Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo 2015

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.”


HayNOku: NaPoWriMo Day 27

NaPoWriMo Prompt: Write a A hay(na)ku (a three-line stanza where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words.)

are the
Tweets of poetry.

bird tweets
three note songs.

don’t write
six word poems.



Mundane Objectification: If Helpmates Could Speak– (NaPoWriMo 2015, day 26)

Mundane Objectification: If  Helpmates Could Speak

I’m the first to tell her what to do,
though each morning she pushes my button, too.
“Get out of bed,” I order her,
come back to reconnoiter her.
When she refuses to rise at once,
I sit in the corner like a dunce
and nag and nag until she’s up
to shower and dress and feed the pup.

I keep her clothing crisp and neat
with water mist and searing heat.
I’m a dangerous helper and she knows it.
Dire results if she ever blows it
and fails to heed my hiss and cough
and forgets to turn me off.

When my workday starts, I have no say.
Always ready as she greets the day,
I perk her up and fuel her drive.
She says she needs me to feel alive.
She takes some of me with her when she leaves.
When she kills the rest, nobody grieves.
I’m strong and flexible and black.
Cause eyes to open and lips to smack.

She holds me tightly every morning–
cussing, yelling, pleading, warning
others who get in her way
as she speeds into her waiting day.
She pushes my buttons and wheels my wheels
with clicks and groans and grinds and squeals.
I carry her inside of me
to take her to where she needs to be
and wait outside until she’s done
in rain and snow and baking sun.

I wait at home in the cold and dark
wondering when she’ll light the spark
that relieves me of my lonely plight–
chilly  environs and unlit light.
I hear her footsteps across the floor,
light up as she opens my door.
She reaches in and relieves me
of can or bottle, then goes to pee
restoring me to isolation.
I don’t complain. It is my station.

She turns me on most every night
to wallow in my sickly light,
staring at dramas I provide.
Never does she go outside
to jog or run or bike or walk,
to meet the neighbors and have a talk,
to mow her grass or trim her tree–
she seems to live her life through me.

When at night she seeks her rest,
she always favors me the best.
I cushion her at end of day,
listen as she has her say
about her travails, aches and pains
her setbacks and all her gains.
All her secrets I will keep
As she covers me, then goes to sleep.

The Prompt: write a persona poem – a poem in the voice of someone else. Your persona could be a mythological or fictional character, a historical figure, or even an inanimate object.


“Stopping by Friends”–NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 24

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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!!!!


The Long Road–Four Landays (NaPoWriMo day 19)


The Long Road–Four Landays

Spent all her life looking for the man,
while the man spent his life looking at all the women.

Why doesn’t life give us what we want?
Most likely because we have never known what we want.

At the point where life starts to wear out,
ironically, life starts to be enough for us.

At the beginning of a long trip,
we hardly ever know where we are really going.

The NaPoWriMo Prompt today was to write a landay. A landay has only a few formal properties. Each has twenty-two syllables: nine in the first line, thirteen in the second.


Social Stew: NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 17, WordPress “Powerful Suggestion”

Social Stew

I’ll admit that I read Facebook and post on it as well.
When I can’t “ping” on WordPress, it’s my idea of Hell.
I care what followers think of me and follow every friend,
though facts about their lives and loves never seem to end!
It’s great to know that Cousin Pam soon will be a granny,
but must I know a mere acquaintance lifted up her fanny?
Ann Garcia hates my riddle. See how she berates me?
On OK Cupid, no one writes and no one ever dates me.

I’m not brief enough for Twitter and Instragram escapes me.
I’d post myself on YouTube, but no one ever tapes me!
I don’t know what they are and so I am forever gagged
on Pinterest and Flickr as well as Vine and Tagged.
MeetUp and also VK are eschewed at my behest.
My link to Linked In’s broken and I’ve overlooked the rest.
One day I’ll be less social. Say, “I’ve been there and done that.”
I’ll close my blog and Facebook, unpin pictures of my cat.

My life will become private. I’ll be quiet as a mouse.
If you should choose to see me, I’ll be right here in my house.
My blog I won’t read constantly to see what viewers say.
I will not count my “likes” or compare viewers day-to-day.
I will not be obsessive. No more followers will I seek.
Still, now and then I might have cause to go online and peek.
For though I am compulsive and my posts have become endless,
the only thing that might be worse would be to end up friendless!

The WordPress Daily Prompt: What’s the one piece of advice someone gave you five years ago that you wish you’d followed?  Well, perhaps it was not to get too caught up in social media.  As you can see above, I’m undecided about whether I should have followed it or not. (Wink, wink.)   The NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a Social Media poem, so as you can see, again, the two fit right together.  Somewhere, Carl Jung is smiling and nodding his head.              https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/powerful-suggestion/

Speaking in Signs


Speaking in Signs

Fingers skewed into exclamations,
thumbs jerking questions,
thrusting forearms moving hands to interrupt–
signs are the ballet of languages.

Graceful syllables fall
from the ovals of fingernails.
Joints flex with exaggeration.

No division of dialect or prejudice of accent–
all voices are imagined the same.
What  parts of the mind unknown by tongue,
might express themselves in gesture?

Surely these graceful movements
of words expressed in images and signs
create a language that weds all art–
the music and dance and mime of hands
sculpting  poetry.

The Prompt: Take That, Rosetta–If you could wake up tomorrow and be fluent in any language you don’t currently speak, which would it be?

For other answers to this prompt, go here: