Some Sort of Life Crisis

Hello internet,

Are you there?

No matter, I'll just write this poem here for you whenever you happen to stop by.




The other day I was driving on the highway
And we saw a car fire.
My sister called 911
A firetruck arrived
The fire was extinguished
We went about our day.


But today, I can't help but feel
That my life is that burning car
And I am the driver standing nearby
Helplessly watching it go up in smoke
Uncertain and unaware of where or how to go.

My life is not what I expected or anticipated
Or anywhere near what I would like it to be.

But I am stuck and I don't know how to go where I want.

You're not stuck.

I am. I'm stuck.
I can apply, apply, apply for jobs
And not get them.

I am working a job anyone could get
with a clean background
and a high school diploma.

My college degrees were in vain.
Wasted time. Wasted money.
Loans that seem insurmountable.

I think of that story
With the train
That just thought really hard
And tried really hard
And got over the hill.

I really liked that story as a kid.
I tried to live out that story as I grew up.

But I did not crest the hill.

They will tell you if you try hard enough
You'll get it
But that isn't true.

You've got to have the right stuff.
And I don't.
I don't have the experience.

And I've applied for jobs that I would like
That don't require experience
But if someone else who has experience applies
They will get the job.

So I guess I need to volunteer.
I should have volunteered and interned while I was in school.
I should have done more.

Getting a degree does not guarantee you a job

GETTING A DEGREE DOES NOT GUARANTEE YOU A JOB.

It doesn't even always guarantee you an interview.

I'm not saying college is a waste
It's just you've got to have the experience too.
So you have to volunteer and have a job and get internships
AND study and go to class.

Then maybe you'll be able to get a job that uses your degree.

And suddenly I feel like I've done everything wrong.
I studied hard but that wasn't enough.
I had an internship but that wasn't enough.

And it all kind of boils down to this massive feeling
that
I am NOT enough.

And so my life feels like a car on fire.
And I am twenty-five
And having some sort of life crisis.

If you couldn't tell, I'm feeling down,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 Finale - Hummingbirds

The strangest sight I have ever seen
Was a hummingbird
Sitting on a twig
Resting
Completely
Still.

They whir by our heads
Sounding like a motor
At speeds up to thirty-three
Miles per hour.

Of course everyone knows
That they drink nectar from flowers
But did you know
Their tongues move in and out of their mouths
Thirteen times per second!

The most famous, the smallest of birds
Always in a hurry
Does everything so fast
Even its metabolism
A hundred times faster
Than an elephant's

But of course
If you know
That metabolism
Increases as size
Decreases
Then that's no surprise.

But perhaps the most
Thrilling thing about
Hummingbirds
Is how their feathers
Bend light
To make them
Iridesce.




Inspired by watching hummingbirds at the feeder and today's final (how sad!) NaPoWriMo Prompt to write a poem that incorporates interesting or strange facts.

For more interesting hummingbird facts (also the source of the facts presented here) check this page.


Dear readers, if you know of other writing challenges (or perhaps just have a personal challenge for me) please let me know in the comments. I've so enjoyed this challenge and will miss it quite a bit.

-Sharon

Penultimate NaPoWriMo 2018 - Asthmatic Poem

Asthmatic Poem

Blue lips
Purple fingernails
How I gasped for air that night
Sometimes breathing is a losing fight

It is a strange and odd thing
When your body turns against you
When it grows angry
And inflames
So your lungs don't work the same

I walked into that angel's arms
Here doctors, nurses worked to mend my harms
See the triage nurse
Right away she sends you back to a room

Soon you'll pose
Like a prisoner
Before a screen

And finally

Needle into arm
Mask over face
Breathe deep little one
Ignore the pains

Soon you will be right as rain.

Bronchial tubes perpetually inflamed
Trigger exposed
Tubes swell
Muscles constrict
Mucus produced
Isn't that an odd trick?

Yes, my body turns against me
And my muscles contrict
Around my lungs
Like a snake around its prey

Its even called bronchoconstriction
Shouldn't that be the name of snake?

Take a cocktail
Of bronchodilators
And corticosteroids
Sounds like chondrichthys
But not nearly as cool.

Some of the medicines taste just fine
Like that oddly good taste of liquid albuterol
But the acrid flavor of prednisone liquid won't do at all.
It was so bad, my mother would follow it with
spoonful of sugar - sweet

Now every day I must take
a luekotriene receptor antagonist
At least that sort of sounds cool I guess.
When I was a child I took it chewable
It's flavor - cherry - was quite doable.

Now I'm adult and I have to take it swallowable
But it doesn't taste bad - just quite bland.
And I suppose it works better than anything
And it doesn't elevate my heart rate
Like my inhaler - it gives me the shakes.

Sometimes it still strikes me
I remember there used to be a commercial
Where a child claimed
"Asthma is like a fish out of water."
I've always disagreed

Rather it is like
Someone stuck a hand in your chest
And made a fist around your lungs
It is quite unpleasant.
But it is what it is.
At least it's not as bad as when I was a kid.





So this one was a stretch. The penultimate prompt (cool word! sad circumstance) was to pick one of Sylvia Plath's poems and write a poem that is inspired by it and well . . . I sort of did. I selected Among the Narcissi which mentions "something on the lung" and "tries his breathing" so I produced this poem about my experience thus far with asthma.

Deep Breaths,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 28

The prompt on this 28th day of April was to write a postcard poem, which apparently is a prose poem that "captures a moment in time with a strong sense of place," is addressed to someone and is brief (for more types of poem see here).

Dear past/present Sharon,

I know you are longing for the future. I know you are impatiently awaiting that time when you have a house and a husband and a job and maybe a child. I know, at the very least, you really want a job and a small house with a fenced back yard for your dog. I know you can't wait. I know you are rushing, rushing, rushing forward, just like you always have. I thought you'd learned the lesson finally, but you haven't. Enjoy the present. Enjoy the time being. Enjoy where you are. Stop. Take a breath. Look around and enjoy. Stop looking at your situation with anxiety and trepidation. Embrace your situation. Realize that you are not trapped - you are free. This chapter of life has value too - and one day you will (sometimes) long for it. Even in your worst days, there is good in this situation. Relax, breathe in, enjoy.

