Posted tagged ‘National Poetry Month’

National Haiku Day (Supposedly) in the middle of National Poetry Month!

April 17, 2015

National Haiku Day!

As I haiku up
the hill, every blade of grass
is a syllable.


There’s a tree disease
that looks like an O.C.D.
woodpecker.  Save us.


The stream in spring winds
wide, sings its own wind song,
maybe more a hum.


Here’s some haiku for Hannah Gosselin’s sweet prompt on haiku on With Real Toads for national haiku day (who knew?) as part of national poetry month.  This is its 17th day.  That is all I know!  Also that it is 2015.  And FRIDAY!!!!!

Have a happy, safe, healthy, blessed, poetic – but not of the melancholic variety of poetics–weekend!

The picture is a picture of mine of a (seeming) disease that makes holes in trees.  This tree actually isn’t so afflicted–there are a couple that are truly riddled.  And it is a riddle–to me at least.  Any person who knows what it is, let me know!
I am sorry for any lateness in returning visits!  This has been a fairly hard work month for me.  Thanks for your patience. k.

Warning! (National Poetry Month Ahead)

March 31, 2015

It will likely take a group effort to get me through this year’s April National Poetry Month!


Once again, I am going to celebrate the art of poetry this April by trying to make my own little daily contributions to the field.

I appreciate that reading more poetry–or better yet, memorizing more poetry–might be a better form of celebration.

But I am more a creature of impulse than contemplation–a doer, in other words, rather than a thinker.  Not a doer, I’m afraid, of big or heroic deeds, but of little scratchy tick-tock efforts such as running a pen along a page or tappity-tapping a keyboard.

I am especially a doer when it comes to relatively arbitrary acts that involve a fair amount of repetitive self-torture.

Which just may come in handy over the next month.

Inspiration–Bah!   I actually rather like calisthenics, especially the kind that,with some odd jerks of the head, spasms of the wrist–might almost veer on dance– (albeit a rather clumsy dance!)

So… so…. I ask your indulgence!

Visuals (as in pics) may be poor.

Verbals (as in words) may be weird.

But (as is the hope with any alchemy), perhaps with enough tries, some magic will arise.

Or at least, some laughs.


PS – I am heartened to be part of the group at Real Toads this year, where there should be a prompt a day; a great help in times of brain ache.  I have an awful lot going on in my work and home life right now so really don’t think I could even contemplate writing a poem a day outside of a group effort.  I urge you to check out the site and wonderful poets there.

“Reverie on Duty (Taps)”

April 23, 2012

Reverie to Duty (Taps)

There’s a certain sequence of notes, not exactly a scale–let’s say “Taps”–that resonates in chords in the striving soul.

One harmonic sounds in sadness.  Maybe, even, shuddering.  We can’t help but think of endings–

Another harmonic sounds (if we’re lucky) in satisfaction, and another – the third tone of the chord–as thrill: the thrill of fitting into a tradition, like the first wearing of white gloves, first billfold in back pocket.

But tonight I think of Duty, and that, in turn, brings up fried fish–the story of the daughter who watches her mother, throughout her childhood, cutting off the two curled edges of a fillet–like so, like so—-before committing it to the frying pan.

The daughter then teaches her own daughters, that–like so, like so–they must cut off the ends of all fish before cooking; that this is the proper way to cook fish; that they are women who cook fish in this proper way.

Years later–when the daughter sits beside her mother (now grandmother, maybe even great)–knitting perhaps, or, more likely, bemoaning the decline of current days, and asks how this tradition was handed down, the mother/grandmother pauses, thinks, and explains that she just always had a very small frying pan.

Duty, traditional duty–we like to think of it as an obligation owed to nothing but an undersized skillet.

But now I hear the harmonics of Taps again–and fear, listening, that its sombre notes mean the loss of light and of all light’s twists and turns, those rainbows we want to pursue, be.

Still, one tends to child, parent, damaged child, damaged parent, person who feels like child, parent or just damaged–a fish out of water–

One tends also to things—-job, house, list–that feel a bit more like the squared-off fillet–

All I can tell myself is that rainbows can be found on fish too, if you look carefully–

Even fillets once had them–

And that, in the mind, there are surely all kinds of scales to be seen, seen through, weighed, balanced, listened to–


Because this is April, National Poetry Month, I am calling the above a prose poem and also my 23rd poem this month.  (For some reason, I seem to feel that it’s my duty to write a new poem every day this month, so at this point, I am calling almost everything I write a poem!)   Thanks for your patience!

I am also linking this poem to dVerse Poets Pub’s Open Link Night and to Imperfect Prose, both very supportive sites full of interesting writers.   Check them out!

“Meeting of the Minds” – Day 2 of National Poetry Month

April 2, 2012


In past Aprils on this blog, I have posted a draft poem a day in honor of National Poetry Month.  Some of the poems are pretty rough, but the commitment is a fun tool to get one writing poetry and I urge you to join in on the exercise.  Here’s today’s:

Meeting of the Minds 

I never knew, she says, that a body stayed warm
so long. You know.

