I will post poem # 10 later, but thought this was really cool and can be found here. I saw this on Chicklegirl's site for her NaPoWriMo # 8.
Apr 10, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 9.5
I will post poem # 10 later, but thought this was really cool and can be found here. I saw this on Chicklegirl's site for her NaPoWriMo # 8.
Apr 9, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 9: Far From Home
Far From Home
Friends are far away,
heart lonely
Many voicemails left.
Loyalty I have
for them, but
I need more friendships.
Virtual world can
be lonely,
Need more real contact.
Eight years of desert,
wilderness
is wearing on me.
Hundred miles away
doesn’t seem
as far as it feels.
Phone calls and email
Is often
not enough for me.
Should I return home,
is the grass,
as green as I hope?
Or is the story,
for me, you
can’t get there from here.
Friends are far away;
my time in
the desert prevails
April 9, 2008
This Poem is a Lune, and was a prompt at Poefusion Blog. The Lune was invented by poet Robert Kelly. It's a three line poem with a syllable count of 5/3/5.
Friends are far away,
heart lonely
Many voicemails left.
Loyalty I have
for them, but
I need more friendships.
Virtual world can
be lonely,
Need more real contact.
Eight years of desert,
wilderness
is wearing on me.
Hundred miles away
doesn’t seem
as far as it feels.
Phone calls and email
Is often
not enough for me.
Should I return home,
is the grass,
as green as I hope?
Or is the story,
for me, you
can’t get there from here.
Friends are far away;
my time in
the desert prevails
April 9, 2008
This Poem is a Lune, and was a prompt at Poefusion Blog. The Lune was invented by poet Robert Kelly. It's a three line poem with a syllable count of 5/3/5.
Apr 8, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 8
Former Wisconsin Beauty Queen
Flowered mesh captures hair floating above sun-glassed eyes
She sneaked the harsh Chinese cigarettes
Striking the match on the bottom of her shoe
Her cloyingly touch caused my brother to seethe
She changed her name and learned to swim
Rolled her hips and shimmied at a club on Calle Ocho.
She’s a bit of a strange old bird
With her nest of curly gray hair
So, three husbands and two dogs later,
she left Kenosha and
moved down to Ft. Lauderdale.
She’s making friends and breaking
hearts at the Royal Palms Retirement Community.
There she spikes the punch on bingo night,
and raises eyebrows and heartbeats with
her provocative, flamboyant shuffleboard style.
She may get kicked out,
once again,
If her chain-smoking
doesn’t finish her off first.
April 8, 2008
Finished from lines of a Chain Poem at ReadWritePoem.
Flowered mesh captures hair floating above sun-glassed eyes
She sneaked the harsh Chinese cigarettes
Striking the match on the bottom of her shoe
Her cloyingly touch caused my brother to seethe
She changed her name and learned to swim
Rolled her hips and shimmied at a club on Calle Ocho.
She’s a bit of a strange old bird
With her nest of curly gray hair
So, three husbands and two dogs later,
she left Kenosha and
moved down to Ft. Lauderdale.
She’s making friends and breaking
hearts at the Royal Palms Retirement Community.
There she spikes the punch on bingo night,
and raises eyebrows and heartbeats with
her provocative, flamboyant shuffleboard style.
She may get kicked out,
once again,
If her chain-smoking
doesn’t finish her off first.
April 8, 2008
Finished from lines of a Chain Poem at ReadWritePoem.
Apr 7, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 7: Flight to Boston
Flight to Boston
I had to get to the airport,
to catch a flight to Boston.
I thought it best
to get to the airport by bicycle.
I could not get the over-sized suitcase
onto the small bike rack,
that hangs over the back tire.
At the last minute had to catch a cab,
and somehow arrived at the airport
nine hours early for my flight to Boston.
I camped out in a tent city
at the airport, my stuff strewn about
everywhere, with all the other nomads.
The airport white phone,
kept calling my name,
interfering with my airport camp out.
Each time I got back from the
white courtesy phone, my campsite
became larger, more dispersed.
After hitting the snooze,
maybe a dozen times
I cancelled my flight,
packed up my suitcase,
moved out of the tent city,
And got dressed for work.
April 7, 2008
I had to get to the airport,
to catch a flight to Boston.
I thought it best
to get to the airport by bicycle.
I could not get the over-sized suitcase
onto the small bike rack,
that hangs over the back tire.
At the last minute had to catch a cab,
and somehow arrived at the airport
nine hours early for my flight to Boston.
I camped out in a tent city
at the airport, my stuff strewn about
everywhere, with all the other nomads.
The airport white phone,
kept calling my name,
interfering with my airport camp out.
Each time I got back from the
white courtesy phone, my campsite
became larger, more dispersed.
After hitting the snooze,
maybe a dozen times
I cancelled my flight,
packed up my suitcase,
moved out of the tent city,
And got dressed for work.
April 7, 2008
Apr 5, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 6: Secret Agent
Secret Agent
The paper fell down from the window as a butterfly,
it was barely legible, going through a vapor of steam,
steam from a vaporizer that calmed the babies cry.
I woke up suddenly, wishing it was only a bad dream.
The dampness of my sweat completely soaked my hair,
while the train I rode on passed by a lake,
and like the young foal of a mare
the train was carrying me to my rendezvous, I am late.
This steam drenched paper must prove more than a test,
what will I gather from the papers to create?
Among the secret documents I’ve now found a mess,
enough to keep the KGB agent from thinking he can sedate
me and keep from thinking their scheme
was more than a pile of broken wicker.
Prompt from Poefusion using the format, Bout-Rimes, with the words:
The words are:
butterfly, steam, cry, dream
hair, lake, mare, late
test, create, mess, sedate
scheme, wicker
Bout-Rimes is French for "rhymed ends." A bouts- rimes poem is created by one person's making up a list of rhymed words and giving it to another person, who in turn writes the lines that end with those rhymes, in the same order in which they were given.
NaPoWriMo # 5: Exciting Routines
Exciting Routines
Trash,
who needs it anyway.
You have to always,
Go out and dump it,
it smells and is messy.
Then you have to remember
to put it out to the curb,
on the right night,
with the right combo of cans,
“Is it green waste or
is it recycling this week?”
Mail,
now that’s another exciting topic.
Our mail man loves us,
Always having to stuff our mail
into our box.
It’s his guilty pleasure.
One time he cut us off.
My wife had to go down and pick it up,
And he caught her there:
“I know you, “ he said, startling
and embarrassing her as
he handed the huge stack to her.
We love to let it pile up on the counter….
April 5, 2008
Apr 4, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 4: Purple Flowers
Purple Flowers
I remember
The purple flowers in the vase,
my eleven-year-old daughter gave to me
for Christmas when she was three.
Bought at the dollar store,
the love in them is priceless.
I remember
Her standing on the toy box
at less than 2 with zest and zeal,
declaring herself, “Captain S., the Story Teller!”
I see her clapping in a silly motion,
getting us both to join in.
Now I see
The days of soccer t-shirts everyday
have moved onto the shelf,
making room for more
fashionable clothes from Limited Too.
She’s growing now, a tween,
Hannah Montana and other
Disney shows are the soundtrack
that plays in our house now. Her Netflix
queue always has something new
to send out. Soon she's off to Jr. High
and high school not long after that.
Later I will look back to
Her Hannah Montana days,
with fondness, when she’s left her behind,
for someone new.
I will remember
One day my little girl
Leaving home for college,
then walking her down the aisle,
and giving her away.
Right now
I just want to remember
the purple flowers that say
“I love you Daddy”
April 4, 2008
I remember
The purple flowers in the vase,
my eleven-year-old daughter gave to me
for Christmas when she was three.
Bought at the dollar store,
the love in them is priceless.
I remember
Her standing on the toy box
at less than 2 with zest and zeal,
declaring herself, “Captain S., the Story Teller!”
I see her clapping in a silly motion,
getting us both to join in.
Now I see
The days of soccer t-shirts everyday
have moved onto the shelf,
making room for more
fashionable clothes from Limited Too.
She’s growing now, a tween,
Hannah Montana and other
Disney shows are the soundtrack
that plays in our house now. Her Netflix
queue always has something new
to send out. Soon she's off to Jr. High
and high school not long after that.
Later I will look back to
Her Hannah Montana days,
with fondness, when she’s left her behind,
for someone new.
I will remember
One day my little girl
Leaving home for college,
then walking her down the aisle,
and giving her away.
Right now
I just want to remember
the purple flowers that say
“I love you Daddy”
April 4, 2008
Apr 3, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 3: Siren’s Calling
Siren’s Calling
Starbucks' cup logo is changing to brown, what a travesty upon us!
The green mermaid calls as I circumnavigate the globe, to my office cubicle.
Like a beacon of light she guides through the waves of cars, I hear her voice.
I hear the siren calling out to me. No, it’s a police car chasing!
What's that officer? You don't care about mermaids….I ran a red light.
Don't worry about brown, he says, yellow is your color today, your Ticket!
(This poem is a made up of multiple American Sentences, developed as an alternative to Haiku by Allen Ginsberg. An American sentence is 17 syllables in one line. )
Starbucks' cup logo is changing to brown, what a travesty upon us!
The green mermaid calls as I circumnavigate the globe, to my office cubicle.
Like a beacon of light she guides through the waves of cars, I hear her voice.
I hear the siren calling out to me. No, it’s a police car chasing!
What's that officer? You don't care about mermaids….I ran a red light.
Don't worry about brown, he says, yellow is your color today, your Ticket!
(This poem is a made up of multiple American Sentences, developed as an alternative to Haiku by Allen Ginsberg. An American sentence is 17 syllables in one line. )
Apr 2, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 2
Aunt Ada
Aunt Ada came to live us
when she was 70, not able
to live on her own anymore.
