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

PAD 2021 – Day 18

Using the 30/30 prompt “susurration” to build on a recent moment with my daughter.

There Will Be Gentle Things

I miss normal
she whispered to me
as I rubbed a circle over
her back, some kind of
dial to move her toward 
sleep, toward an even quieter
place than this darkened bedroom,
where the hard edges and jagged ridges 
of the last year have dissolved into
only soft S sounds, the small swish
of two pages closing against one another.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

PAD 2021 – Day 12

A klutzy accident and unexpected trip to one of my most anxiety-inducing destinations today — the hospital ER — served as inspiration for today’s poems. I tried to incorporate the 30/30 prompt calling for an “anticipation” poem, and the League of Canadian Poets prompt asking for connected haiku.

hospital thoughts

is the opposite
of anticipation,
anxiety?
 
hum of the air vent
its whirring does not drown out
my pounding pulse

nurse asks for pain scale
but there is no number
for stress

we screen fevers
not people, says the nurse
bring purse to x-ray

rolling stool
worn at the edges
like this nurse

exam 1
tired woman says to daughter
it will be ok
Crutch Shadows, photo by Me

PAD 2020 – Day 24

I used my local Stroll of Poets prompt today to come up with a poem that contains anaphora (deliberate repetition in the first part of the sentence), and combined it with the Poetic Asides prompt calling for a poem that includes nature.

 

Almost Normal

 

Normal, daily walk to check the mail,

the reluctant groan of the hinge on my front door,

the neighbour’s dog alert-barking at my movement.

Normal, the steady trickle of melt water,

crows cawing and soaring in a clear sky,

the shhhhhhh of leftover leaves rustling in a tree.

Normal, the teenager slapping a puck against his garage,

an older man raking his newly exposed lawn,

two small girls happy-screeching in a backyard.

Not normal, arriving at the mailbox,

staying two metres back while another woman collects her envelopes

fearing what else she, or the postal worker who delivered this, carry.

 

Canada-Post-Community-Mailboxes-493x300

 

 

PAD 2020 – Day 19

My poem today is still in process, so instead I’m posting it as a photo poem. Today I used the NaPoWriMo prompt  to write a poem based on a “walking archive.” What’s that? Well, it’s when you go on a walk and gather up interesting thing – a flower, a strange piece of bark, a rock. This then becomes your “walking archive” – the physical instantiation of your walk. Because of current quarantine circumstances, I did an “around the house” item retrieval instead. My written poem will also incorporate the Poetic Asides call to include the words bump; embrace; fixture; howl; lonely; resolve.

Isolation Scavenger Hunt

Scavenger Hunt