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NaPoWriMo

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done.
+one poem
+++++++each
day
+of
+april.
++now+it’s
++++++++may.
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DAY THIRTY:  30 April
Write a minimalist poem.

Well, it is hard to believe, but “It’s a wrap.”
Another April come and gone!
This was my seventh year of NaPoWriMo.
Thanks for the prompts and for playing along.
 

. . . . . some awe . . . . .

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an unspecified amount of
……….astonishment

 

 

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DAY THIRTY:  30 April

Write a minimalist poem.

 

Self-Exile

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The lines
(which were once quite pronounced)
had most people
dancing rhythmically
to avoid them.
There were occasionally others
who invited trouble
by purposely stepping
on the cracks.

Then the lines became so faint
it was impossible to see them.
Most people scurried around,
eyes on the ground,
evading adversity.
Others kept their eyes on the sky
and said,
“Thank you for a human touch,”
when they collided with neighbours.

Now the lines are solid and wide
and run everywhere.
They bisect each other
like knitting gone terribly wrong
and one cannot help but tread
on at least one crevice with each stride.

I am tired
of playing the game
and watching friends get caught
in the sticky bit of the web
while the spiders
rub their pedipalps
in glee.

I have retreated to my little hole
and here I will stay,
never having to worry about
my mother’s back.

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DAY TWENTY-NINE:  29 April

Write a poem that meditates, from a position of tranquility, on an emotion you have felt powerfully.

Hmm.  I don’t think I successfully followed the prompt.  I set out to do so.  But the poem lead me other places.

 

Elusive Poem

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Pen poised.
Paper primed.
Waiting for inspiration.
Pushing words around.
Waiting for friction.
Hoping for a spark,
maybe a small fire.
But the letters lie
like cold dead fish
starting to stink.

Give up.
Go to bed.

And then,
just before falling into senselessness,
a pretty little poem
flitters like a firefly
across the outskirts of consciousness,
then disappears
leaving a fine trail
of phosphorescent dust.

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DAY TWENTY-EIGHT:  28 April

Write a metapoem.

Sonnet – 27

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Old photographs blanket the table here –
from infant, child, to mother and to gran.
Frozen moments juxtaposed year through year,
like God, see all moments now ‘cross the span.

So much time and water, which having run
the course – sometimes sweet and at times damn mean –
leave wounds and hurt which pock and scar and stun,
clouding what was once bright and clear, serene.

A melancholy settles in the soul.
A pining for the faces which have gone.
A longing for the laughter which made whole.
A sadness for the days like curtains drawn.

On the horizon, there where we are bound,
mystery of departing common ground.

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DAY TWENTY-SEVEN:  27 April

“Remix” a Shakespearean sonnet.

The most difficult part of this assignment was choosing a sonnet.

SO, since this is the 27th day of NaPoWriMo, I chose Sonnet 27.  It is a part of the “Fair Youth” sonnets (1-126), and the first in a group of five sonnets that portray the poet in solitude and meditating from a distance on the young man.

My “sonnet” is one of solitude of an older woman (Unattractive Elder) who is reflecting on her days (which now seem too few and too fast).

Hallelu-jah (הללויה)

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In the midst of heartache:
Hallelujah.
In the place of trials:
Hallelujah.
In the dawn of hope:
Hallelujah.
In the comfort of twilight:
Hallelujah.
In the joy of new life:
Hallelujah.
In the face of death.
Hallelujah.
In the mundane ordinariness of another routine day:
Hallelujah.
In the celebration of a milestone:
Hallelujah.
In a dark dungeon:
Hallelujah.
In the light of a new day:
Hallelujah.
In all things
and in all places
Hallelujah.

Let us live a Hallelujah.

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DAY TWENTY-SIX:  26 April

Write a poem that uses repetition.

Autumn’s Evictions

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Round, ripe marula fruit
bursting yellow skin.
Sweet (but tart) juices
running down chins
make sticky fingers and hungry tongues.
Gone.

Soaring black raptors
cut through clear sky
in concentric circles
on thermals they ride
on heaven’s carousel.
Gone.

Black and white ribbons
on horsy hide,
hanging in harems
give oxpeckers rides,
following the rain with their wildebeest friends.
Gone.

Looping and swirling,
catching prey on the wing.
Skimming the water,
tails that stream.
Warbling swallows who witt-witt and pling.
Gone.

Oh, Autumn,
who chases my friends far away.
My heart longs for September.
Will they come again?

 

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DAY TWENTY-FIVE: 25 April

Write a poem that:

  • Is specific to a season
  • Uses imagery that relates to all five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell)
  • Includes a rhetorical question, (like Keats’ “where are the songs of spring?”)

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