With love,

Future Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 27

Today's prompt threw me for a bit of a loop as I really know nothing about tarot cards. But anyway, I eventually settled on the fool as the description contains the phrase "the spirit in search of experience" which I can quite relate to.


If the fool is the spirit in search of experience
Then I suppose I am the fool
I spent my days in school
I studied hard, I took good notes
But grades on transcripts and diplomas
Don't amount to much
Without that hot commodity
Experience.

Unemployed then underemployed
Yes its been almost a year now
I lack the experience
To do the things I need
To succeed
At least in mine own eyes.

I apply to jobs and on and on
Over and over
It seems like it ought to be my turn

But the world doesn't work that way
It just turns on and on.

So I go on and on
Journeying on
As the spirit in search of experience.

The frustrating thing
The irony
The impossible thing
The paradox that haunts and taunts me:
In order to get the experience I need
I am in need of experience.

Sigh

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 26

Berry Dreams
I had dreams
Berry dreams
Dreams of cobblers
And jams.

So I went in the yard
And worked oh so hard
Picking those berries
From their canes
Those bright purple, black berries
From their thorny, thorny canes.
And it was nearly impossible
Quite impossible
To pick a berry
Without feeling
That sharp quick pain
Of the thorn pricking your finger
And it stung too.
Not as bad as a wasp
But maybe like a bee.
My fingers were sore and red and pricked
By the time I was through.

I carried my prize inside the house
And set to work in the kitchen.
Rolling and stretching out the pie dough
Pressing the soft, delicate dough
Into the cool glass pie pan.
Then I rinsed my berries
Under the cool, clear water.
Dumped them in a bowl
Mixed in some sugar and cinnamon
And dumped the filling in the pie.

I layered the top piece of dough
Wet my fingers,
And methodically, carefully
Sealed that soft dough shut,
Crimping it as I went.
I cut holes for vents.

And opened the oven
I felt the blast of heat on my face
And thought of the pizza oven
That I thought a dragon lived inside as a child.
I placed my pie in the middle,
Set the timer
And went in the living room.

I waited,
And waited
And waited.

Til I heard that
Shrill, little
Incessant
Beep, Beep, Beep.
The oven timer
Is always in more of a rush than me.

I pulled the pie out
Carefully
Covered the nicely
golden browned edges with foil
Working quickly
Feeling the heat of the pie plate
On my fingers
The heat hastened my pace
So I wouldn't get burned.

Then into the oven the pie returned.
And I waited again
for the impatient and piercing
Beep beep beep
Of the oven.

Padding into the kitchen
I smiled
At the cinnamony, bready
And bright smell
Permeating my kitchen.

I pulled out the pie
Lightly browned on the top
The berries and sauce bubbling
Reddish purple
Through the steam holes.

I sliced that pie
And served a piece
The juices spread out on my plate
And I ate a tantalizing bite
The crust both crisp and tender
The sauce was both tart and sweet
The berries somehow both firm and soft
And the seeds of course were grainy, but pleasant
I savored each bite
The cinnamon and sugar imparted
A light spiciness and sugar sweetness
But the berries' bright tartness shone.

That night I dreamed
Dewberry dreams.




Today's prompt was to write a poem that spoke to all five senses and well, I've tried.

Happy writing! And berry eating.

-Sharon

WARNING (NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 25)

WARNING
Careful
Gets very hangry
Feed regularly; have snacks on hand.

Caution:
Indecisive
May be frustrating but
She can't always make up her mind.
Sometimes she can't tell you what she wants
But can tell you what she doesn't.
This may be frustrating.
Use patience.

Cuidado:
Doesn't like repeating herself
Listen carefully and closely.
Know what she said the first time.

Beware:
Introverted
Sometimes may seek solitude
It's nothing against you,
She just needs her alone time
Let her have it.

DO NOT LEAVE CHOCOLATE UNATTENDED
She will eat it.
Do not get between her and her chocolate
You will regret it.
She is a shameless chocoholic.




Today's prompt was to write a warning label for yourself. And in the spirit of getting to know each other a little better, I thought I'd answer the questions Maureen has asked poets in the NaPoWriMo Interview (I've even included a writerly author bio following the format of said interviews - not sure what I'm talking about? See one here.)

Sharon has many half-baked novels, but many more fully formed poems. She created her first (and only) chapbook, Tidbits, in her Creative Writing class her junior year of high school. Her work has been published in the local newspaper, a TPWD wildlife newsletter, and the 2017 Seaspray Literary Journal. She also freelance edits.

1. Why did you begin writing poetry? Why do you still?
I've been telling stories my whole life. I started writing as early as I could. I was introduced to poetry in the fourth grade (everyone else liked Shel Silverstein, I was and am a fan of Jack Prelutsky). I'm not sure when I started regularly writing poetry, but I do remember writing some poems in 7th or 8th grade that were embarrassingly lovey-dovey, mushy-gushy.

I've kept writing poetry because I've found it helps me to process things: events and emotions, both personally and at a larger scale. Not to mention, I just really enjoy writing.

2. What is the best piece of writing advice you've gotten? The worst?
I'm not sure I've really gotten much writing advice. I do remember in 7th grade, my English teacher encouraged me to be more descriptive in my writing by writing what I know.
But I think the key to writing is the same as what my mother once told me was the key to art: you have to know when to stop adding to a poem. You have to recognize when it's done. It can be difficult, but practice (and revision) helps.

3. How did your new book come into being?
New book? Are you a prophet or a soothsayer? I don't know, but I'll let you know if there ever is one.

4. Is there a generative prompt, practice or ritual that you find particularly helpful, or that you would recommend to students, friends, or other poets?
I find writing to prompts incredibly useful. Or writing about something I've had an emotional response to. I think the most important thing is to write. But if you insist. . . I love NaPoWriMo and I think one of the prompts I enjoyed the most was this one from 2015 that encouraged us to take a well-known poem and write a satire or parody of it. Here's the poem I wrote in response to that prompt. The way I approached it, I think could help you master unfamiliar poem forms (like that of the Poe's The Raven).

I can't believe the month is almost over!

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 24 (An Elegy for Ancient Egypt)

Today the challenge was to write an elegy with a sense of hopefulness. It should be noted that I'm not following the three phrases outlined at poets.org (see second link above).

An Elegy for Ancient Egypt

Land of the River Nile
Ebbing and Flowing
Flooding and Receding
Driving daily life.
Land of pharoahs and tombs,
Pyramids and Great Sphinxes
gods and temples.
Land of mummies; afterlife
Hieroglyphics, Rosetta Stone.
Land where a god daily traveled
across the sky.
These are some of the things I know.

Over centuries,
things have changed
Grave robbers came
Sphinx nose crumbled
Wars waged
Pharaohs fell.

But still knowledge remains.
And while those times are passed by
You still catch imagination's eye.

Dams built
River swelled
Temples encroached
Humans prevail
Temples moved - saved.

You followed Earth's patterns for your life
We change the Earth how we like.

What more can we learn?
What mysteries
Hide in your temples,
Tablets, tomes,
Pyramids, Valley of the Kings?
What more secrets can we know?

I hope to make it to Egypt one day,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 23

The prompt today was to write "a poem based in sound." There was the literal approach: a poem filled with onomatopoeia. Sizzle, sizzle, hissss, purrr. Well that didn't yield much (just breakfast foods and a cat). I wanted to write a poem that had the rhythm of a train but I couldn't even begin to think of how to do that. So I don't know what this will even be. But the day is almost over here and I owe a poem.

Screeeeeee
squeak
    squeak
        squeak

Down the stairs
Take a peak.

Screeeeee
       squeak
    squeak
squeak

Creep to the door
Who is there?

EEEK!!!

An open door
And the most unsettling sound of all

Empty

            Unsettling




     Silence.


Slam!Bang!Click!

SqueakSqueakSqueak!
UpTheStairsLicketySplit!
Scrree.Click.

EEEEEeeeee
Climb in bed. Cover your head. Try to get some sleep.



ZZZZzzzzzz

Better late than never

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 22

Today's prompt is to take one of several impossible phrases and write a poem in which the impossible occurs. Since I chose a funny topic; I thought I would use a limerick(ish). Here's a fun one to start of your Sunday:

 There once was a farmer who farmed all his life
 But never would he agree to help his wife
 When it came to raising their son
 He was quite the unhelpful one
 In their marriage it caused much strife

 He wouldn't give another thought to cleaning the chicken coop
 He didn't even mind cleaning the pig sty's goop
 But when it came to a diaper
 He wouldn't even be a wiper
 So his wife was forced to clean all diapers - both pee and poop

 One day their son was a little sick
 The farmer didn't care a lick
 His wife worked all night
 In the morning she started a fight
 Hoping that would do the trick

 "I've had it with you!" She yelled
"His diarrhea diapers quite smelled."
 But the farmer refused to aquiesce
 To his dear wife's request
 So her frustration went unquelled.

 She followed him out to the sty
 Whereupon she started to cry
 "Just help me out"
 "Just change one diaper!" She did shout.
 His reply: "I'll change a diaper when pigs fly!"

 Oh that really got her goat
 And the farmer went to town to gloat
 But his wife she did stew
 For she didn't know what to do
 So she went to talk to the women at the moat.

 To the other women she talked
  And around her even more  flocked
 Those other women began to stew
 Later told their husbands "I've got a beef with you!"
 At her tale those women gawked.

 With the anger of a hundred women, she headed home
 And grew angrier still upon seeing the dome
 On the silo's top
 Nothing could make her anger stop
 As she watched her husband work in the loam.

 When he finally came back inside
 Her anger was still quite unsatisfied
 "Since only flying pigs will win your help"
 "I'll see that they do!" She did yelp.
 The farmer rolled his eyes knowing his wife lied.

 Then out their window; right before their eyes
 A tornado appeared in the skies
 It dropped to the ground
 Where it spun round and round
 And lifted all the pigs out of their sties.

 The farmer's jaw dropped to the floor for he knew
 What his wife would soon make him do.
 She held out their baby, winking
 And his diaper was stinking
 That day, pigs flew! Yes it's true!

 Neighbors came from near and far
 As the farmer wished he were at a bar
 The women let out a cheer:
 "He got what he deserved, dear!"
As he cleaned that poopy diaper.

 And you know the rest
 The wife satisfied with her quest
 Sat down in a chair
 While the farmer searched out fresh air
 He always remained at her behest.

 Never again would a diaper she change
 Because for all his trying he couldn't rearrange
 So whether they be poop or pee
 Diapers were now the farmer's responsibility
 She even brought baby to him out on the range!

Now you've heard my tale
I hope you've listened quite well
Learn from the farmer's mistake
Do not wish for swine to uptake
Or else the clouds will form a powerful cell!

Hehe, I had fun with that one

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 21

Today's prompt is to write "a poem that plays with the myth" of Narcissus.

I read versions of the myth online, but I recall a slightly different version:
Narcissus sees his reflection in a pond and falls in love with the beautiful reflection. Bending to kiss it, he falls in the pond and ends up drowning and his namesake flowers spring from the ground beside the pond.

I can't find a version of the myth of Narcissus that has this particular means of demise in it, so I may have mis-remembered the myth. Either way it reminds me of the end of T.S. Eliot's poem, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" a poem that I often find this part of this poem inspirational.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and
brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.



Inspired by Narcissus and Eliot and Poe, here is my poem

Narcissus loved himself; a sad downfall; floral eternity.
Mermaids sing to sailors; sailors sing back, leaning overboard and
Kissing wat'ry lips of death
Mermaids long to walk on land but breathing air would mean their demise.
Irony of ironies mermaids cannot live above
Anymore than we could dwell below.



I tried my hand at Trochaic Octometer but was not completely successful, but anyway there's today's poem!

NaPoWriMo Will Not Last Forevermore!

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 20

As they say "a day late and a dollar short." I actually wrote this poem on time yesterday but I wasn't sure about it and didn't publish it and well now it's late and I'm a poem behind . . . for now.

Today's prompt was to write a poem that in some way incorporates rebellion. My mind sprang forth with many ideas at once. But which to write? I sort of liked the idea of writing about Ella Enchanted but that seems to easy. It was also suggested that we might right a poem in which we rebel against ourselves.

A noose tattooed around his neck
Though in jail
He was the last of the four men convicted
"It's to remind me that I'm still here."
He had plead guilty to a crime for which he was innocent
Told that was the only way he would live.
He died later
In jail.
Never exonerated of a crime
He didn't commit.
The most rebellious thing he could do
Was live.

Another of the men convicted beside him
Sat on death row for a decade plus
Eventually he was put to death
For a crime he insisted he didn't commit.
Lawyers tried hard to exonerate him
Or at the very least
Get his sentence changed
And though they worked hard
Even their last ditch efforts
Failed.
The most rebellious thing he could do
Was maintain his innocence.

What had happened you see
was that the justice system had failed.
A sheriff deputy and a DA
Were far too concerned
With closing the case
They found some guys with a background
And pinned it on them
With little material evidence
And a whole lot of testimony
That left something to be desired.
The most rebellious thing they could do
Was not do their jobs by the book.

There were many others
Lawyers, detectives, journalists
Who came to town
Looking for answers
Wherever they could be found.
They paid out of pocket for DNA testing
To find the answers they were questing.
The most rebellious thing they could do
Was leave no stone unturned.

Can people really be laid to rest -
Can their families really have peace -
If the people convicted
Seem, at least in this case to have their hands clean?

Those three teens lie underground
Will the truth ever be found?
Do their spirits haunt
Some guilty soul?
Perhaps we will never know.
Do their spirits roam
That sad lake
And question if this was a big mistake?
The most rebellious thing those spirits could do
Is whisper the truth to me or you.

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 19

Another late poem, I'm afraid. Today's prompt was a bit tricky and maybe that's why its late (it seems as though the prompts have been getting trickier and trickier).

April 19th
Today's prompt was to write a paragraph (perhaps directions from your house to the grocery store) and then either erase words from the paragraph to create a poem or use the words as a word bank to create a poem.

I sort of did that. I wrote directions to the grocery store in list form - because they're directions. And then I crammed it into a paragraph and got rid of some of the "less important" words (and, or, the, in etc). Then I sort of just used the words for inspiration and wrote.

The Lone Oak

Over the little narrow bridge

Out on the curvy roads

Where people take their lane out of the center

Past the last house

Eventually you will find

The Lone Oak

He is a friend of mine

Walnut, Juniper, Oak, Ash, Elm

All these trees grow in my realm

But the gnarled old Lone Oak

Is my friend.

I’ve sat under him

When I felt alone

When life seemed as though

It would weather away

My old friend the Lone Oak

Always stays.

Bugs, squirrels, and birds

Call him home.

He plays with the coyotes

He shelters the ‘coons

For any creature

That scurries, climbs, hops, flies

There is always room.

I like to sit down

With my back to his trunk

And sometimes

Look up

Into that mess of

Branches, twigs, and leaves

How many fledglings have known these?

The land around him

May be devoid of trees

But he is a friend to all things.

And because I think they were kind of poetic, I'm including my original directions to the grocery store:

Turn right onto Twin Oak St.

Pass two (or is it three?) houses, I can never remember.

Turn left onto Martindale.

Cross the little narrow bridge – be careful, people like to drive right down the middle

Follow the curves in the road

Stay on your side and don’t go too fast

People like to barrel down the road and often cross into the other lane

Stop at the stop sign that really ought to be a stoplight but isn’t yet.

Wait til your sure its safe

Turn left.

Stop at the stoplight

Go under the overpass.

Slow down on the overpass – cops like to sit up here and wait.

Turn right on the street that goes by the movie theater – I always forget the name.

Walnut maybe?

Take a left turn into the parking lot.

You have arrived at your destination.

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 18

Let's get right to it. Today's prompt was to take a poem and cover the whole poem up except for the last line and write your first line that completes or responds to the line and then continue for the rest of the poem.

My first attempt was with "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams which I must admit I am somewhat familiar with as I remember we read it in English class my junior year of high school. I always remember that while it created a picture, it never really seemed to say or do much and felt rather incomplete to me. Anyways my attempt produced a statement on chickens and ducks:

Do chickens really sing when they lay an egg?

The eggs come in different colors - white, creamy, blue, or green - but always smooth in your hand.

Chickens need water to survive; but supposedly in rain – they will drown.

Chickens aren’t like ducks. Ducks oil their feathers so the water just beads up and glides off.

A wheelbarrow might make a good pond for ducks if you filled it with water, but it might topple over when they jumped out.

Ducks are nice, but chickens seem a little more artistic – especially the roosters with their bright red combs.

The rooster around here likes to hop on things – the dog house, a fence, a large planter – and crow about defeating the dog. He is a bantam – beautiful but very small.

Chickens and ducks are humble creatures and yet so many people depend on them for food. While I like eggs, I find that they, especially ducks, are even more dependable for a smile (although some of them think this egg laying thing is serious business – and don’t even get me started on broody birds).

I really wasn't satisfied with this poem. It didn't feel like authentic me to me. And it was so disjointed and not in a good way. So I went searching for another poem and eventually found the beautiful poem "Invitation to Love" by Paul Laurence Dunbar. And from the bottom to the top, I wrote sort of the opposite.

Invitation to Leave

You are not wanted here.

Go even if it snows.

Go when the summer sun beats on you and sweat stings your eyes

Go even when the trees begin to bud fresh green

Go even if you bring me berries.

Go when the leaves rustle, dry, and fall; when steps crunch under feet.

Stay away even when laughter fills this house so sweet.

Stay away when the tears won’t cease to fall.

Even birds depart the nest they worked so hard to build.

When you are gone, I feel calmest.

Your words are harsh as cannon fodder.

I used to find you sweet but now you’ve turned sour.

