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.