Tag Archives: Verse

NaPoWriMo Day 19: Shell Game

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Our prompt today was to take a look at a list of actual sea shell names and to use one or more of them to write a poem inspired by one or more of the names. This is the list of shell names:

 Snout Otter Clam, Strawberry Top, Sparse Dove, False Cup-and-Saucer, Leather Donax, Shuttlecock Volva,  Tricolor Niso, Triangular Nutmeg, Shoulderblade Sea Cat, Striped Engina, Woody Canoebubble, Ghastly Miter, Heavy Bonnet,Tuberculate Emarginula, Lazarus Jewel Box, Unequal Bittersweet, Atlantic Turkey Wig,Peruvian Hat, Incised Moon.

And of course, I had to do more than one.

Shell Game

The Snout Otter Clam
is considered quite glam
with its nose like a stoat
and it’s soggy fur coat.

A Strawberry Top
has a very fine mop,
but when you want to eat it
you need to delete it.

What’s that in your paw sir?
A False Cup-and-Saucer?
I grant it’s amusing
but not made for using.

The Sparse Dove’s so small
you can’t see it at all,
but its bill and its coo
will reveal it to you.

This Shoulderblade Sea Cat
could catch us that mouse
if his shoulders would fit
through the door of our house.

Triangular Nutmeg? A most handy spice
with remarkable flavor and shape that is nice
for additional reasons
than savory seasons.
It won’t roll from the table,
for it is not able.

The Shuttlecock Volva’s
reputation is shot
for a stay-at-home lover
it surely is not.
It goes back and forth
from love three to love four
‘Tis Country Club gossip
amounting to lore.

and now, for the grand finale:

“The” Ride

Dad bought me a Tricolor Niso
though I wanted a Porsche that’s black.
I didn’t know he could be so
gauche and just one of the pack.

The car’s top was green houndstooth vinyl.
It’s body was fuchsia and yellow.
My first ride in it was my final,
for I was a fashionable fellow.

I couldn’t be seen in this auto
lest my reputation be shot
I must explain that my motto
was always that “cool” could be bought.

The dashboard was made of puce plastic
the seats were all tufted and piped.
but what turned me finally spastic
was that the Engina was Striped!!!!

I crashed down the hood and I shouted,
“I cannot be seen in this car!”
Each rule of “sexy” it flouted.
This auto was waaaaay under par.

I sold it and purchased another
that’s top of its line, so they say
and though drive a Porche I’d druther,
I had to go another way.

From now on I’ll avoid all the highways
and go by the water instead.
Take all the rivers and byways
and follow my heart, not my head.

For I traded that abomination
for a top-of-the line that can float.
And the name of this lovely creation—
is the Woody Canoebubble boat!!!

 

NaPoWriMo Day 18: In Defense of Poetry

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An Apologia for Poesy

My gardener’s broom goes whisking light
first left, then right, then left, then right
with touch so slight I barely hear
the bristles as they take their bite.

The birds were first up and about,
and then both dogs asked to get out.
Then that broom reminded me
of one more creature left to rout.

I stir myself to go and pee,
then check the new prompt left for me
on NapoWriMo’s daily page.
Until it’s written, I’m not free.

It’s back to bed, I find it best
to go, computer on my chest,
typing words with beat and rhyme
still ensconced in my morning nest.

Searching for ideas and words,
I use the rhythm of the birds
and Pasiano’s sweeping broom
the braying burro, the bleating herds.

Noises fill this busy world
even as I’m safely curled
still abed, my senses all
alert and ready, full unfurled.

I hear the grackle far above,
the insistent cooing of a dove,
as in the kitchen, Yolanda dons
her apron and her rubber glove.

I hear the water’s swirl and flush
the busy whipping of her brush
around each glass I might have left,
careless in my bedtime rush.

Her string mop silent, I barely know
if she’s still here. Or did she go?
I find her in the kitchen still,
arranging glasses, row on row.

It’s back to bed again I trot.
Arranging glasses I am not,
but rather words I nudge and shift
here and there until they’re caught.

Glued to the page forever more––
be they rich words, be they poor––
nevertheless, these words are mine:
poems, stories, truth or lore.

We are not slothful, lazy, weak
because it’s words we choose to seek
instead of labors more obvious
like plumber or computer geek.

Words’ labors are most harrowing.
Our choice of them needs narrowing
and not unlike the farmer’s sow,
mind’s riches we are farrowing.

