. Happily, my father preserved one of my earliest childhood efforts, crayon art and all. Given that autumn is upon us and my love for crisp leaves underfoot has not dimmed one jot, it seems reasonable to share this memory from long ago.
Thou tender encasement of woolen yarn,
Thou cocooning shelter of pooled warmth!
Sturdy cocoon, a harbor ‘gainst frost, your purled patterns
offer refuge for flesh, previously freed
to frolic in mosses and dance ‘round leafleted trees.
Toes dug lightly in the warm scented earth
that bred spring dandelions, nurtured the summer rose.
That same dirt -- now wearied with care – by Issue
fully ripened and birthed, and now full circle carried
to Harvest Home with thankful praise and blessings given,
while Mother Earth quilts herself in rust and grey.
Her blanket shelters the slumbering Fruits, hiding them
from Winter’s chill that slides past trembling Rays,
ushering in stillness and somber reflection.
As frost lingers and our Fair Sun hides her face,
Grant me Thy armor, Thy cordial affection!
Shield my extremities from Winter’s sly suggestions
of seasonal despair; wrap my numbed feet
in your loving embrace, and safeguard their memories
of Spring, simple joys and youthful pleasures.
By your grace, free them from Winter’s misery.