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Not Impossible: NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 22


Not Impossible

Somehow she feels he’s out there,
moving through a world
she’ll probably never brush against.
She feels his breath.
She tastes his shadow.
His molecules
invade her dreams. 
It is possible that the stars
might rearrange themselves
in the sky.
And it is possible that one of them 
will stray into the other’s world.
Pigs will fly. 
The clock will strike thirteen,
and oh, see the brilliance of the sun as it rises in the west?

The NaPoWriMo prompt: take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens: The sun can’t rise in the west. A circle can’t have corners. Pigs can’t fly. The clock can’t strike thirteen. The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky. A mouse can’t eat an elephant.

Mama’s Boy: NapoWriMo 2018, Day 21

                                                          Mama’s Boy

Nodding over the water,
Arcing over beauty,
Reeling from what you see.
Consummate perfection
In that visage
Swaying in the water’s current.
So many women echoing your admiration for yourself,
Unable to break your fascination with your


The prompt today is to write a poem based on the Narcissus myth.

Let There be Light

Sometimes, to get to that authentic part of ourselves where poetry resides, we have to illuminate some dark corners.

IMG_4662 (1)

Let There Be Light

My mind is a growling dog.
While I stew and fuss,
fulfilling lists,
she jumps the screen door,
Rude me, to turn my back
on the only playmate
who wants to play
the same games I do
every day, every hour,
because I fear that initial
plodding through silt
page after page
in search of the stream
of words.

Sometimes boredom
yawns so wide
that I have to enter it,
to wander its inner closet
where for decades
only cobwebs
have stirred.
In some dark corner
where I spank the dog
or search the bedside table drawers
of a lover called out at midnight,
I find the river’s source,
but then
the phone
rings and I’m off
gathering crumbs from a forest path,
leaving lost children
stranded in their own story.

Stray puppies—I collect every one,
wild orange funnel flowers
and guava
washed in an afternoon kitchen
just before the invasion
of five o’clock sunlight.
All of them I carry back
to hidden places
to rub against each other
and ignite
into the language of this place
where life goes in,
plays dress-up,
but emerges
like poetry.


If you’ve been following me for four years, you’ve seen this one before. The prompt word today was authentic.

White Bird of Paradise: Flower of the Day, Apr 20, 2018


The white bird of paradise plant is often mistaken for a banana tree.  It is immense and the flowers so high up that they may be overlooked.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day.

Quelling Rebelling: NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 20

Quelling Rebelling

Rebelliousness is not my choice.
I do not like to raise my voice.
At meetings, if I choose to go,
I like to frequent the back row.
I don’t sit in. I do not picket.
Resistance is a sticky wicket.
Not for me the protest march.
I’m missing nerve. I lack the starch.
So if I choose to be a hellion,
I’ll find a way that’s not rebellion.


The prompt: write a poem that involves rebellion in some way. (This is tongue in cheek. I actually did march in this demonstration.)

Hibiscus: Flower of the Day, Apr 19, 2018


See Cee’s gorgeous parrot tulip here: