Monday, April 6, 2020

NaPo20 - D6

Another strange prompt today. The prompt was to look at Hieronymous Bosch's painting "The Garden of Earthly Delights" and choose a figure in that work to write a poem from the persepctive of that character. There is a lot going on in the painting and I found it a bit overwhelming, but I did a little reading on the painting and the painter and chose to write something from Bosch's POV instead (which was another possibility suggested in the prompt).

I look out through my triptych
At the art scholars of the day
They question what it means
What I was trying to say

They travel from all over the world
To see me here in Madrid, Spain
They discuss if its about lust
Or if I was warning of after-life pain

They devote websites to my work
They celebrate it even now
Five hundred years and then some
And my work can still wow!

I don't mind them puzzling
I don't mind that the meaning is lost
I am painter
As long as they question my work,
My memory will remain.

I will live on forever
As people peruse my work
As they argue its true meanings
And say its a lustful work

I will get the last laugh
I will outlive all the people
Who wander museum halls
It is my name they ponder
Who was Hieronymous Bosch?

NaPo20 - 5

Today's prompt is a bit tricky (and, therefore,  my poem is late). It is to use "Twenty Little Poetry Projects" in your poem. For the list of these click here. I think I did about half of them and made this rambling poem.

The ephemeral knife of isolation
Stabs quickly and deep
You can smell the sharpness of it plainly
It is an acrid odor that grows slowly
It makes your eyes water
As you feel more and more lonely.
King Arthur tasted it when he lost his love Guinevere
Yes, perhaps it would be better
To live in Glasgow, Montana
Than to self isolate.

When I cook,
When I sleep,
When I walk,
Or when I sing,
I realize that freedom
Is a state of mind more than anything
But when I dance
Or when I sneeze
I realize that
In times of fear
We may sacrifice freedoms
For perceived protections.

Always be aware of your protector
And their motivations
And devotions
We hold tight to our freedoms,
But when we give them up
To the wrong authority
We will not see them returned.

Its hard to interact with anyone
Before someone starts to wax philosophical
Or even worse, political
And in times where I can't escape the polity of the day
I think
Self isolation is grand.

So take me to a cottage by the sea
With a certain je ne sais quoi
Where the wind and waves call to me.
I'll garden and gab
And life will be glad
And I will host no more parties
And rub elbows with no snobs
And that will just be the glob,
Yes, that will be the glob.

Saturday, April 4, 2020

NaPo20 - 4

Today's prompt was to write a poem with/inspired by dream based imagery.

I dreamt that you returned
Happy as ever
You followed me around
And though I could see you clear as day
No one else could,
Much to my dismay

The strangest thing was
In my sleep
I could feel your form
Against my back, warm.
I could feel you jump
On the bed and lay at my feet
Only to realize
Upon waking
That you were still gone.

I could feel your soft fur
Under my hands
Rub your ears between
My fingertips
But when you did something funny or cute
No one else would notice you

How cruel is it
That even when you return
In my dreams,
You're still a ghost of a memory?

Friday, April 3, 2020

NaPo 2020 - April 3

This was quite a tricky prompt! Use RhymeZone to come up with a list of rhymes and near rhymes. And write a poem using them. So yeah not my best work - but perhaps it'll give you a laugh.

The meadow was aglow with fluorescent fungi
The moon was a waning crescent
The fairy made her ascent
And perched atop a mushroom cap
She sat where you could hear the oxbow
She did not dawdle and played her banjo
Her wings shone iridescent
As the moon made its descent
And the banjo notes cascaded in harmony
She did not throttle the instrument
But instead let out an epiglottal sound
And began to sing
Her voice tinkling like bells all around.
I listened quietly and tucked the bottle
I had planned to capture her in away
And tapped my toe and hummed and began to sway
In that moonlit meadow on a night in May.

NaPoWriMo 2020 March 31 - April 2nd

Back again for another April attempt at a poem a day for 30 days and I'm already behind. I'm blaming the strange world we are currently living in.

My hope is that my poetry will be an escape from SARS-CoV-2 aka Covid-19, but if I'm being honest, it will probably make an appearance in some (or many) of my poems, we will see.

As always I will be predominantly following the prompts from

March 31st bonus prompt: write a poem about a bird

In their suitcoat they waddle
Slowly encumbered by blubber
To the water's edge,
They do not hesitate but dive in
The frigid, icy waters

Beneath the surface they are reborn
As agile, graceful dancers
They glide through the waters
Turning this way and that
Sleek performers of an underwater ballet.

Then they haul out on the surface
And resume their droll waddle
Making the frigid commute home.

April 1st prompt: "I’d like to challenge you to write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances. For example, bowling, or shopping for socks, or shoveling snow, or teaching a child to tie its shoes."

I used to wonder,
Riding in the back seat of my parents' car
As a college student,
Yes I used to wonder 
What my life would be like
Whenever it finally began

And now that it has begun,
I suppose,
Though sometimes it still doesn't feel 
As though it had begun at all,
I have trouble saying what it might be like.

Perhaps my life is like driving a car,
Making turns, coordinating with other people
Navigating streets,
Sometimes getting lost,
Never finding a parking spot quickly
Following rules.

Or perhaps my life is like grocery shopping,
Perusing all the different aisles
Full of choices: what will you buy? What will you choose?
Each day full of new choices.
So maybe life isn't like grocery shopping.

Perhaps it is like walking a dog
Unruly on the end of the leash.
The dog pulls me around, though I try to direct it.
Am I directing my life or is it directing me?

Perhaps my life is somewhere among
The metaphor of all these things.

April 2nd prompt: write a poem about a specific place, using concrete details

I used to enter Kodosky
Through the glass doors at the south end of the building,
I'd wave my key fob in front of the box
The light would turn green,
I'd hear the lock click
And I'd open the door.

I'd softly tread across the carpet
Passing the executive and financial suites
Pass the kitchen and coffee bar
Smile at coworkers in skirts or slacks
Or looking trendy in jeans.
Exchange morning pleasantries.

Turn to the left and enter the MarComm and Programs Suite
I'd navigate the maze of cubes
Wish my supervisor good morning through her open office door
And go sit at my desk by my cube-mate

Framed pictures of friends smiled down at me
My green pothos growing happily next to them.
I'd log in to my computer and try to get work done.
Chatting with my boss and cube-mate throughout the day.

In the afternoons
People would get noisier in a cheerful sort of way
You would hear their voices
Chatting with their neighbors
About work, about phone calls, about good and bad
And life all together.

Yeah, Kodosky is a good place to be.

But now that building stands empty.
Her doors locked and shut tight.
No cheerful workers entering her carpeted halls
No one making coffee or tea.
The building settles,
But no one hears.
No one notices if there is a leak when it rains
Or if a pipe is clogged
Or if the phones go out.

No children come to work if school is out
No one chats over coffee or lunch.
The building is lonely and empty.
She misses the people who come and work and plan inside.
When will they come back? She wonders.
We know no more than she,
But I promise we miss you,
Good ole Kodosky.