One Last Stab

Poem a day #30 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a  closing time poem and 2) write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinating fact. 

 

 

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Crinkled nose as paper
rustles you in all
the dire news

Acrostics in glossy
magazines puzzle
you cranky

but you do not give
up, take one
last stab:

Will your love
of difficult words
pass on

Under the microscope’s eye
cells replicate,
divide

Genes shuffle
crystal blue eyes meld
into brown

Nuclear families twist
chromosomes
into fresh strands

Parenting cells
program to split,
diminish.

 

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Looking for White

Poem a day #29 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) Write a “response poem and 2) pick a poem from the Plath Poetry Project’s calendar, and then write a poem that responds or engages with your chosen Sylvia Plath poem in some way. I have chosen to respond to Plath’s Crossing the Water.

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Scattered in all directions
specks and spills of white:

Lobster boats, schooners
motorized for quick travel

across the cut-sharp blue
trail their remnants of white

foam. Then, there are gulls
not yet cackling but floating

still on the wrinkled sea until
they rise to fly and become

ever smaller, fading to blue
like commas of lost thought.

Last Wave to Thailand

img_5068.jpgPoem a day #28 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) take the phrase “(blank) Wave,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.and 2) draft a prose poem in the form/style of a postcard.

Waving from the overnight train headed north in Thailand, we crackled into Siam’s ancient capital, its sacred castles all carved out of wind wafting sand red brown temples with tendrils pointedly prodding the sky. Floating a sluggish longboat upstream from Bangkok’s tuk-tuk hustle and heat, we waved at the bustle of markets flooded with edible bugs and miniture Buddhas. On a path set with golden statues and saints, we landed amid the ramshackle huts of long neck woman waving and weaving watercolor wares no one buys. We left poppy, tea, and water buffalo behind, gazing south to old-town Phuket where a lost China remains a blazing memory. At our last stop, we did not forgot to wave goodbye to Thailand.

Living Without Sun

Poem a day #27 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) write a story poemand 2) write a poem inspired either by a Tarot card or by the images or ideas that are associated with it.

 

The Sun TarotUnder the shade of woods
out behind our house
my sisters and I built

villages, each our own
miniature home crafted
in sticks and moss.

We occupied the forest
paths on retreat
from chagrin and unsettling

neglect, mere reflection
in the nearby pond
the tallness of wood

showered us. We washed
our hands in dirt
cherished the growling

touch of muddy
grit and rusted leaves
we used to hold things

together, assembling
rows of tiny lean-tos
snug with mossy cushions

for floors, that circled
were joined by others
in tiny townships, always

finishing our work before
sundown, we spent quiet
in the last hours of light

watched as shadows
turned the green
into blue into black.

Early Morning Revel

Poem a day #26 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) write a relationship  poemand 2) write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses.

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Blue newspaper flops on the stoop
Smudges of headlines call out keen

Instead I take in the morning din:
Young couples in red slither home

from some all-night fete. A giant
garbage truck rocks and rumbles

blocks in rows of sardine-smelling
cars, while a police siren wails

down the neighboring street. Athletes
gasp, grasping an early morning run.

Fumbling with my terrycloth rough
I savor the noises of another dawn.

 

Injurious

Poem a day #25 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) pick an intriguing and/or seldom-used word, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poemand 2) write a poem that takes the form of a warning label . . . for yourself!

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Without coffee, I issue injurious
changes not unlike rough tidal
waves percolating

their chalking salt, drying the line
of my nostrils. The foaming sea remains
perched on its elbow.

Asleep with head in hand, or face down
on a table, lost planets chatter
in grunts and snores.

Jitters gone quiet, all hearts pump
a slow pace, the morning blahs
could remain all day.

As the past and present drift
my cracking lips refuse speech
keep quiet in the din.

I spell light as evening sidles
by my table, watch fighting strangers
talk in echoes

no one wants to hear. My whimpering
senses paint the foggy line by line:
I feel done

still I consume the slow drip
of tea, wait for the electric pot
to boil with patience.

Not an Elegy to Lost Love

Poem a day #24 is a response to prompts from Poetic Asides and NaPoWriMo: 1) write a form or anti form poemand 2) write an elegy.

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Like the small of an underarm
love can disappear

go below for cover
losing its head in the dust

of sad pillow talk
cold cases soiled in blood

Before things even get their start
there is a discomfort

wrinkles that need to be flat
knots to kneed apart.

For love makes a shatter
of daffodils, a pint-size drink
of mulled cider.

Take a breath before you taste
up close the shadowy
scent of clove.

Let exotic spice clear the burning
pulse of such a warning
all is encircled in pastel touches.