You are not wanted here.

If you think of returning, please do not

Go and no matter the hour, stay away.

When the sun dips below the horizon, remember the fire has fizzled out.

And no matter what crops you grow or yards you mow, stay away.

Even if the sun shines on you there, it won’t shine on you here.

And in the dark of night, at the house you won’t find any light.

Even on the brightest night, my love-light has left me pitch black.

So yeah two poems today, because even though the first was a dud, I figured I would share it anyway.

Happy Bottom to Top Writing

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 17

April 17th
Today's prompt is to write a poem that re-tells a family anecdote.



The streets ran red
With blood
As the rebels
Cut off the head
Of every member
Of the ruling class
Of every member
Of the aristocracy
Of my family
Of my friends.

Living on the run
Never ends.
How do I know
If they are friend or foe?
I'm next
I know I'm next
If they find me

I will be found guilty
Without prejudice

I will be marched out
To that killing machine
The guillotine
As crowds surround
And wait
For my date with fate.

And so a few good blokes
Find a way for me to make my escape
They bribe some sailors

Find me a way out
An apple barrel
They stow me inside
Roll me aboard

It is cramped
And smells strongly of apples
When I feel the rocking
Of the high seas
I climb out with difficulty

The voyage is long
The seas are rough
I do not have sea legs
The sea is not my friend
The boat is tossed
From wave to wave
And never again
Will I see my friends
Who my life did save.

I make my way to the Americas
The United States
Here, I have a future
Here, I can have a family
For centuries my ancestors will breathe

The airs
of freedom
of equality.

Here I do not have to fear
My countrymen
Arresting me
And chopping off my head
Making the streets run red
With my spilt blood.

And as grateful as I am
For that cramped ride
The smell of apples has never left me
But I am grateful to be alive .

Every day we are alive is a good day

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 16

The craft resource from napowrimo.net today was one encouraging you not to focus too much on the "craft" of writing poetry. As Maureen sums it up:

"Thinking hard thoughts about word choice, line breaks, sound, and structure can help to make a poem better, but too much emphasis on perfection can breed stale, airless verse."

If I'm quite honest, most of the time, I don't think too much about those things - I often defer to free-verse. And while that can produce nice poems - perhaps coarse and unrefined, yet straightforward - I think for me, it's just laziness. My poems are hit-or-miss and sometimes focusing on the form really forces me to think about it more and sometimes, I think, has a good result.

I guess maybe it comes down to this: don't over-think your poetry, but don't under-think it either.

Anyway I digress. Today's prompt (see link above), was to write a poem that features play. I tried to do so in both the shape of the poem itself (it makes one of my nephews' names - can you see it?) and the content. Hope you enjoy!

Note: I'm not sure how this will show up in other views because the shape is not really embedded, so I suspect for best viewing purposes you'll want a computer browser.

Another Note: This was a pain to do and I probably won't do it again, but it was kinda fun. Tell me what you think :)

Last note: Read it as normal: from left to right. It might be a bit confusing and if so, I apologize (perhaps this should have been my approach to the comfort zone poem).

Without further ado:


Toddlers at Play

The world                   is                  still            a                    mystery    to a toddler.
Everything                  is               strange        and               new.           A fresh
perspective.               Play             is how        they        explore            the
world. A                    purse           can be         a toy.    First                   the
zipper. Now              what's            inside?      Dump it                          out.
Does this key            open              this            tic-tac                             container? Is
this a maraca?           Do                 these         two   connect?              Can I have
your pen?                    If                I blow         does      this                    make
a sound? Oh!               You           booped        my             nose!            That's
funny! My turn!              Now       you!               Can                    I           have that?
I do not understand       toddler games            but                      it's        fun to play along.

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 15

Late poem today. Was running around with my sisters; ultimately our plans didn't work out which was a huge let-down. Oh well, April marches on.

April 15th

Today's prompt is to write a poem which makes a villain more human, but still a villain. I admit, I had a lot of trouble deciding on a villain and then once I did, I had trouble figuring out how to make him seem human, but I actually like the end result. Plus there's a twist-ending!

The Riddler

Riddle me this
Riddle me that
What makes the sound pitter patter
And rhymes with bat?
Riddle me here
Riddle me there
What ticks and tocks
And is under your chair?
Riddle me who
Riddle me how
If you know what's best
You'll answer me now.

Talking in riddles can be so tiring
But how else can I seem frightening?

I know it seems tough
I know it seems wrong
But I once wasn't so gruff.

The truth resides in this rhyme.
I do more than evil
I cause more than crime

My life was once simple
But now it's sublime.

When I was a boy
My family didn't have much at all
My greatest desire was one simple toy
A ball

My father worked hard
He worked all day long
And one day a ball appeared in the yard.

I took it to the store
I took it to the school
It was my prized possession; we were so poor.

Then one afternoon
An older boy cornered me
Taking my toy, he was a goon.

He teased and he taunted
"Answer my riddle and your ball, I'll return."
His superior intellect, he flaunted.

"What is impossible by night, but doable by day?"
An answer, I could not produce
So with my toy; he ran away.

I vowed then
I vowed there
Never would anyone ever
Best me again.

Now when I'm not out riddling,
When in prison, I'm not sitting,
In the library, you will find me - I'll be reading
I read to the small
I read to the sad
I read to the weak
I read to the poor.

I read to them all
But I do some more

I teach them that life isn't nice
It's not fair;
I show them they don't need to share.

Reading aside; make no mistake
Cross me and see
If you can best me intellectually.

I'll give you a puzzle
So difficult
You will go insane
They'll haul you right off
They'll take you away

They'll check you into
Arkhum Asylum
You will be quite inane
There we will reunite
And I will puzzle and prod
Til out your ears drips your brain
It will be quite the sight!

Now off I must go to find that original bully
The Dark Knight!

Reading your comments makes writing twice as nice!

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 14

Two whole weeks! And currently, I am up-to-date. I did have a brief lapse at the end of week 1, but I jumped back on the wagon and haven't fallen off again since!

