Friday, April 12, 2019

NaPo2019 D12

I looked at the thing I treasure most
I looked at it close.
It was beautiful, dainty, delicate strong.
Why is it that what's best seems so wrong?

I broke off its wings
So it wouldn't fly
I removed it's beak
So it would fail at its own song.

I watched it shudder, sputter on the floor
And knew it wouldn't bother me more.
I tried hard not to cry
As it gyrated and quook
The way dreams do when they die.

What could I do? I had no choice.
It was impractical, improbable.
There was no other recourse.
It couldn't feed me or pay the bills
I needed a way for my coffers to fill.

Even in its sad, broken state
It still glimmered and gleamed
Oh, what a waste!
I turned my back, I walked away.

But sometimes I wonder
If my broken dream still waits.


Thursday, April 11, 2019

NaPo 2019 - Day 11

I started off life a storyteller
I was telling stories before I could read,
Gathering the adults in my grandma's front living room
And telling them self-invented legends of polar bears.
I started off life an explorer
Crawling beneath barbed wire
Finding animals, plants, and bones.
I was a faerie among farmers and city-folk
Wearing flowers in my hair.
I valued the crickets
Awaited fireflies
Nursed mice back to health
Hand feeding them cheerios.
I was a hugger of trees and dogs.
I was a seeker and spreader of knowledge.
I had salt water in my blood.
I lay in the grass, the forest, and the sand.
I treasured seashells, feathers, leaves, and sand dollars in my hands.
I loved listening to the thunder and watching the flashes of lightning
At night I was a comedienne
Exchanging jokes with my sisters in our rooms.
I danced to the music and sang with the tunes.
I came from strong, educated women
There was no question that I would be one too.

Where am I going?
Where am I going?
Where am I going?
I'm trying to go where I've always wanted to go
But I think I'm lost.
The maps and compasses point different directions
And all routes seem to lead to dead ends.
So I will ask the question again:
Where am I going?
Where does the journey end?

Prompt: taking inspiration from Safia Elhillo's "Origin Stories" we are to write a poem of our origin and where we are now.


CatchUp Day 9 - NaPo2019

Day 9's prompt was to write a list inspired by Sei Shonagon.

Things that Make You Feel Grown Up
Paying bills, loans, and rent because that means you are responsible for yourself.
Buying your own groceries, cooking your own meals, and washing your own dishes - or going to the grocery store and then picking up something on the way home from the store, because you couldn't possibly cook the food you just bought.
Going to bed whenever you want and having to get yourself up in the mornings!
Having a job that you, hopefully, enjoy.
Having health insurance so that if you get sick or hurt yourself, you can actually, maybe afford going to the doctor instead of downing elderberry syrup and praying - although honestly you'll probably take elderberry syrup in addition to whatever the doctor prescribes.
Going into a department store and buying new clothes.
Actually buying furniture or dishes or appliances or things like vacuums.
Having a stocked medicine cabinet.
But maybe it's really just the vacuum (even if you don't use it).


Wednesday, April 10, 2019

CatchUp Day 8 - 2019

Day 8's prompt was to write a poem that uses jargon.

are quadrupeds
some are elephantine
others are flippers.
They lack teeth,
Instead having rhamphotheca.
The carapace is covered with keratin
Some are thought to demonstrate cloacal respiration
All are exothermic
And those that live in frigid lacustrine environments
Are known to brumate when temperatures drop.

So uh, any clue what that poem was about?


NaPo 2019 Day 10

Today's prompt is to write a poem using a regional colloquialism for weather phenomena. Being from Texas, I have a lot of options - we Texans love to use strange language to talk about the weather.

