Category Archives: NaPoWriMo

National Poetry Writing Month is April. During this month, I’ll be participating in a program where poets write a poem a day. I will do this!!!!! I’ll be posting each day’s poem on this site.

The Wall: NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 29

The prompt today is to write a poem inspired by a Sylvia Plath poem.  Below the photo is the poem I wrote. The Plath poem I chose that inspired it is given below my poem.

The Wall

I put my hand against the raw stone of the wall
and I can feel it siphoning molecules.
There is a tingling sensation
as they flow out of me.

I try to send some extrasensory
particles along with them
to communicate to me
where they go
and what they encounter there,
but I know that it is futile.

I cannot follow
where these lost parts of me go––
these thoughts, wishes,
that I surrender to the wall.

It is not by choice, you know,
that I sit here facing what 
has  been leached out of my life.

I go on living what life I can,
knowing that in time
all of me will finally
flow into the wall.

 I’ve lost so much ambition to it—
and hope and curiosity.

So much of what has kept me engaged in life
has already  gone into that gray world
where I cannot yet follow.

Now I sit here, facing it,
acknowledging my failure
as well as the wall’s exclusivity.
Only my shadow
cast against it
reminds me that
somewhere behind me
there is a sun.


For NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 29.




                                              — by Sylvia Plath

There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself —
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.

A grey wall now, clawed and bloody.
Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.
There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.

This red wall winces continually:
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two grey, papery bags —
This is what i am made of, this, and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and rain of pieties.

On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel their heads and cry.
There is no talk of immorality among these!
Cold blanks approach us:
They move in a hurry.

NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 3: “Explorers”



When the first man dipped his oar,
entering geographic lore
to journey out to some new shore,
he opened up a certain door
that has been open evermore—
that need for mankind to explore.

The current’s swell, the ocean’s roar
has entered into every pore
and permeated to the core
that man who is adventure’s whore.
Each journey craves a new encore.
Each return one leave-taking more.

When Viking wanderers of yore
set sail, their fortunes to restore,
and shield and sword to battle wore,

staying in place became a chore.
Mankind was meant to sail and soar.
The journey is what life is for.


For NaPoWiMo 2018, Day 3
The WordPress prompt word today is explore.

Each and Every: WordPress Fearful Symmetry and NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 30

Each and Every

Each person is born to turn into a memory.
Every beginning is the beginning of an end.
Eerie the truths we start to face with time.

Earnest philosophers find a happy ending.
Elders will soon become the newly borne.
Eiderdown falls to rise again.

Either we believe this, or we spend
eternity trying to know it.
Every ending is also a beginning.

NaPoWriMo Prompt: Write a poem backwards. Start with the last line and work your way up the page to the beginning. Another way to go about this might be to take a poem you’ve already written, and flip the order of the lines and from there, edit it so the poem now works with its new order. (I selected the first alternative.)

WordPress Prompt: Fearful Symmetry—write a poem where every line begins with the same letter.

Routes Laid Out by Heavenly Bodies

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Routes Laid Out by Heavenly Bodies

The road of the moon
on the water
is a bridge
between us
leading me
to our new self.

When I am ready
to return
to what I was
before you,
that road
has vanished

but the sun
lights a different
and sends my shadow
ahead like a door
I seek to enter.

The oldest moon,
the sun at its birth
or just before its death
create  in us
just the suggestion
of a road.

That is why we rise early
for the sunrise,
gather for the sunset,
spill old blood,
howl howl
at the open moon.

This poem meets both prompts today. The NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a poem about a bridge. and the WordPress prompt was  “When the full moon happens, you turn into a person who is the opposite of who you normally are.  Describe this new you.”

“Stopping by Friends”–NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 24

DSC00274 DSC00271

Stopping by Friends Enroute to California

Whose house this is I surely know.
I’m sleeping on their sofa, though
And did not see that table there
And so I stubbed my little toe.

Their monstrous dog must think it queer
To find a stranger sleeping near
And yet no fuss he seems to make.
Golden retrievers are most dear.

He gives his collar tags a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
And wakens me from where I sleep–
A task that is a piece of cake.

The morning’s early, dark and deep,
But now I won’t return to sleep,
for I have schedules to keep
And miles to drive before more sleep.


The NaPoWriMo Prompt: Write a parody of a famous poem.

The Magician: NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 23

The Prompt for NaPoWriMo was to choose a card & write a poem about it that applied to my life.  I chose to select a Tarot card at random. What came up was the Magician:

The Magician

Through what I choose and where I give in,
I create the world I live in.
If I’m a trickster, I trick myself
and lay my talents on a shelf.
Seize control and I gain the world,
all my inner self unfurled.
Magic’s not a thing without
or a thing to sell or flout.
It’s simply using the strength within
to play the game of life and win.


