Incised Moon (NaPoWriMo Day 25)

Incised moon

Presents herself

In pieces

And knows

Her power

Must be
Periodic.

She is mindful

Of her potential

To pull
That which
The Earth

Cannot hold.

Remembering that

Two bodies

So attracted

To one another

Will bulge and break

The waters

If they are not

Careful,

She allows

The fullness 

Of her faculties

Only twice

In a cycle

And exerts

The most influence

When she reveals

Herself

As Nothing

Or as

All.

Incised moon

Knows that

The sands

Cannot withstand

Constant

Crashing, 

So she reigns

Over the

In-between times

By portioning

Herself

Into halves

And quarters

And

Sleek,
Silent, 

Crescents.

***

It is Day 25 of NaPoWriMo!  Having just completed a fortnight of constant paper grading, I remain behind.

All week, I have been playing with NaPoWriMo's Day 18 prompt, and finally got something finished today. I hope to tackle today's prompt in a more timely fashion.

Personal Growth

The discovery

that the cute boy I knew in

high school--who  flirted

with me just so he

could try to talk me into

writing his research

paper--is now a 

bald man, prompts the fifteen-year
old in me to smile

and the grown-up me
to fall over laughing on
my middle-aged ass.

***

I still have some catching up to do, but just in case I can't, I will point out that each stanza in this poem is in haiku form, so in a way, I wrote five poems today, right?  

Today's NaPoWriMo facebook prompt was to write a poem about an old flame. Since I've been married to the same man since I was 19, I don't exactly have a list of old flames, so this is what came to mind instead.
Image from www.popsci.com

Foundations (NaPoWriMo Day 18)

Put your head on the desk

and stop raising your hand

No one likes a girl

who shows

how much

she knows

The worst thing that you can do

is disappoint the grownups

Corn is a vegetable

Middle school boys will ask you to dance

Low fat cupcakes will make you skinny

A smart girl like you should major in business

Don’t worry your body

will naturally go into labor

on its own

You can prevent most problems

by worrying about them

before they happen

You will never be the kind of mother

who bribes her son with hotwheels

to get him to shut up

while you shop

If there is a hole

don’t ask questions

just fill it

If your husband is unhappy

that the junk drawer is disorganized

you should apologize

You will always need

these anti-depressants

Once you tell a story

about yourself

it becomes the truth

and you have to believe it

***

I'm still playing catch-up.  Though it's day 18, I've used NaPoWriMo's day 16 prompt: write a 10-line poem that is all lies.  I did 10 stanzas instead of 10 lines, but stuck with the lying.

Novena (NaPoWriMo Day 15--and yes, I still have some catching up to do!)

She is Our Lady of Divine

Self-Deprecation,

And though she shrouds

Her form beneath

A baggy sweater,

You shall know her by

The shield she wields

To deflect compliments

And the way 

She half-raises her hand 

In a timid blessing, 

Because of course

She understands

If you would rather

Get somebody better

To do it.

Please don’t count

Your prayers to her

On golden beads.

Reserve that for

Those goddesses who rise

From the foamy

Seas fully formed.

Not for her,

She’d be embarrassed.

And anyways, she has simpler needs—

Maybe some offerings of burnt

Reassurances now and then

Or a donut

On Monday mornings

To make her feel
Remembered.

Really,

That’s all it takes

To win her favor

And to gain

The unmerited grace

Of her sitting next to you

In important meetings—

Awkward and perspiring—

That you might shine

By comparison

In her presence,

And look good

While cleaning up

Her holy mess.

Souls (NaPoWriMo Day 12)

Image from Wikipedia's puddle page

Introduction

A soul is a small accumulation

Of liquid 

It can form either by pooling

In a depression

Or by tension

Upon a surface
That is flat

A soul is generally small enough

For an adult to step over

Souls can be a source of fascination

For small children

Small wildlife may be attracted

To souls

History

Medieval legend spoke of one man

Who was desperate

To find building materials

For his soul

So he stole cobblestones

From the road surface

The resulting hole

Filled with water

And a horseman who later

Walked through the “soul”

Actually found himself

Drowning

Effects on Transport

Souls commonly form in potholes

On a dirt road

Or in any other space

With a shallow depression

And dirt

In such cases these are known as

Mud souls

Because mud tends to form

In the bottoms

Resulting in dirtied wheels or boots

When disturbed

In cold conditions

Souls can form patches of ice

Which are slippery

And difficult to see

And can be a hazard

To road vehicles and pedestrians

Soul Management

Souls tend to evaporate quickly

Due to the high surface-area-to-volume ratio

And tend to be short lived

Souls that do not evaporate quickly

Can become standing water

Which can become polluted

With decaying organisms

Natural Souls and Wildlife

Souls in natural landscapes

And habitats

When not resulting

In precipitation

Can indicate the presence

Of a seep or a spring

And provide

Essential

Moisture

***

Napowrimo Day # 12: Today’s (optional) prompt is a “replacement” poem. Pick a common noun for a physical thing, for example, “desk” or “hat” or “bear,” and then pick one for something intangible, like “love” or “memories” or “aspiration.” Then Google your tangible noun, and find some sentences using it. Now, replace that tangible noun in those sentences with your intangible noun, and use those sentences to create (or inspire) a poem.

My "soul" information is from the Wikipedia page on puddles.  

Alignment (NaPoWriMo Day 11)

I sense only the slightest

Trace of betrayal

As my car aligns itself

With the ruts

In the Interstate

And settles into

The loud grooves

Laid down by so many

Studded tires.

As the remaining tread

On my soft,

Siped principles

Wears down against

The corrugated pavement

I sigh and let go

Of the wheel.

I feel like I am posting pieces of poems just to keep up.  Maybe the Blue Fairy will visit me at the end of the month and turn some of them into real poems!

Image: Studded tire damage on I-90 in Idaho from pavementinteractive.org

Promising (Catch-up Haikus for NaPoWriMo Day 9 and 10)

A boy’s shadow stretched

Beneath the basketball hoop

On the dry driveway

A napping dog stretched

Beneath a barely budding

Japanese maple

****

In the aftermath of the migraines, I am resorting to haiku to get me all caught up.  I hope to have more substantial offerings this weekend.

Migraine (NaPoWriMo Day 8--late)

No thing with feathers

Perches here, thank God

I wouldn’t have strength

For a that tune never stops

No—tonight those Boots of Lead

Are back, and I am wrecked solitary again.

If I could learn to make

That plank in reason finally break

I would be finished

and I wouldn’t care

If I ended knowing or not

Here—or Then—Or There

*****

I didn't get this up in time because battled a tension migraine all night.  Yesterday's NaPoWriMo prompt invited us to rewrite a famous poem and make it our own.  I chose Emily Dickinson's "'Hope' is the thing with feathers"  and "I felt a Funeral, in my Brain" to help me handle the pain.

Image: Picasso's "Head of a Woman"

Stale Starts (NaPoWriMo Day 7)

There is nothing dignified about a donut.

It is the most pedestrian of pastries.

Lacking in any elegance and panache,

It sits like a squat simpleton

On top of the glass case containing its classier relatives,

All more sophisticated and European than the next—

The biscotti, the croissant, the crepe, the scone,

The asiago and cheddar Bavarian-style pretzel.

And while some hipsters try to dress it up

With bacon and lavender and irony,

It remains the crudest of carbs.

There is something painfully honest about a donut.

It does not delude you with promises

Of health or vitality.

It contains no flax seeds, no yogurt, no soy,

No whole grains harvested from organic fields.

It is unable to dissemble.  It is what it is:

A deep fried, yeasty, round blob of dense dough,

A cheap, convenience store quickie.

It’s the way I ruin the most important meal of the day,

My morning mistake,

My late-for-work shame.

***

I used today's prompt from NaPoWriMo: write a poem about an inanimate object.