So blame us not if others mop
our houses or they trim and crop
our gardens for us as we write.
From morn till night, we never stop.

‘Tis April and we have this chore:
each day a poem, and what’s more
we never know till the morning’s light
just what theme they have in store.

Poets, our lives may seem effete––
not much time spent on our feet––
but those feet are busy, still,
tapping out our poem’s beat.

Cerebral though our work may be,
we are not lazy, you and me,
for though we lie in bed all day,
our writing’s labored––­­that’s plain to see!

Today’s prompt was to write a ruba’I, a Persian form comprised of a four-line stanza with a rhyme scheme of AABA. Robert Frost’s famous poem Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening uses this rhyme scheme. Multiple stanzas in the ruba’i form are a rubaiyat, as in The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

 

 

NaPoWriMo Day 11: Strawberry Hill Forever

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Poets have been writing about love and wine, wine and love, since the time of Anacreon, a Greek poet who was rather partial to that subject matter. Anacreontics might be described as a sort of high-falutin’ drinking song. So, today our prompt was to write about wine-and-love.

Strawberry Hill Forever

So take we rum and take we Coke
and sippy-straws so we don’t choke
on ice and limes within our glasses
and fall dead on our tipsy asses.

Let us to Elysian fields
take our drinks and also meals:
cheese and grapes and shepherd’s pie,
potato chips and ham on rye.

Let us frolic in the lee
without your kids—just you and me.
Spread a blanket and have some fun.
Show ourselves to the morning sun.

If perchance you’d prefer wine,
well, you take yours and I’ll take mine.
I’ve chosen well. I think I will
take some Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill

found in a box of college things:
pennants, books and old class rings.
This dinosaur, screw top intact,
we must imbibe, it is a fact,

to stir libidos and memory
so I might take thee on my knee,
cop a feel of thy lovely ass
and roll thee in the green green grass.

Afterwards, we’ll fill our lips
with sandwiches and pie and chips.
No satyr dined on lovelier fare.
No nymph tasted food more rare.

And when the sun falls in the west,
we’ll cork our wine, pack up our chest
and hurry home. We can’t be late.
Your husband’s getting home at eight.

NaPoWriMo Day 2: Maiden’s Dilemma

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Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge is to write a poem based on myth or legend. Mine was inspired by many.

Maiden’s Dilemma

Each myth, legend or fairytale
from “once upon” to “fare thee well”
shares some elements of story
be they sad, uplifting, gory.

Always a damsel in some distress—
Rumplestiltskin’s name to guess,
for straw once spun out into gold,
or another story to be told.

Too much sleep may be her curse,
ugly stepsisters, or worse.
Murder, treason, sloth and pox
were emptied from Pandora’s box.

These troubles spread from near to far,
(although, in fact, it was a jar.)
Zeus forgave Pandora’s shame
and the imp revealed his own strange name.

But the other women described above
were saved by cleverness or love.
Scheherazade escaped the hearse
with stories, legends, tales and verse.

Cinderella rose from hearth and ashes
and Sleeping Beauty opened lashes­­––
both maids saved by daring-do:
one by a kiss, one by a shoe.

So whatever might have been their fate:
loss of child or murderous mate,
wipe tears and fears away with laughter.
They all lived happily ever after.

 

Upon the Violent Death of a Friend

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Upon the Violent Death of a Friend

 

Bar every window.

Avoid the Dark.

The dart is coming.

You’re on the mark.

Chain up your gateways.

Bar the door.

Whatever evil finds you,

There is always more.

In your life’s highway,

avoid the skids.

Don’t talk to strangers.

Lock up your kids.

Darkness advances

by ticks and tocks.

Take no chances.

Recheck the locks.

 

Don’t take airplanes

or cars or ships.

Keep what’s private

behind your lips.

Buy a gun and

keep it cocked.

If you knew who’s watching,

you would be shocked.

Lock your bedroom

when you retire.

Life’s a minefield.

Don’t trip the wire.

Wrap your kids in

cotton wool.

Don’t dare  send them

out to school.

Mind the playgrounds.

Avoid the street.

Television

is more discrete.

Train your dogs to

attack and kill

whomever enters

against your will.

Limit friends to

a very few.

New ones just might

target you.

Build your walls up

both high and wide.

Then just fester

alone, inside.