Post NaPoWriMo2015

The year prior to NaPoWriMo2014 was a slack year for me, poetry-wise. So, of course I welcomed the thought of setting a goal of a poem a day in April. I was so pleased with reaching that goal that I added an extra poem on the 30th. I ended the month in high spirits, thinking my dry spell was behind me. Unfortunately, I was so busy with other projects, and plans in the next eleven months that my writing dropped right off, again. I’m lucky if I wrote a dozen poems.

Fast forward to NaPoWriMo2015. I think it went very well. As in 2014, I used my own photos (with the exception of one poem – at the intersection of faith and charity), using them as part of a metaphor or, in some cases, as actual inspiration. I followed one NaPoWriMo prompt, with Abandoned Crossing, and sort of followed another, with Waymarks. I did my best to review each day’s submissions for NaPoWriMo, and sometimes a word would jump out at me, giving me an idea for a poem. I had one poem, Unspoken, that was directly inspired by a submission from the previous day.

I’m sure I won’t be writing a poem a day, but I do want to write more often than I have in the past couple of years. In fact, I took a photo yesterday and knew right away that it had a poem in it. All I had was a title, and I was already formulating Consolation, so I finished that and posted it for the 30th. The other poem came to me today, May 1st, so I’ve posted it and tagged it NaPoWriMo, because the seed was planted yesterday.

The Heart of the Matter

Here’s hoping the poems keep coming.

Ken G. / rivrvlogr



Red-wing perched,
seemingly suspended,
on a tall grass,
gauges my approach
along the shore

Camera in hand,
my attention focused
on the rising sun,
I turn to the reeds
at the sound of its trill

Warm glow of morning light
provides a stunning image,
my lens now turned
to capture the beauty
of this perfect pose

Patience exhausted,
red-wing takes flight
before my lens can focus,
leaving the rising sun
as consolation



Life’s Lessons

Life's Lessons

I’ve often seen my life
as a river,
the islands of my past,
present and future
bridged one to another.

Some of those past are obscured
by the mist that comes with time,
but the lessons learned survive,
taking me from one island to the next,
as I watch for those that lie ahead.


Yesterday’s poem, Abandoned Crossing, followed the NaPoWriMo prompt for the day, Bridges.
When I finished that poem, I took the idea in another direction, with this result.


Hands in Hand

Hands in Hand

Hands behind me,
turned any way you like,
will not reveal
years, decades past,
nor the hands that held me

That man you knew,
barely knew,
who spent his life
trying to turn back the clock,
resurrect a love
too early in her grave,
is generations gone

His mistake:
dwelling on the past,
ignoring what I offer,
Now and Tomorrow

Take me forward,
my hands in yours


Photos In a Drawer

Photos In a Drawer

An afternoon with my sisters,
performing a task
both welcome and unwelcome

Of all her possessions,
that with strongest ties to
childhood memories of my parents

Beautiful rock maple,
last of her furniture
to clear from the house

Long dresser,
auburn, inviting touch,
ship’s wheel for a mirror

Double bed
with Amish quilt,
schooner carved into the headboard

Bureau in same nautical motif,
bottom drawer open, waiting,
holding memories of a lifetime

some unknown to us,
scattered and stacked

Marvel at the quantity of photos,
black and white, color,
snapshots, portraits

Until my sister’s revelation
of her chance discovery,
fifteen years earlier

Our mother cleaning house,
including photos,
after our father’s death

Nearly half gone by then,
reorganizing as her logic…
Last stage of grief?

Consolation in knowing
these treasures survived,
knowing that she could heal




My first attempt
was a sun tea jar
beside the bed
while you slept.

Dark curtains
to keep your light
from escaping.

Later, lenses focused
on a black box
to capture your rays.

My latest attempt,
glass blocks
in a Fibonacci array
around you.

My obsession
to gather your light
knows no bounds.