Today's prompt is an interesting one: take some words provided by Maureen and create a dream dictionary. I don't know about you, but I've looked up meanings of dreams quite a bit (most frequently: out of control cars, teeth falling out, and it seems like there was another one but I can't recall [just like most of my dreams]). Anyways, back to the prompt, I thought I would take a slightly different approach with this one and smash the words into one dream and make up a meaning for that.

Dear Dream Interpreter Betsy,

I've had the strangest dream; I hope you can interpret it for me:

I searched for a lost ballet slipper
I was going to be late for ballet class
But I could only find a dainty teacup
With a chip taken out of it.

Satisfied with this find,
I left my house
And wound up at the dentist.
He was wielding a hammer
And informed me that
I didn't have an appointment
But he could fit me in
As soon as he dispatched
A squawking seagull.

A little uneasy, alarmed and queasy,
I ran out of his office
Only to fall in the ocean
Just as I bobbed to the top
I realized I was being chased
By a toothsome shark
Who I told needed to see the dentist
Because he had holes in some of his teeth.

I was plucked out of the ocean
By a winsome sailor
Just before the toothy shark
Was able to bite my toes
Which were wearing the lost
Ballet slippers, by the way
He set me down
In a tiny rowboat,
Handed me the oars,
And yelled "man overboard"
As backwards he disembarked.

I rowed to a desert island
Where the only structure
Was a wobbly table
Which winked at me
I sat under it
To take shelter from an approaching storm
As the rain began to fall,
I awoke.

-Honestly Insomnia Would Be Better

Hello Honestly Insomnia!

I'm quite glad you wrote me.

What a dream!

It is full of important

Symbology.

First lets look at the dominant themes

I see:

Ballet, teeth, and all things nautical.

Right away this suggests

You tend to foray

With the uncouth

And aquatical.

More specifically,

Your dream suggests that you feel small and incomplete

You tend to lose your way

(If you have trouble sleeping, you really ought to count sheep!)

The dentist with the hammer has a double meaning:

You feel unequipped for the mundane

But also you desire to put an end

To something annoying and superfluous

At an undecided time.

Sometimes you feel like you lack direction

You are afraid

Of being hurt 

by a dominant figure in your life

Who you see as

flawed and incomplete.

Sometimes you feel as though others give you direction

But don't help you at all

And when you follow their directions

You feel sufficiently equipped

But things don't tend to go well.

Still, things tend to be okay.

My suggestion?

Do whatever you want.

Clearly you know what's best.

And if I'm wrong,

My advice is still

Ironically

spot on.

Well, that was fun!

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 13

Welcome to Friday the 13th!

Today's prompt is to take a common phrase, take the opposite of it, and then use that as inspiration for a poem.

Indifference birthed the dog

They say
Indifference birthed the dog
That's really odd to say
That such a nice creature
could be created in such a way.

"Ah but," the scientists say,
"evolution is indifferent;
wouldn't you say?"

Scientist to scientist, I think you're wrong
Because in a different verse of that same song,
You pontificate that great phrase
'Survival of the fittest'
That is the way
That natural selection occurs.

And survival of the fittest
Is really just taking a positive spin
of
Discontinuance of the unsuitable
Which is just quite grim.

And furthermore,
to anyone who believes
"Curiosity killed the cat"
I hope you are answered with a resounding chorus of:
"Knowledge brought him back."

Without curiosity where would we be?
No one would question anything.
Scientists would not be around
To elaborate on why some fossils can't be found.

Curiosity is beneficial
And I think we can all concur
That indifference is bad

And if you are indifferent on the matter,
well then
that's quite sad.

Happy poem-ing,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 12

April 12th
"Today, we’d like to challenge you specifically to write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live."

A haibun is a poem that combines a prose poem and haiku. If you haven't cared for my previous poems, today's will be different so it's up to you whether that's a good or a bad thing. Late, but just on time in central time!



For sale: Ranch style home on large wooded lot. Neighborhood built in the seventies. Well established trees. Live oak and cedar elm; tower high above. This was the yard where children played and grew. Now overgrown; green berries growing on thorny vines. This is the yard where the family pets were buried. Here is the creek with the dead snake that made girls run down the road back home. Here is the yard where friends lay on a trampoline and watched a family of skunks saunter down the creek. Here is the barbed wire that snagged clothes. Here is the cow pasture where the youngest girl explored on her own. Here is the hidden pond, a magical place far down on the creek. Here finally, is a spring that still flows over algae growing on concrete.

Nature and farmland
Now developed give way to
Tight suburbia

Keep on writing; we are almost half-way! 

-Sharon

Update 4/17/2018 - I was messing around with my blog and noticed this post was all highlighted in white. It's a weird formatting thing that happens when I've copied and pasted text from somewhere (the quoted text from the NaPo prompt). Ugh. But it's a deeper formatting issue . . . I didn't catch it til now; so I just fixed it. Too bad, because I had liked this poem. Ugh. Oh well.

NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 11

April 11th
A poem that addresses the future. See the link above for more specifics on the prompt.


Blooming Takes Time

The future used to be certain
A wife
A mother
A successful career
Strong
Independent

But now the future is uncertain
I guess that is true for everyone.

I am afraid.

Uncertainty scares me.

And so does change.

The fortune from the Chinese restaurant reads:
"There are many paths to the top of the mountain, but only one view."
What does that even mean?
All roads lead to the same place?
There are many paths to success but the results are all the same.

But which path do I take?

Which one is not obscured?

Should I double back
And start again?

Even though that will mean
Lost resources
Time
Money
Respect in the eyes of my loved ones.


Or should I forge ahead
On this same path that I chose
Many years ago.
(Eleven?)
For the past three I've struggled
Made no headway at all
I've come to a dead end

And I'm not sure if its even passible
To forge ahead.

I feel that I should double back
Start anew

I've got so much to prove.

I'm not dead on the vine.
Failure to thrive.
Failure to launch.
I'm doing just fine.

I bloom where I'm planted

But sometimes
Blooming takes time.

