Path to Certainty
On the path to certainty,
You’ll find many potholes.
The greenest blades of grass,
May point North, towards your goals,
But amidst the tallest strands,
Grow wicked stinging nettles.
Cross over where dandelion spores disperse,
And turn left when the last seed settles.
Mind the sheer drop.
Try not to hurry.
Stability and security
Fade when there is worry.
In response to the final “directions” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
It has been an absolute pleasure to participate in NaPoWriMo this year. I am so grateful for the opportunity to converse with fellow poets and explore everyone’s interpretations of each prompt. It has been delightful!
Coffee Shop Windows
Looking through coffee shop windows,
I appear to stare at you.
I’m not counting your empty cups,
Nor how many cakes you’ve bit into.
I’m not peering through.
I am too busy gauging my reflection’s identity.
Does she have any prosperity?
I wish I knew.
In response to the penultimate “windows” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Image credit: pixabay.com
Courage Terza Rima
Why did my courage disappear?
Where did my bravery go?
The day you left me is unclear.
I simply want to know,
Do you intend to return?
Or will I forever be this low?
Is this a habit I can unlearn,
Or will I have to find my self-esteem?
Will the flame inside me burn?
Have I forgotten how to dream?
How can I be rid of fear,
And balance on life’s beam?
In response to the “questions” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I am absolutely thrilled to have my poem “Occhiolism” featured today, thank you Maureen!
I chose to write a terza rima today and to question why I am such a nervous person.
The sorry fact is that you are you,
And I am me.
In this experiment we call life,
Your own world is free.
It’s a gift you can’t exchange.
You were born this way.
Every detail of your script
Makes a unique play,
But this is occhiolism,
You can’t extrapolate.
Your mistakes and regrets
Remain a heavy weight,
Keeping you from change,
Obstructing your perceptions.
We are all insignificant,
With no exceptions.
In response to the twenty-seventh “obscure sorrows” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I eventually settled on the word “occhiolism” from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.
To paraphrase, occhiolism is the knowledge that your own perceptions are insignificant, as they are inferred from only one experience, and as a result, you will never understand the world.
Image credit: pixabay.com
How doth the portly parakeet
Sing that little high note,
And tap his spindly legs and feet,
Beneath his feathered coat!
How humbly they seem to chirp,
How swiftly they click their beaks,
In water he will splash and slurp,
To wash his chubby cheeks!
In response to the twenty-sixth “parody” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose to write in the same style as Lewis Carroll’s parody “The Crocodile” of Isaac Watts’ “How Doth the Busy Little Bee”.
Image: one of my very own chubby budgies, Finn.
On Christmas Day we rise early,
Before the frost resembles dew.
We wrap up in our dressing gowns,
And rush downstairs to view
Golden ribbons wrapped around
The gifts to be exchanged.
We open them with caution,
And hope not to be upstaged.
We roast the turkey shortly after,
Filling the house with a rich aroma.
We carve the turkey at least thrice,
Before the day is over.
Then we gather with the family,
And talk about the year.
That’s what makes Christmas special:
Sharing love; and laughter; and cheer.
In response to the twenty-fifth “occasion” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
You may wonder why you’ve never come across a superhero.
Perhaps you have, in the form of a kid, a nanny or a man named Billy.
They can be identified by a pair of horns,
Their ability to balance on steep cliff faces,
Or feeding on cardboard boxes,
Which they have mistaken for plants.
They make good pets too.
In response to the twenty-fourth “animal replacement” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose a Wikipedia article on goats and replaced them with superheroes.
… And Froglet
True, Earth’s poetry has no end.
Even by the water’s edge
Where moss clings to banks, and tadpoles wedge
For shelter, on the river bend
Beneath a shimmer, as the ripples blend.
When summer halts spring’s final sledge
The tadpoles, they make their pledge,
Huddling until their legs extend.
The resplendence of earth shall never deplete.
Even at night, when darkness creeps,
When chilling winds surf broken soil,
Brilliance is not lost, for the moon’s fleet
Skates on reeds and grass which sweeps.
The froglets find no sign of spoil.
In response to the twenty-third “response” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
I chose to respond to John Keats’ “On the Grasshopper and Cricket”, a beautiful poem exploring the never-ending “poetry” of nature.
Image credit: pixabay.com
An Heir is a Son
But you still have toenails to paint,
Magazines to read,
Hair to style,
And a girl’s life to lead.
“He’s only despondent as he wanted an heir”.
An excuse for neglect, forgetting she’s there.
Treading on her life with metonymy.
Stunting her growth, the person she wants to be.
An heir is a son,
Would he add to your life?
Not like your daughter.
For her, you lack strife,
As she is no heir.
In response to the twenty-second “metonymy” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
A perfect excuse to rant. Whatever “saying” you use to belittle someone, their life still exists, and they have to deal with the pain.
With inspiration from Uvri Kumbhat’s essay about mangoes.
The Fire Alarm
There was a man with no charm,
Who bought himself a fire alarm,
And with that fire alarm he chose,
He bought himself a fire hose.
And with that fire hose he took,
He bought himself a fire truck.
And with that fire truck he got,
He devised himself a clever plot.
And with his clever plot, his charm
Could be restored with a fire alarm.
And with the fire alarm, he rose,
And grabbed hold of his fire hose.
And with that fire hose he snuck,
Into the back of his fire truck.
And when that truck arrived on site,
His little face oozed with delight.
And with that gleam upon his face,
He made the whole crowds’ hearts race.
In response to the twenty-first “There was a Man of Double Deed” prompt from NaPoWriMo.net
Inspired by the anonymous nursery rhyme entitled “There was a Man of Double Deed”.