This year the rains came early, starting the day after the men came to begin stripping and resurfacing my roofs. The day after they were supposed to remove the skylight, hurricane-force winds and torrential rains made me glad for once, that they had been no-shows. A month later, the repairs are over and we’ve settled into the daily or nightly showers. I am snug in my house and the mountains behind me are covered with a vivid green. Soon water will be shooting in rivers down the arroyos and cobblestone roads that lead down to the lake from my house and every teja will serve as its own channel for individual rios streaming down from my roof into waterfalls that will arc down to the terrace tiles below.
The rainy season
breaks its usual habit.
A rude early guest.
Three years ago yesterday, I wrote an abecedarian poem for NaPoWriMo that contained today’s pompt word of “froth.” What are the chances? There must be some poetic synchronicity at work here. If you don’t know what an abecedarian poem is, it is one where each word in the poem begins with a letter of the alphabet in order from a to z. I did one poem in this manner, then wrote another where I stated with z and went backwards through the alphabet to a, and then forward again, a to z. Give me any kind of game and I can’t resist it. Especially word games.
Loving Thy Enemy
Age becomes creative.
Don’t ever fictionalize great heroic intimacies.
Just keep looking major nemeses over, proudly quieting rash stabbing thoughts.
Under violent words, xenophobic yearnings zing.
Raw Savage Thoughts
Zealous young xenophobic wanderers veer under the sun’s rays, quitting promenades over nomadic mesas.
Let’s keep jumping into harsh green fields, eternally delving closer before age accents belligerent crankiness.
Delicious effervescence froths gushingly homeward in jugulars, keeping lymphatic matters normal or palpitating,
quickening raw savage thoughts. Understanding vulcanizes woman’s X-rated, yearnful zest.
We are all filters of the world, taking the news in—the happy births and inane deaths, the charities and cruelties, the beauties and the gross ugliness of nature and of human nature. These things pass through us or get stuck, taking us with them into the poles of our own natures. Those ills of the world we choose to dwell on change us if we are not careful to let them go again or to act in a manner opposite— which causes us to seed new hope which just might, just might catch hold in the sieves
of others and bloom.
A concrete poem is one that takes the form of what it describes. I could find no photo of a rose in my photo library, so the form of the poem will have to do to illustrate its meaning.
Who knows what each new day will bring?
Three dogs wiggling outside my door–
my feeding them, them wanting more.
The world reaches out for me and more.
Those worlds imagination brings
come whining louder at my door.
Now and always at time’s door
I offer words and ask for more
than what, I know, the years will bring.
Agape once more, that final door brings me at last to face my fears.
I bring myself to cross its sill, still hoping there will be some more.
The WordPress prompt is “Tricky” and and NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a tritina–a poetic form that involves three three-line stanzas and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line. I cheated and used two concluding lines instead of one. This poem meets both prompts. Tricky. http://www.napowrimo.net/day-seven-3/ https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tricky/
Today’s prompt is to write a visual poem. This is one I tried to publish earlier this year when WordPress was not accepting pingbacks, so perhaps not many have seen it, and certainly not in this form, as when I published it, it was all evened out into regular stanzas by the blog formatting. It occurred to me to save it in jpeg and treat the pages as photographs and that seems to have worked.