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 10

April 10th

a poem about things happening simultaneously

Oxymoronic

Being both happy and sad
Feeling both in love and heartbroken
Is oxymoronic
But true

At the wedding I see them
The bride and the groom
Singing to one another as they dance
I feel happy for them
But I long for a song in my ear

It was so sweet
You held me close
And sang softly in my ear
Your whispy voice only for me to hear
You were happy then

But at the present I sit alone
Surrounded by my family
You are not here.

The bride and groom look so in love
They can't take their eyes off each other
I remember when you looked at me that way
That time when your mother would say,
"True love ain't got nothing on them"
It was so sweet to hear.

The DJ calls the single ladies to the floor
I traipse out once more
I line up with the other few
Stepping back avoiding that
Dreaded - and longed for - catch
The bouquet
A sign to say
"I too will marry soon one day."

I think of the day not too long ago
When you told me
You didn't want to get married
And it felt as though my heart broke
Into a thousand shattered pieces
But even all those sharp edges
have never stopped loving you.

I think of the night we walked on the pier
You pulled my hair back
And I waited patiently
As you ran your fingers through
The tangles carefully
Separated it into three
And braided my hair for me.

I don't understand at all
How you can say
You love me most
But you don't want to marry me one day.

Nevertheless,
all my sharp edges
shall go on loving you
anyway.




To be quite honest, I hadn't planned to publish this poem the first go around. I stayed up late watching shows online and during a commercial break, popped over to see the prompt for today. As I watched another episode nascent ideas for this poem began to pop in my head. I was about to go to bed when I decided to jot down my ideas lest they flit away the way they often do. But after writing it all out and only making a few small changes here and there, I am going to go ahead and publish it because I think it turned out quite okay.

What do you think dear Reader?

Hope your poems treat you well,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - 9

April 9th

Write a poem "in which something big and something small come together."

Up in the sky there is a tall cloud
There is ice in the top;
it begins to fall down
Ice hits water
And electrons drop off
The cloud becomes negative.
On the ground,
Like a magnet, opposites attract
Positive charged particles accumulate under the cloud
Positive reaches for negative
They yearn to touch
Negative reaches down
Positive up
Til finally in a bright flash of light, they kiss and ignite!


I had to get a little help explaining how lightning works . . . Check out planet science and scijinks for a lot more details. I hope you enjoyed this poem. Science and writing are two of my passions so I really had fun writing this one.

Keep up the poem-ing,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 Catch-Up Day 7,8

Whoops missed a couple days there. April 7th I went to a wedding; April 8th I guess I just was out of the habit.

April 7th

The prompt was to create a list of your identities then split them into identities you are secure in and ones you are vulnerable in. Then choose one from each list and make a poem where the two identities talk to each other.

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride
When will I find someone to stand by my side?

You are strong and independent

You don't need anyone's help

It isn't about help; I don't want to be alone

When I'm with couples, I just want to go home.

When you're at weddings you don't even try

To catch the bouquet; you practically hide.

Catching the bouquet is just superstition

But you always look for stars to wish on.

Admit that you want a companion for life

But so many marriages are wrought with strife.

Your strength is false bravado

Deep down you really don't want to be alone.

April 8th

The prompt was to write a poem "in which mysterious and magical things occur."

There once was a large beautiful bird

Adorned with feathers of red and gold

Time went by and eventually it grew old.

It built itself a nest

And rested there at night.

I saw an odd glow in the bird's grow

The bird and nest were afire

I watched in sadness, I shed a tear

Because I knew the birds' end was near.

Soon the glow dimmed

The fire consumed from within

All that remained was ash.

Then I watched in awe

As beak

Then eye

Then neck

and wing

Climbed out of the ash.

A bird young and healthy

Stared back at me!

It rose and stretched out its gold and red wings

Preened its feather with its gleaming beak,

I realized this bird could live infinitely.

There once was a beautiful forest grove

The trees mighty and strong

The branches wide, the leaves so green

It was the prettiest place I'd seen.

A lightning strike struck a tree

And soon the forest did ignite in entirety.

The trees became ashy and black

They fell and covered every path.

What once was majestic and green

Looked like the aftermath of a nuclear scene

Vacant and desolate an ashy wasteland,

Not the beautiful woodland.

As the years past

Hope emerged

In the form of the smallest green

Baby pine trees.

Those trees grew up to saplings and then

Eventually that forest was again.

Sad and hard as it seems

Life yields to death

And death makes way for life again.

Death allows the world to thrive

It isn't magic, it isn't mystic

It is the way of nature: cyclic.

Keep writing!

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 6

April 6th

Today's prompt is to "stretch your comfort zone with line breaks." Apparently this could mean very long lines or very short lines, or a mix of both. I think I tend to dabble in mid-length. It makes me antsy when a line is much longer or much shorter than the others. So I guess a mix of both it is.

I am a night owl and it is just after midnight that I'm working on this and I'm struggling to figure out what to write about. I have a tendency to not write until very late resulting in poems published late, unless I stay up and work on them when the next day's poetry prompt goes live, but I don't know what to write about. Contrary to the thought that just popped in my head, I am NOT going to write about that.



I once had a dream
that you
died.

I said it couldn't be true
It couldn't be right.

But others insisted.

So I put on blackandwenttothefuneralandsat in the back
full of fear
That your family would sneer
And snarl "What are you doing here?"

And there, in front of the church
In an open coffin
You lay
All pale.

My heart pounded
pounded
pounded
in my chest
and my ears.

This isn't right.
I said.



I awoke in a sweat, my heart racing, my mind in a haze of confusion: was it true?
Had I lost you?

You
called
Early
in the morning.

"I'm glad you called," I said, "I dreamed you were dead."
You seemed completely unphased
You joked.

Joked.

"That's right, I'm calling from the grave."

I must have objected.

You
Asked how it'd happened
"Something about a car and a bridge."
You made a joke

Again.

"Well that couldn't be true,
I don't drive cars."

You told me I needed to change something I was doing
That was giving me weird dreams.

Then you changed the subject.

But it still nags at me.

If something happened to you
Would I know?
Would I be
told?

