PAD 22 — Pastoral

Today’s poem is supposed to be pastoral. Mine turned into an epiphany–perhaps poorly worded, maybe not conveying the full extent of my feelings, but it’s an attempt nonetheless. Also, I love the beach a lot. The end. 8 days left of the challenge!

is the word to use to describe as I pause outside myself
on Hunting Island, the North Beach.
the tide is out farther than my  memory can recall and

it leaves remnants of the ocean in its wake.
children, dogs, older couples comb the sand,
inspecting what was living, what is still alive.

while we should smell death from the baking jellyfish,
the drying sand dollars, the waterlogged crustaceans,
the sea absorbs it, or perhaps it makes the smell new—
mixed with salt, fish and Coppertone.

seagulls alight and peck at hermit crabs.
dolphins and pelicans alike dive at fish along the waves.

humans collect shells,
they cast out lines and nets.
they build castles, dig moats—and watch them wash away.

Life, as we forget to see it,
in all of its cycles:

foul and wondrous,
superfluous and necessary,
impossible and real.

this is its own poetry.


PAD 21 — Erasure Poem

I think the first poem I ever did for a poetry month challenge was an erasure poem, but I did it differently. Today I took a page out of the Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paolo Friere, and made something. 
There it is. Probably means as much as the entire text.  

100 words– Sleepwalker

You can probably blame this from a 3 hour walk along the beach…the title is abstract/obscure. Trying to see if it actually contains any nuance. Maybe not. 

Over 200 jellyfish lay washed upon sand. Separated from their bloom, they lie like cement blocks incapable of grace. Once they were ballerinas, floating and trailing. A tidal dance woven amongst their brethren. Dreamlike, they captivated prey, drew them in, and lightly—with quiet shocks—devoured them.

No longer do these cnidaria pulse, the waves digging them deep, tentacles long detached, stinging aimlessly with the current. The seagulls taunt, flitting and diving with the breeze, in control of their path all the same.

Beachgoers jab them in disgust. Their majesty evaporated. They pray only for the treacherous tide to drag them away again. 

PAD 20 — Facts

NaPoWriMo’s prompt of the day is to write a fact poem. I think I could have made a epic-length poem about elephant facts instead I got waylaid by thinking of all of the facts we once knew for truth, all of the stories we had created to explain them, etc etc. I think this poem, at present is skeletal, half-formed, much like my understanding of the world. The subject matter requires a more verbose structure, but this is perhaps some seeds to plant within your mind until I can come back and really philosopher attack this.


The sun revolved around the world,

when it floated on a turtle’s back.

The gods resembled men,

or was it the other way around?

Everyone made bread, tools, fire.

And we all told stories.

Each sunrise was something like a miracle

while nightfall played mysterious.

With all our discoveries and growth,

with all our rationale and facts,

each sunrise is still a miracle.

Nightfall is still a glorious mystery.

PAD 19 — Landay

NaPoWrimo’s PAD 18, was a poem about an urgent journey. Because inspiration refused to strike, and there are 11 days left of the challenge, I allowed myself a freebie and moved on to today. PAD 19 is to write a landay or a 22 syllable rhyming couplet. I wanted to just work on two stand alone lines as opposed to a long drawn out poem, so this is where we ended up:


She never knew quite what to believe when a

man looked at her sweetly and asked her to stay.

A Snippet

Abstract Metaphor

Flaking snakeskin bark, she climbs the pines and forgets her age. If she can make it to the top, where the trunk bows with each small breeze, she will never have to go back. If she can grip pine cones in her palm and not grimace; if the cone snaps from the tree, she will have won strength. If she can still feel the caress and stab of the needles through bark-worn skin, she will know humility. She climbs branches without pause, eager for a treeline she knows she can never safely achieve. But still she climbs, anticipating the lurch. 

PAD 17 — Social Media Poem

NaPoWriMo’s Day 17 is all about that social media. It was pretty loose in prompt, so I ended up writing a couple of twitter based haikus. The first was an experiment where I took the first word out of consecutive tweets on my feed (omitting some articles and the like) to make it. It’s abstract, and because it isn’t completely sculpted by me, you are allowed to read whatever the hell you want out of it. The second haiku, I took the first five syllables from some publishing tweet, the first 7 syllables from a Neil Gaiman tweet if you can believe it, the first two syllables from an NPR tweet and then the last three came from the first part of a Henry Tudor tweet. These were also consecutively placed (skipping a couple tweets) on my twitter feed. So, that was fun. Enjoy! Make better ones!

“Scraps of  Friday”

Wine-fall on Friday
Supports an odd harmony.
You are poetry.

“Friday Twitters”

23 reasons
and a groupon for tonight.
Update: Eating cake.

PAD 16 — Terzanelle

And we’re caught up. Today’s prompt at NaPoWriMo was a doozy. And I think the major accomplishment is not getting totally lost by the form. So I will link you to a good example page if you want to try it out, otherwise, here is what I got:
“Country Dream”

Dotting the sky with stars, we look upwards
from the bed of a truck, in a field of hay.
This is the dream that we’ve created.

Expanding skies, we open to each other.
We touch, lightly at first
from the bed of a truck, in a field of hay.

Laughter in the breeze—
our tired eyes cling to sight—
we touch, lightly at first.

The smell of smoke on your skin,
goose bump-shivers involuntary.
Our tired eyes cling to sight.

Hidden in the borders of the truck bed,
we explore lashes and freckles.
Goose bump-shivers involuntary.

Our universe merges, expands, sighs.
Dotting the sky with stars, we look upwards,
we explore lashes and freckles.
This is the dream that we’ve created.

PAD 15 — Addressing the Poem

NaPoWriMo, for the halfway mark into the month challenge, gives the prompt of addressing the poem, or an aspect of it within the poem. As with any prompt, you take it where you want it, and it more or less mentioned the aspect of writing process, and all that fun stuff, so I just kind of ran stream of consciousness into this little number:

“This is Why I Write”

Thrill seekers, these lines
Search for puzzles and riddles.
To learn, to grow by stretching
in words, in pages, image and senses.

To understand we scribble in
lines, on books, napkins, walls.
Sometimes achieving
more often questioning—are you out there?

The connections we miss,
reworking, ordering, asking,
pulling out hair, crying
often alone; in our rooms, on park benches.

The dreaded coffee shop
where life teems.
What clichés!
Avoid the conventional, shun unoriginality.

Make up words.
Assume authority, but admit you know nothing—yet.
Hope, that this isn’t the answer.
Fear that you have written it all.

We don’t know why we do it.
These explanations are just characters.
It is our compulsion—
a duty that no one has appointed.

This is why I write.

PAD 14 — Dialogue

This needs more work. I need more work. I might be hitting the midway slump, and I’ll be muddling over this topic for a while, but NaPoWrimo called for a dialogue in poem form today. I took from a prompt at a panel I went to last week that asked for a letter written to fear from empathy. I combined them and this sort of happened. It is proving difficult, mostly because I am trying to capture the voices I assume both of these attributes would have. But, a rough has been presented all the same:

“Fear and Empathy”

I helped her survive!
We weighed options; reasoned.
Pros and conned our way
out of situations that cause harm.

Yes, this is true.
You have even helped her
save others from pain.
But you have kept her from experiences as well.

Just ask her.
She doesn’t regret it.
If anything she wishes that
She held back more.

She has made herself believe that,
and you know it—
You two struggle daily
She wants power over you.

Well, she can’t do it alone.

But she is trying.