I remember the long drive to Clear Lake
to bring the small, thin woman
back to our home.
Her house was dark and had a musty smell to it,
with lots of nick knacks
collected through the years.
Early on we found out she had cancer,
after a lifetime of smoking.
At Christmastime I went to Macy’s
to find a gift for her with
a friend from school. We asked
the salesperson for a teacup,
but it had to be “very light,
since she's not in good health.”
What a funny sight,
two young guys
in the China section.
Aunt Ada was a feisty old woman,
defiant to the end.
She sneaked the harsh Chinese cigarettes
my step dad brought from China,
that were too strong for him.
We found the empty boxes in her dresser
when sorting through her things,
after she passed away.
My mom passed on her dresser
to me, when I married 15 years ago.
It still sits in my room today.
April 2, 2008
The Diving Board for this poem was the prompt on Aunts over at ReadWritePoem.
Aunt Ada came to live us
when she was 70, not able
to live on her own anymore.
I remember the long drive to Clear Lake
to bring the small, thin woman
back to our home.
Her house was dark and had a musty smell to it,
with lots of nick knacks
collected through the years.
Early on we found out she had cancer,
after a lifetime of smoking.
At Christmastime I went to Macy’s
to find a gift for her with
a friend from school. We asked
the salesperson for a teacup,
but it had to be “very light,
since she's not in good health.”
What a funny sight,
two young guys
in the China section.
Aunt Ada was a feisty old woman,
defiant to the end.
She sneaked the harsh Chinese cigarettes
my step dad brought from China,
that were too strong for him.
We found the empty boxes in her dresser
when sorting through her things,
after she passed away.
My mom passed on her dresser
to me, when I married 15 years ago.
It still sits in my room today.
April 2, 2008
The Diving Board for this poem was the prompt on Aunts over at ReadWritePoem.
Apr 1, 2008
NaPoWriMo # 1
Legacy
What do I pass on,
What is the legacy I leave my children?
The heritage passed on from me,
May it be honorable,
Not one of anger, strife, or abandonment.
What legacy was left for me?
Parents began with an affair,
dissolved 13 years later in divorce,
not a sturdy foundation for my sister and me.
My father suffered mentally,
Several breakdowns ravaged him.
We were built on brokenness,
Multiple step-parents on both sides,
Came in and out of lives
We cobbled together the life we could,
We had each other,
we found family in friends,
stability in Faith.
Both married now with kids,
We are building our families, our legacies.
A new generation formed,
Commitment, love, faith and hard work,
Shape the new families,
We forge a new way.
What’s deep inside us,
only activated with the pressure
And stress that children sometimes bring?
Fighting siblings, disabilities, reactions, passions,
Emotions sometimes bubble out,
Surprising us.
Responding or reacting,
Which one happens?
Contentment or combustion,
What legacy calls from the past
To the future we are molding?
We must battle
must not settle
for what comes naturally
through inertia.
Legacies of brokenness
do not have to be the ones
we leave, but will not be easy.
We must unravel the brokenness
that shaped us.
Conscious effort,
self-assessment,
covered with prayer,
we must fight,
building better legacies.
Legacy of love, stability,
legacy of commitment, perseverance,
we must build a wall
around our families.
A fortress of strength and stability
will protect our children.
A foundation of faith and love,
builds a better heritage,
a stronger castle,
not on sinking sands.
April 1, 2008
What do I pass on,
What is the legacy I leave my children?
The heritage passed on from me,
May it be honorable,
Not one of anger, strife, or abandonment.
What legacy was left for me?
Parents began with an affair,
dissolved 13 years later in divorce,
not a sturdy foundation for my sister and me.
My father suffered mentally,
Several breakdowns ravaged him.
We were built on brokenness,
Multiple step-parents on both sides,
Came in and out of lives
We cobbled together the life we could,
We had each other,
we found family in friends,
stability in Faith.
Both married now with kids,
We are building our families, our legacies.
A new generation formed,
Commitment, love, faith and hard work,
Shape the new families,
We forge a new way.
What’s deep inside us,
only activated with the pressure
And stress that children sometimes bring?
Fighting siblings, disabilities, reactions, passions,
Emotions sometimes bubble out,
Surprising us.
Responding or reacting,
Which one happens?
Contentment or combustion,
What legacy calls from the past
To the future we are molding?
We must battle
must not settle
for what comes naturally
through inertia.
Legacies of brokenness
do not have to be the ones
we leave, but will not be easy.
We must unravel the brokenness
that shaped us.
Conscious effort,
self-assessment,
covered with prayer,
we must fight,
building better legacies.
Legacy of love, stability,
legacy of commitment, perseverance,
we must build a wall
around our families.
A fortress of strength and stability
will protect our children.
A foundation of faith and love,
builds a better heritage,
a stronger castle,
not on sinking sands.
April 1, 2008
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