And really, I guess
it boils
down
to
this:

Does anyone

anyone

in your world
know we are
a
"we?"

Losing you is perhaps
my greatest fear

But the thought haunts me

haunts

me

Would I even know
if
you

disappeared?

So yeah, that was interesting,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 5

April 5th

Today's prompt is an interesting one. It almost sounds like a writing assignment. It boils down thusly:

1. Find a picture.
2. Find a poem in an unfamiliar language.
3. "Translate" the poem into English (or your native tongue) as though the poem is about the picture.


The picture I chose to use was one I took at a state park today. I was trying to take a picture of the honeybee, but my phone focused on the background instead. The poem I used for inspiration is by Ann Jaderlund and was in Swedish; you can find the original and its translation here. I chose a language I know nothing about so that I wouldn't be trying to literally translate the poem, although I must admit I saw the name of the poem in English and that could be why I was drawn to it.

Bees are drawn to flowers and I am drawn to bees
The bee gets nectar and pollen from the flower
On these things it feeds.
Even bees need water.
I need water too.
Are there more things in commons than these?
Does the bee watch me similarly?
The bee hums to another flower.
Unaware of the bee and me
The river rushes 
on.









I'm not sure how much inspiration I really took from the original poem, but it was interesting nonetheless.

Happy writing

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 4

April 4th

Essentially today's prompt boils down to this: Discuss the abstract with concrete nouns. You really should check out the post at NaPoWriMo.net today (linked in the date above). I love Maureen's example (go read it, I'll wait).

Also, you should read the craft resource that inspired today's prompt. It's an essay by a poetry professor that contains the advice "put a dog in it." I find this advice a bit ironic as my Day 2 poem prominently featured my dog.

I think I tend to write fairly concretely, but the idea of writing about something abstract concretely threw me for a loop. It took me awhile, but a subject came to me while I was reading Julie Wade's essay (the one I mentioned above; I'll just link to it here; even though you can get to it from the NaPoWriMo page).

I apologize that my poem is (in my opinion) a bit long. If you would prefer something shorter, I have written a concise poem to the same prompt; just scroll all the way to the end.

Please do comment on today's post or any of my previous (and future) posts. I love the community this project creates. Feel free to link to your poetry blogs - I love reading others' works.



I was afraid to work in my hometown
Because I was afraid of what 'they' would say.
Former teachers, friends, acquaintances, their parents.
I could imagine myself waitressing
They would smile at me
And as I would walk away they would shake their heads and say
"She was so smart. She had such promise. What happened?"
I could imagine them speculating
Un-true realities.
Un-fulfilled promise - that's me.
Like seeds you plant
In perfect soil that you bought from the Tractor Supply store
The kind that leaves your hands black and a bit musty smelling
And you made sure it was in a spot that wouldn't get too much sun
Or shade
And you carefully watered it
Fertilized it too
And, at first,
That little plant grew.
It poked its little green head from the soil
Full of promise of the beautiful flowers to come.
It stretched out its green dicotyledons
But then, for unknown reasons, it withered and died.
That's me, promise unfulfilled.

So instead, I chose to work thirty minutes away
In retail.
Yes, retail.
A store that is open practically every day.
I never imagined it would be this way.





And another briefer bonus poem for today's prompt:

Unrequited love
Is rather like a letter
Sent and returned unopened
Stamped: "Return to Sender."

I feel a bit morose now; I hope today brings you happier poems.

-Sharon

NaPoWriMo Day 3

April 3rd

Today's prompt is a bit of an odd one. To write a poem that is a list of made up band names. So here goes . . .


Escape the Rooster
Let the Puppies Run Free
The Blind Cat
A Bit Crazy
The Yard
Overrun by Poison Ivy
Indecisive
My Middle Name
Five Angry Dads
Catheters Make Wee
Sleeping on the Couch
No TV for Me.

Welll that was weird,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 2

April 2nd

Me:
I pull on my shoes,
I ruffle my dog's fluffy head.
"You wanna go outside, boy?"
He launches off the bed.
I've barely clipped his leash
When he pulls me out the door
His glee seems as though we've never done this before
He smells every flower
He checks each blade of grass
He investigates the dogs
And leaves a mark here or there.
"C'mon, let's go."
I gently tug on the leash.
We return home.
He bounds onto the couch.
I catch a glimpse of him as I head out the door:
Head resting on feet, he looks quite forlorn.

Dog:

She finally wakes up

I watch her change her fur

She doesn't notice as I wag my tail.

But she rubs my head

And I wag my tail some more.

She stands up and walks toward the door,

My ears perk up as I hear that sweetest phrase:

"You wanna go outside, boy?"

I feel as though I've been waiting for days.

I hurry on my way, before she changes her mind.

She takes her time, getting the leash and going outside.

But finally I can meet my stride.

I need to check the trails

Who has already been out and about

I need to make sure everyone knows I'm still around.

I think we are both enjoying our outing when I feel a gentle tug

"C'mon let's go." She says and reluctantly I go.

Once inside, I lay on my couch

And watch as she leaves once again

Just as she does everyday.

I love her anyway.

I don't actually leave my dog everyday, but he always looks so sad when I do.

Happy Writing,

Sharon

NaPoWriMo 2018 is co.... IS HERE!

And I am already behind.

Apparently last year, I only made it to Day 7 (what happened? . . . School, I guess). Well, here goes nothing.


As per usual, I'll be following the prompts from napowrimo.net, Without further ado:

March 31st:

You touch my lips and soon
My head feels like I might swoon.
My head feels floaty - I sigh
And succumb to your sweet lullaby.
In fact my life would not be the same
If I had never learned your name.
My sweet
My antihistamine
Diphenhydramine.

April 1st:

        Cookie Dough

I stroll into the kitchen,
Peer into the fridge
I find the yellow tube
My mouth stretches to a grin
I ruffle through the drawers
Find the scissors and snip the top.
When I stroll past the stove,
I don't even stop.
I take a spoon and sit
In the glow of the tv light.
The oven doesn't beep.
There is no baking sheet in sight
As I indulge in my favorite late night treat.

Happy Poem-ing

Sharon