When the heavens break open
And its as noisy as two skeletons
Dancing on the roof,
Water starts to pool on the ground.
If it stops soon enough
Kids will head outside
To float tin-foil boats on ponds
And make mud pies.
But if it keeps raining
It's a frog strangler
As though
Frogs could drown in the rain.
Turkeys are known for this
They stare skyward,
Holding their beaks open
And they can actually drown.
That's why its important to put
Fowl inside when it rains.
But frogs?
Frogs start off as tadpoles
Tadpoles breathe water
With gills
And yes, frogs metamorphose
And grow lungs instead
But then they breathe
Through their skin
As long as its moist enough.
They are resilient too.
If the rain stops
And the land dries out
Til its so dry the trees are begging the dogs
Well then, frogs burrow down in the mud
They aestivate til things get wet again.
If frogs can survive it that dry
Surely they can survive it that wet,
Lord willing and the creek don't rise.
In Texas churches
We are always either praying for it to rain
Or praying for rain to stop
But we should know better
A drought usually ends in a flood.

I incorporated a few of those funny turns of phrases in there. This prompt sort of reminded me of Jack Prelutsky's poem "It's Raining Pigs and Noodles." An interesting side note, in Texas we seem to be a little obsessed with frogs because something can be "as fine as frog fur" and it can be as "cold as a frosted frog."


Sunday, April 7, 2019

NaPo19 - Day 7

Just after midnight, I realized that at work yesterday I kept writing the date as 6/6/19 - that would be June. I'll let my manager know in the morning.

For now, we begin the process of processing the NaPo prompt for this one week deep in poetry. Today we are supposed to write a poem of gifts and joy.

Recently I have realized
That the best gift
We can ever give
Or receive

Is forgiveness.

As a child there were times
I made a mistake or hurt a friend
And felt bad
Apologized and was forgiven.

But as an adult
The mistakes I've made are worser.
The hurts are hurter
The wounds are deeper.

When I finally speak the thing I've done outloud
I feel weighted down on the ocean floor by an anchor
My soul is being keel-hauled by the guilt of the thing I've done

In those few moments when I await response
I imagine the worst
Losing you.

You take a deep breath
Visibly upset

But give me the best gift you could:

"We'll be okay."

My soul cautiously, bubbles up from the Challenger Deep
and surfaces.
I look at you curiously through my periscope.
I wonder at the treasure I have found
How is it that you love me so much
You can forgive

Even that?


Saturday, April 6, 2019

NaPo19 - D6

Today's prompt is to write a poem that focuses on possibilities. Being a person who tends to focus a little too much on the future this shouldn't be too difficult to do. I'll be racing to publish this post/poem before midnight.

You're so young, you have your whole life ahead of you.
Maybe that's why I always feel like I'm waiting for my life to begin . . .
Discontent in the now.

If I weren't paralyzed by all the past rejections,
I would apply and apply for more jobs
Until I finally heard "you're hired"
And I would leave the job that drains rather than fills.
I would be like a modern Miss Frizzle, but in the field or a park
Not the classroom.
Nature would be my office, flowers would be my uniform.
Like the pied piper, I would lead children - and adults
Off a cliff
Into wonder
Introduce them to the sparkling night skies, constellations and meteors
Help them peer closely at a butterfly and learn about the metamorphosis it undergoes
Show them how the world decorates itself in wildflowers
Study frogs, observe toads
We would march, frolic, observe, protect, preserve
Help them discover the wonder of bees, ants
Overcome fears of snakes, spiders, and moths.
Snakes would wrap our fingers like rings
Before we released them safely
Fireflies would be our dance partners
As we sang with the choruses of frogs at night.

If we weren't afraid to love
We would marry in a wooden meadow
I a fairy with a flower crown
Then you would never miss me again
We would explore the world
Eating new foods, climbing new mountains
I would document plants, animals, and friends.
But we would return to our own house
Fall asleep entwined in bed
With the sound of rhythmic rain
Falling on the tin roof overhead.
Then in a few years or months
My belly would swell with love
As our baby grew inside.
She would be born
A fierce thing
With blonde hair and green eyes
You would kiss her head
My heart would melt.
We would teach her
To respect herself and love nature.
To be friendly to strangers and frogs.
When she was learning to drive,
Like her mother,
She would swerve around frogs in the street
And pray that they hopped safely to the other side.

People say I have my whole life ahead of me
And the world is pregnant with possibilities waiting to be born
But I am anxious to begin.