PAD 2021 – Day 26

I already wrote a moon poem earlier this month, but to hold true to the poetic stereotype, I have more to say about it. Today I used the 30/30 prompt “concentration moon” to come up with a few quick micros.

meditate
on the full face
of a super moon
but still come up
ordinary

           ***

pandemic thoughts
like phases of the moon
wax wan new repeat

           ***

when I lose
the day’s light
I try to remember
that it’s yet held
by the moon
Photo by Rok Romih on Pexels.com
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PAD 2021 – Day 21

In addition to the poem-a-day challenge in April, I’ve been writing a poem a month along with a local group of writers. They are ’21 themed for the year. This month’s called for a 21-line or 21-syllable poem that honours someone important to you. Short on time, but no less inspired by my own daughter, I came up with a micro.

When My Daughter Doodles

Hearts where hands and eyes should go
I draw what I feel, she says
What if the world is still good?
Doodle by My Daughter

PAD 2020 – Day 30

For the final day (woohoo!) of Poetry Month, I followed the NaPoWriMo prompt asking for a poem about something that returns.

 

What Comes Back

 

Some returns require nothing  —

geese, poplar leaves, sunrise —

but our attention.

 

Other returns demand such faith:

 

phone call from a doctor

child taking their first solo bike ride

teenager late home from a party

lover gone away on business, mid-winter

cat, escaped out the door left carelessly open

 

A sense of safety,

normalcy,

oblivion to danger.

 

A feeling, warm in the chest,

that just as the grass greens,

the apple trees blossom

 

happiness will come home to its heart.

 

silhouette of flying birds

Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com

NaPoWriMo – Day 24

Today’s NaPoWriMo.net prompt asked for an elegy, with a tinge of hope. My daughter’s provided the inspiration.

Elegy for a Ladybug

My daughters come in from the yard,
the younger one kneels by the door
her hands cupping something.
The older one digs in a drawer
for paper, scissors, tape and a marker
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Making something important,” she replies.
They whisper together, then the older one
begins cutting and writing.

“Come here Mom,” they say
and I walk to their crouched figures
expecting a shout of Boo! or a giggle
or to see they’ve been up to something
sneaky but innocent.
Instead, my older daughter says,
“We’re going to say nice things about
this dead ladybug we found outside.”

There, on the floor, a ladybug husk,
its bold red muted to a brownish orange.
She’s taped to a paper, with the words
R.I. P. Ladybug, ? — 2018
scrawled on top in blue.
A plastic case set on top,
keeping her, like Snow White.

“She was pretty, and bright,” my young daughter begins.
“She was good at flying and crawling, and though
we don’t know how long she lived, she probably
had a nice life,” my older daughter says. “Your turn, Mom.”

I find my own mouth empty, at first,
my thoughts too full of gratitude for my girls,
but I meet their sweet and sombre tone,
“We wish we could have known her while she lived.”

My older daughter nods, gently picks up
the paper and the plastic case, sets it
on a cabinet, between a painting she made
and an overgrown spider plant.
“A nice place to rest,” she says.
Nature is safe in these small hands.

NaPoWriMo – Day 11

Playing with the NaPoWriMo.net prompt asking for a “future” poem, and adding in the Poetic Asides call for a “warning” poem.

Theory of Relative Optimism

 

Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

Is it possible? That warning?

 

I’m no Einstein, but what if he was onto something

with that relativity business? No real difference

between the future and the past. Then, before.

Ahead, behind. To be, done. Imagine, remember.

 

Define hope: Noun — an expectation and desire

for a certain thing to happen. Verb — to want

something to be. To happen. Seems like

small magic. Wish, with your eyes

closed. Can you see it? In your mind?

That future dream, sketched with coloured

memories. It can happen. It’s happening.

It’s happened. Hope for it, again.

 

Define warning: Noun — a statement or event

indicating possible danger.  Verb — to give advance

notice. To caution. Seems like there’s reason to worry

What did you know and when did you know it?

Have you seen it happen, before or after?

That past mistake, italicized, set in bold,

highlighted in yellow. It was right there,

foresight. Hindsight. Look, I’m warning you.

 

But I really hope I’ll be wrong. I have been in the past.

November PAD – Day 28

Today’s prompt asked for a “love” or “anti-love” poem, or a mashup.

28.

It’s been a hard year to love. With every headline, a thickening of the skin, a shell forming around a once hopeful heart. So, necessity has invented new passions. Balms, for myself and my kids. Dance parties to pop songs I used to hate. More time reading — escaping into fairy lands, fantastic realms, places where the heroines discover the light, no matter how dark the journey. I look at old photos with new eyes. My cousin, gone now, but beaming then, so near the end. The radiant smile everyone mentions in their tributes. My baby niece smirking in her sleep, not just contentment, but happiness that she is here. Existence itself a marvel. A photo of my daughters on my sister’s lap, summer sun making them all squint. Determination engraved on their faces, like a monument to great change ahead.

 

 

November PAD – Day 25

Today’s prompt asked for a “remix” of another poem written during this month’s chapbook challenge. I chose my Day 5 poem, “self-destruct” and worked it over with a different beat.

25.

Are there reasons to be hopeful? The countdown on the self-destruct has sped up. We’re expecting the warning alarm any day. Tonight, after the ocean went quiet and all the music stopped in Helsinki, we listened for the siren in the distance. We listened between the worried mutterings of the people, and through the optimistic Eureka! of someone who thought he’d figured out how to bring hope back. You’re not listening hard enough,  he said, or you’ve forgotten how to do it right. Just put your ear here.  And he held a purring cat to a microphone. Those magic vibrations, right in the 20 to 140 Hz range. Reminding us there’s comfort, power in the smallest of affections.