with the wind
on final journey
his ashes
This senryū is my response to Twiglet #324: his ashes.
Shared with OpenLinkNight #338 at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
2023
More or Less About Time ~ palinode
More or Less About Time
blank, black disc
wrist-centered
tells me nothing
until a quick tap
or flip of the wrist
brings it to life
shows its face
chosen by me
to emulate analog
in a digital world
imagination
the only gear here
appearance simple
yet detailed
time a primary concern
weather at a glance
health in numbers
pulse, steps
another tap
exercise calories
and another tap
phone texts for eyes
younger than mine
still adjusting to digital
I’m closing out National/Global Poetry Writing Month by actually being on prompt for
Day Thirty at napowrimo.net, where Maureen asks us to write a palinode
– a poem in which you retract a view or sentiment expressed in an earlier poem.
Compare this to Watching Time, a poem about my heirloom pocket watch
written for an April 2017 challenge.
accept peace ~ senryū
accept peace
years have passed
yet you still wear black
in your mind
your sorrow
worn like a mantle
weighs you down
if unchecked
you will be consumed
by darkness
allow light
to enter your life
accept peace
This senryū series is my response to Twiglet #322: you wear black.
Shared with Day Twenty-nine at napowrimo.net (off prompt)
Random Transformation
Random Transformation
Disillusioned
cohesive thoughts tenuous,
the poet stares at an empty page.
One abortive attempt after another,
long past the hope for something
lyrical, he turns to a word generator.
Even when they’re given to him
they yield naught, yet his resolve
remains steady. Always wanting,
searching for the right words,
the best he can do is transform them
into a poem about writer’s block.
Writing a-poem-a-day National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2023 has been difficult for me. This is my fifth poem about writer’s block. I’ve used the Kerfe’s random words, chosen by Oracle 2, including 9 of the words.
Shared with Day Twenty-eight at napowrimo.net (off prompt)
Moon and Sun, Together
Moon and Sun, Together
In our early days,
I was not your secret lover,
nor were you mine.
But when the moon, sun,
and stars seemed to revolve
around one person, some
wondered who could be
the center of my love poems.
Poetry connected us
when we had to be satisfied
with the distance that separated us
and all I wanted was to be in
or at the edge of your atmosphere.
You responded to my poetry
with your own, but broadened it
with music by sharing your favorites,
reflecting the moon and sun back to me.
You may have to coax me
onto the dance floor,
but our song will always be
When the Day Met the Night,
by Panic! At the Disco.
Music continues to be
one of our strongest connections.
This is my response to Poetics: Let music speak, the prompt from Punam at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is write a poem about music that uses two titles from a list of songs from Linda Perry’s albums. I have used “Edge of Your Atmosphere” and “Secret Lover.”
Shared with Day Twenty-six at napowrimo.net (off prompt)
Divine Intervention ~ ekphrastic poem
Divine Intervention
There is just one hell,
but everyone has their own
little pocket, right below
the surface for some,
so deep for others
they can pretend it’s not there
while it waits to surface
given the opportunity.
We may wish to never see it,
but some wallow in theirs,
divine intervention
the farthest thing from their minds.
“Divine Intervention” by Patty Gaffke ~ oil on canvas
on display at Gumbo Bottoms Ale House, Jefferson City, MO
Shared with Day Twenty-five at napowrimo.net (off prompt)
Seven, on a Sliding Scale
Seven, on a Sliding Scale
I guess
I’d give it a 7.
Extra points for
our children.
Negative points for
“Do you think we’ll last?”
that seemed to come from you
every 7 years.
How we made it past 30,
I’ll never know.
This is my response to Day Twenty-four at napowrimo.net, where the challenge is to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed.
trans-parency
trans-parency
dancing
with body language
bodies
in dysphoria
what they see
what she sees
their norms
her life
a name
is just the start
gender assigned
granted
through conformity
a line
they will not
let her cross
refusing to
build rapport
rising above
their bias
not a consideration
so much to learn
for those willing
to understand
so much to gain
sevenfold and more
for those willing to risk
a risk for those
willing to live
This is my response to The Sunday Whirl #602, using the words provided.
rising | build | seven | line | risk | gender | granted | willing | name | learn | bodies | dancing
Shared with Day 23 at napowrimo.net (off prompt)
C Jam Blues
C Jam Blues
Hoppin’, boppin’.
Strollin’ along.
Who is this cat?
Is he the bass,
layin’ down that smooth beat?
The piano, weavin’
highlights in and out?
No, man.
He’s the sax,
with places to go
and people to see.
He ain’t sittin’ still
for nothin’.
But what’s with this
crossing, his route
takin’ him
where he don’t belong,
headin’ north where
I-70’s goin’ more than 70?
But there he goes,
that armadillo startled jump,
straight up as a pickup
passes right over him.
So there he lies
feet up, his shell
flattened as a semi
crosses his path.
And this jam ends,
a long fade out
of a wail,
as if Mingus knows.
It’s been a busy day, including a 2+ hour drive to read at Savannah’s Coffee Corral in Pevely, MO (south of St. Louis), but I’m home in time to post my April-poem-a-day just under the midnight wire (Central Time). On the 60 mile (or so) stretch of I-70 heading east towards St. Louis, I must have seen a half-dozen armadillo roadkill. Of course, by the time we got to our destination I wrote this poem, listening to Mingus at Carnegie Hall Live (C Jam Blues).
Shared with Day Twenty-two at napowrimo.net (off prompt)
Image source: Wikimedia Commons
Honesty
Honesty
We may tell ourselves
that no sane person
would intentionally
deceive themselves,
yet we also
tell ourselves
the truth
we want to hear,
fully aware
of the fallacy
in our own words,
astonished
when faced
with the facts
as our hypocnesty
bites us in the ass.
This my response to Day Twenty-one at napowrimo.net, where Maureen offers the poem “Grace,” then provides a list of abstract nouns to use as the title for a poem that contains very short lines, and at least one invented word.
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