Image from Sweet Clip Art

This is College (NaPoWriMo #6)

This is where I play the role of punctuation prophet, pointing to the use

Of apostrophes for pluralization purposes

As a sign of imminent apocalypse.

This is where I draw cartoon faces on commas and semicolons

In order to breathe life into sentence boundary lessons.

This is where I seek substantiation and supporting evidence. 

This is where I push against passivity, and insist
On opening the text and returning to it repeatedly.

This is college.

This is where I shouldn’t have to give pop quizzes

In order to get them to read.

But I do.

This is where the dudebro in the back of my class yawns

And asks, When is this shit due again?

This is where I work myself up

Into a nearly perfect state

Of post-midterm self-pity.

And then

This is where a student stops me

And says,

I haven’t read a whole book

Since sixth grade

But I read that one you assigned us in just two days

Because it was

So awesome.

Thank you.

This is where everything

Is bright and right again.

This is where I live to teach another day.

***

This poem was inspired by the "This is Where" poetry contest sponsored by the Miami Herald.  You can read more about it here.  Since I don't live in Florida, I am not qualified to write a poem for their contest, but I was inspired by the "This is Where" idea.  

Rage (NaPoWriMO Day 5)

My spring softening
froze over upon seeing
deer eat my tulips


www.sweetclipart.com

Relief (NaPoWriMo Day 4)

When the grass

On the path to the

River turns green

Everything in me

Loosens and releases, finds relief

In knowledge that

I have a

Solid, straight place to put

My feet and

A way forward

Without risk of injury or

Muddy, demeaning grief

NaPoWriMo Prompt 4
Today’s optional prompt is to write a lune. A lune is a sort of English-language variation on the haiku, meant to better render the tone of the Japanese haiku than the standard 5-7-5 format we all learned (and maybe loved) in elementary school. There are a couple of variants on the lune form, but just to keep things simple, let’s try the version developed by Jack Collum. His version of the lune involves a three-line stanza. The first line has three words. The second line has five, and the third line has three. You can write a poem that consists of just one stanza, or link many lune-stanzas together into a unified poem. Happy writing!

Omen (NaPoWriMo Day 3)

Every spring a bird

Flies into the glass of my bathroom window

Over and over and over

I am sure there is a lesson in this for me somewhere

A metaphor for my life, maybe

But I don’t have time to figure it out

So I guess

I will just

Keep on doing

What I’ve been doing

And hope for the best

(Image from ezsnapdirect.com)

Scraps (NaPoWriMo Day 2)

Jeez, I can’t believe you’re so short!

You say,

As you press your nose to my forehead,

Your hands to my shoulders,

And look down at me.

I feign annoyance,

But press closer, and hope for more.

Starved as I am

For your touch—

I scramble for any scrap of attention

And am not above resorting to cheap tricks to get it,
Like buying you red velvet cupcakes from Fred Meyer
Just to have you put your arm around me and say,

Oh my God, you’re the best mom ever.

It’s pathetic, I know, but you need to understand

What you did for me:

Your birth allowed me to renew

My mommy card for a little longer--

To be assured of kisses and finger paintings

Well into my thirties—

And I am grateful.

As I watch you

Struggle to shrug me off

I know I need to remember

That none of this is your fault.

My inability to untangle

Your growing up

With the winding down
Of my motherhood

Is not your problem.

So I promise to try and suck it up

And forgive you

For no longer being

The boy who runs towards my touch,
And hugs me in front of his friends,

And whispers to me,

Mom even when I am old and married

I promise to still live with you
On weekends so we can hang out.

Arrival (NaPoWriMo Day 1)

The way the river swells and pushes

The way the meadow sits brown and heavy

The way I switch with distrust from wool socks to cotton

The way the trailhead parking lot overflows on Sundays

The way ice gives way to mud and makes the hikers giddy

The way my face craves affection,

And turns with gratitude

To the stingy, sometimes-blue sky.