PAD 2019 – Day 3

I managed to write two poems today, but one is not ready for public viewing. This one is based on a real-life incident with my daughter yesterday, and fit nicely with the Poetic Asides prompt asking for an “animal” poem.

 

What Animals Do

 

Talking fast like kids do

after a day of keeping quiet and calm

my daughter tells me about the playground discovery

a dead squirrel

encircled by a group of seven year olds

curious to discover meaning

in its still body.

 

There was a bone sticking out

with blood on it,

my daughter reports,

then drops the subject

like her backpack

and forages in the pantry

for a snack.

 

Did the dead squirrel make you upset?

I ask later, and she replies with a shrug.

Then her brow furrows with thought.

It was probably a cat, or a dog,

just doing what animals do.

PAD 2019 – Day 2

The prompts for today aligned nicely, with NaPoWriMo asking for a poem that ends with a question, and Poetic Asides prompting a worst-case scenario or best-case scenario poem.

 

The Curve

 

What is worry if not risk management?

A mental plan for potential disaster.

Worst-case scenario, or acknowledgement

of what’s most severe. What ifs

are the stuff of agitation. Imagination.

My therapist says Find peace in the now

but this mind frame’s empty of

the mirror, the painting, the possibilities.

Yet I do understand the allure of

a waveless ocean

a cloudless sky

a limitless horizon.

A quiet place to walk

around all sides of a thought, the curve

where the question shifts from

What if something terrible happens? to

What if it doesn’t?

NaPoWriMo – Day 23

The Poetic Asides prompt today called for an “action” poem, while NaPoWriMo.net‘s suggestion was to write a poem based in sound. I decided to do a little mixing.

Listening

 

The ear is a good reader.

She can catch things that the lazy eye

just rolls on by,

like the awkward way this line

ends.

Or how another line might wander on and on and on and on too long for a

breath.

Voice is fleeting

but timbre, tone, emphasis

the tools of poetry come alive

with the touch of a tongue.

Sing the word — musicality.

Sounds better out loud, doesn’t it?

Oral tradition

voice and verse passed down

through generations.

Since I’ll never be a rock star

howling

Yeah!

Huh!

Woo!

Come on!

from a brightly lit, stadium stage

I’ll take this small room

of kind listeners,

poets, ears perked

and hearts swaying

to linguistic melodies.