Me neither, I say.  I didn’t know

Now we are silent, confirmed in
what we both know, but without a clue
as to what comes

As always, I welcome and very much appreciate your comments and suggestions, particularly since many of the poems I will be posting this month will be still-in-progress!  That said, if you want to read work of mine that is finished, please please please check out:  my very silly but fun novel, NOSE DIVE,  my book of poetry, GOING ON SOMEWHERE, or my children’s counting book 1 MISSISSIPPI. )

Mermaid Sonnet – “Different Tastes in Mythical Creatures”

September 26, 2011


I am reposting this poem and painting as an entry in the weekly links of another very active poetry site, Gooseberry Garden, which is focusing this week on mythology.   A dear friend had suggested the topic of mermaids for a poem, which I used as a writing exercise.   At first, I envisaged a poem about teenage girls diving into the surf on a tropical beach; but the poem that came out was somewhat different. (I’m afriad that I had a Robert Pattinson fixation at the time, and somehow brought the subject of mermaids around to vampires.

Different Tastes in Mythical Creatures

Some go for vampires; they like the idea
of sharp but elegant pursuit, the notion
that they personally are the cup of tea
of the ruthless.  Others look to the oceans,
scanning fantastic waves for a gleam of gleam,
twist of twist, the well-hipped curve of tail;
their magic’s found in the muscular seam
between breast and flipper, flesh and scale.
They love the submergence, dive to the unknown,
an elegance unclothed in its own wet skin,
Eve and the serpent combined, slicked hair let down,
the search for safety in the dare, plunge, swim.
Others—we’re too afraid to go in headfirst,
would rather wait, dryly, to slake another’s thirst.

For more on the mechanics on sonnets, check here.

National Poetry Month – Day 28 – “Relic”

April 28, 2011



Poets write of rust, decay, time wearing out or thin,
but time’s spin makes for a preciousness too, imparts
like dew, an aura, as seen around
Ty Cobb’s dentures, still firm, at The Baseball Hall
of Fame, George Washington’s at Mt. Vernon.
Even the belongings of the obscure
acquire the gild of treasure–the small green
rubber boots bought as a joke for my dog
found fifty years later in my mother’s garage.
And then there are objects that become relics
even before time’s passage.  I think of
the chocolate Easter egg, kept in the freezer, that my grandmother took a nibble
from every night before her fall; she’d gotten less than
half-way through; my mother saved the remainder, still foil-wrapped
in blue, for years afterwards, the surface of the
chocolate whitening like the cataract over an eye, making it
harder and harder to see what was once so clearly
in front of you.

All rights reserved.  Suggestions welcome.

National Poetry Month – Day 27 – “A Passionate Long-Distance Caller To Her Love” – and GOING ON SOMEWHERE reviewed!

April 27, 2011

I was having a hard time coming up with a draft poem tonight when suddenly the opening of Christopher Marlowe’s wonderful poem “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love” came to mind. (“Come live with me and be my love.”)

A variation on the theme:

A Passionate Long-Distance Caller To Her Love

Come live with me, my sweet, my dear,
and we shall never echoes hear
of anxious longing, fearful cries,
of ‘why me?‘ woes or angry lies–
our ears won’t burn with cellphone’s ray,
our brains won’t change their matters gray
to tumors fed by conversations
that only serve to try our patience.
Oh please come here; stay right by me
so I can see you when I see
the sky, the window, the chair, the bed.
the pillow there beside my head,
for you are all of these and more,
my sun, my moon, my ceiling, floor,
the one I talk to, the one
for whom I’d be still–sweet Hon,
I know my silence is not much known–
it just won’t transmit on the phone–
but come here soon and stay forever
and we’ll lay quietly together.

All rights reserved. Suggestions welcomed, particularly as to last line–yes, I know “lay together” is not quite right, and should the quietly come earlier in the line?  (Agh!)

On another poetical matter, my recently published book of poetry, Going on Somewhere, was very carefully and thoughtfully reviewed by fellow WordPress blogger Ashley Wiederhold on her blog Trees and Ink.  Please check out Ashley’s review of my book (and other books) as well as checking out the book itself on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

National Poetry Month – Too Tired To Write A Poem Poem – or How I arose to the occasion of Day 25

April 25, 2011
I felt pretty sure today that I could not go on with my self-imposed commitment to post a draft poem every day of this April, national poetry month.  (Yes, I know, I’ve already missed some.)
Finally, I followed an old rule:  when lacking in inspiration, try a sonnet!   A poetic form is incredibly useful when you are having trouble writing.  It creates an automatic thread, which, in turn, leads you to some kind of shape and meaning.


I’m just too tired to write a poem tonight.
The old synapses lie limp and lumpy,
clotted with the vernacular; no sprite
darts from nerve to page, rather a frumpy
dim drags over observation, blotting
out comparison (much less caparison–
the embellishment of the plodding.)

In defense, I say my garrison,
my true home, is found in prose that cares not
how a rose would smell by other name,
but even my dull brain knows what is what,
and that a rose can never smell the same
once read, once heard, once lit by other’s light.
Oh–oh–oh, how I long for that insight.

All rights reserved.   Suggestions welcomed.

National Poetry Month – Day 22- “How to draw an elephant”

April 23, 2011

Agh!!!!!  Today was a very busy day in which I also tried to experiment with different ways of typing text into drawings.  I really don’t have the right application for this yet, or don’t know how to use what I have.    Any suggestions are welcome.









National Poetry Month – 19th Day – “The Dutiful Couple”

April 19, 2011


Here’s a handwritten haiku, draft poem for the 19th day of national poetry month.


All rights reserved, Suggestions welcomed.

PS – successfully made, edited, and posted from iPad. (I did it!)