Too Late 

I guess it's too late for coffee 

Not quite right for chocolate either 

The moment is calling for massage 

Long, slow breathing 

Leaning into, luxuriating 

But all I have are twist-untied wrappers 

And quiet telephones 

And empty inboxes 

I guess it's too late to reach for you 

Not quite right for rejection 

The moment is calling for awareness 

The birdsong is calling for the usual mystery 

 And I am no longer lonely.

NaPoWriMo 2018 - Day 14 - Dream Dictionary

Today's prompt for NaPoWriMo suggests writing entries for an imaginary dream dictionary.  One of the suggested entries was "Seagull" and away we go...entries for the Pessimist’s Guide to Understanding Dreams.

Seagull

Seagulls appearing in dreams can have markedly different meanings, based on the circumstances in which they appear, which can be quite varied, because, you know... dreams.  Here are a few examples:

• Typical:  
• Seagull is hopping down the beach just out of reach, ever watchful.  
• Possible Meaning: You are wary of being caught at something, uncertain of whether to trust the situation.  Living a hyper-vigilant life.  Chill out!  However, this could also mean something is eluding you and causing you frustration.  Let it go!
• Also Pretty Normal:  
• Seagull unloading their business on the dream protagonist's head while simultaneously taking off with the proffered Cheeto.  
• Possible Meaning: You are just one of many whose life requires a hefty quotient of thankless tasks.  You feel used.  You are probably right.
• Pretty Sketchy:  
• Seagull grabs a hank of the dreamer's hair and begins screaming bloody murder, which excites the rest of the flock, instigating a tug-of-war that ends in baldness and media over-exposure.  
• Possible Meaning: You have a book in you; it's the anti- Jonathan Livingston Seagull book of the year.  Prepare to bleed for your art, though.  And seek professional help.

Haiku that the cat dragged in...

I found this one in 'Draft' status from a previous year, so... Bonus poem!

The inspiration and prompt come from Mindlovemisery's Menagerie prompt:  "Heeding Haiku With HA:  To Derive Inspiration From Poetry - #1 William Blake: The Fly"



   I grazed your limp wing
   it seems Death got to you first
   and erased all thought

Waiting for April...

Will it arrive prompt-ly?

Day 21 - NaPoWriMo Challenge - Erasure

I love the notion of giving several people the same raw ingredients and witnessing the variety that blooms.

Today's NaPoWriMo challenge was an opportunity for me to play that game, by starting from the same original page as the sample to create my "erasure" poem.  Certainly a darker theme here (and not at all autobiographical, I hasten to add).

(As typewritten text):


remember
I grew up with them
New England born,
almost all
stone

individual histories
were never referred to
if, indeed, these were known

my great-grandfather
(planted near the doorway)
passed away,
and was spread over the countryside
by his descendants

none of my family ever called

a small boy,
it was my job
to turn the meat-chopper handle
as we ground them
to be sure

Day Five - Emily Dickinson: Disassembled

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt was to take an Emily Dickinson poem, remove all the punctuation, and then re-break the lines, adding or removing words in order to make something new.  

I took that suggestion to the extreme, typing out all the words to "A not admitting of the wound" into a column, and then rearranging them copy-paste fashion into groups by parts of speech with the windows Paint accessory.  All this as preparation to begin playing with them as though they were refrigerator poetry magnets. I built my poem up from scratch, based on how the words called to me.  

Below is a .jpg rendition of the result.  The stray words at the bottom were my leftovers.

I enjoyed this exercise!  I am always interested in how different artists can use the same raw materials to arrive at unique outcomes (give or take a few one and two letter words).

The original poem, by Emily Dickinson:

A not admitting of the wound

A not admitting of the wound
Until it grew so wide
That all my Life had entered it
And there were troughs beside -

A closing of the simple lid that opened
   to the sun
Until the tender Carpenter
Perpetual nail it down -


* * * * *


Can be found by Clicking Here

Day Minus One (prompt-driven, impatience-delivered)

Too Late 

I guess it's too late for coffee

Not quite right for chocolate either

The moment is calling for massage
Long, slow breathing
Leaning into, luxuriating

But all I have are twist-untied wrappers
And quiet telephones
And empty inboxes

I guess it's too late to reach for you
Not quite right for rejection

The moment is calling for awareness
The birdsong is calling for the usual mystery

And I am no longer lonely.

Can be found by Clicking Here

Shadorma (3-5-3-3-7-5)

I am done

I am done.

You have  convinced me.

Surrender,
and be free:
so I begin to empty
my stash of love notes.

=================

I just learned about this form from a poem called "Stairway to Heaven on Earth" by Adam Everhard on the Poetry of the Netherworld blog, introduced to me via a comment from Tempest Nightingale LeTrope on my Day 17 post here.  Check them out for their A-to-Z sampling of styles!  It's serving as a great introduction to new ideas.  Thanks, Tempest!

 

Can be found by Clicking Here