See/Saw: NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 20


I know what I saw.
My mother-in-law
may nay and naw,
may hem and haw,
lay down the law,
fight tooth and claw;
but I won’t thaw
to her cronish caw.
I’m feeling raw.
I’ve set my jaw.
I know what I saw!

We made it to Mazatlan and I am lying on the bed looking out the window at a sea view


and drinking a Rum and Coke

and concocting my NaPoWriMo poem for the day.  (Today’s Prompt: write a poem that states the things you know. The things you “know” of course, might be facts, or they might be a little bit more like beliefs.) Now…on to dinner and a swim.  See you tomorrow!!!!

Ollie Ollie Oxen: NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 18

The NaPoWriMo Prompt: write a poem that involves an urgent journey and an important message. The WordPress Prompt: Karma Chameleon–let’s pretend that science has proven that karma is a thing. Your words and actions will influence what happens to you in the future. How (if at all) will you change your ways?

Ollie Ollie Oxen

Dreams are the playground of the day.
It is time to take that avoided journey
that sends me out
in pursuit of myself,
then gives me morning
to come in free.

NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 13: Riddle Poem–“Sort of Rhymes with Rimbaud”

The prompt: Write a riddle poem that describes something without ever naming it.

Sort of Rhymes with Rimbaud

If you speak my language, Ndovu is my name;
but in any other country, my name is not the same.
No fair using Google.  Save that for the end.
It’s more fun solving riddles if the rules you don’t bend.
I pack my own big suitcase, my own piano, too.
Once people thought I wasn’t smart, so that’s another clue.
Part of me’s a stocking. It’s what I’m noted for.
And I am also loyal–faithful to the core.
Sometimes I hold umbrellas, though it’s a cruel fate.
People like to look at me  in spite of all my weight.
I’m playful as a baby and a workhorse when I’m older.
Have you solved my riddle or are you getting colder?
If you haven’t guessed by now, I think you’ll never get it.
Why don’t you be my opposite?  Why don’t you just forget it?

Solution: 1-8, 3-17, 5-21, 7-1, 8-20, 9-22, 11-33, 12-32
Solution to Title: 2-3, 3-17, 6-24, 9-17, 14-5

The solution key: The first letter of the answer to the riddle is the 8th letter of line 1 of the poem. The second  letter is the 17th letter in line 3, etc. Be forewarned that the word hinted at in the title is in Swahili.  How else could I insure you wouldn’t cheat? Okay, now you hate me.

Curl: NaPoWrimo 2015, Day 12



Walls are the minds of other people.
I sit in piles on the desktop–
a black sun,
the leg of a poem.

A glass eye drops
to the bedside table,
having seen enough.

My rumpled bed
is full of poems.
My closet stuffed with words
in too many sizes
that go unworn.

They are purses never used,
these poems I have departed from.
Still, I slip into their pages
day by day.

I drown in these things
I have assembled a life from.
Prehispanic bowls on the mantel.
A tiny dried seahorse
standing on a curled tail

The Prompt: Describe in great detail your favorite room, place, meal, day, or person. You can do this in paragraph form. Now cut unnecessary words like articles and determiners (a, the, that) and anything that isn’t really necessary for content; leave mainly nouns, verbs, a few adjectives.

In case you are curious, here is my original paragraph the poem was culled from:

Around me on my walls are the minds of other people. A black bird faces an orange sun, a leg lies suspended over a poem. Fish swim by with hands and a woman stands bare breasted holding birds on the palms of her hands. A Bedouin woman holds three roosters and there is much more of other people’s minds on other walls. My mind sits in piles on the desktop. boxes, papers, heaps of contents migrated from other rooms. A case with hundreds of different DVD’s behind a TV with VCR player. my life piled around me ..what is not nailed onto walls. A half-empty glass with soda straw and eye drops on the bedside table. I am too tired of this room to describe it more. My backboard of my bed is a file cabinet full of poems. My closet stuffed with clothes in too many sizes. Belts that no longer fit. shoes that go unworn. Purses lined up but never used. Int the bookcase, poetry books I haven’t read for years. Words of friends I have departed from or who’ve departed this world. My house my room like a giant scrapbook of my life I slip into the pages of more securely day by day. Wondering about escape but questioning whether I really want to. We are all consumed by our lives in the end. My air running out. In my mind I escape seaward. Where I drown instead of smothering. No way out of this life in the end but t drown in something: life or death. Either way, we need to leave these things we have assembled a life from. Prehispanic bowls on a mantel. A clay warrior holding a lance, a tiny dried seahorse, standing on curled tail, and a Huichol painting of curled string.

As you can see, many of the images in the above paragraph fell away, mainly because I’d dealt with them in an earlier poem. Links tto hat earlier poem and to photographs of the room are given below:

For another poem about this room go HERE.
And for images of the room described in both poems, go HERE.