Fell behind. Must catch up…

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Well, ok, I got sickish.

Then I had work and it all just started tumbling away from me. I’m nine days off, but I have nine more days to make up for it. If I do two or three a day, I should be caught up.

Luckily for you readers, I have been scribbling poems down on paper!

Also I’m working on an epic poem as a bit of joke for a British friend of mine. More on that later!

4.13 Bitch on a Train

Your instincts told you that the foreigner wouldn’t know to pounce.
Safe in your prejudices.
Fool.
Know what you did not anticipate?
This foreigner has been riding the rails for months.
I’ve lost my fear.
I’ve lost my patience.
That seat is mine.
I claimed it ten stops ago.
You may want it,
But you won’t get it.
Sorry, Junior.
You snooze.
You lose…that seat.

4.14 Sakura Philosophy

Sakura season is but a breath of spring
A flippancy, a dalliance, the barest floral fling
Two weeks tops of cherry blooms under which we dine
Staring up at flowers while drinking sweet plum wine.

Such times seem held in stasis as though to last forever
And yet the trees are stripped with the barest hint of weather
Seeming snow-capped branches shaken by a forceful gale
Spring begins by shaking off the prettiest of veils.

Perhaps that is the lesson that we are meant to learn
That we are the like the buds that bloom and fall in turn
So take heart, my blossoms, that spring will come and then
Upon our fall new sakura will burst into bloom again.

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Two more: 4.11, 4.12

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Busy Bee: Interpretation I (4.11)

You up?
You down?
You want to go for a night on the town?
How’s six?
How’s eight?
Work’s not till Monday so we can go late.
He’ll come.
Her too.
We’ll drink and maybe do something taboo.
We’ll walk
I’ll text
And make sure y’all know where to go next.
I asked.
It’s grand.
Everything’s going just as I planned.
It’s time.
Let’s go.
Trust me – I’m the girl in the know.

Busy Bee: Interpretation II (4.12)

Near the Iroquois River sits an ice cream shack.
It’s been there for thirty years, surviving cold and flood.
Open for the hot Midwestern summer and nothing else,
The Busy Bee does not offer blizzards but “tornadoes”
Which taste the same, cost a dollar more, and fill the void
With nostalgia and something resembling Oreo cookies.
Every summer the local populace buys raspberry soft serve flavorbursts, mudslides, blue ice slushies,
Then sit along the riverbank, noting the water level, cleanliness, and any interesting debris washed to the muddy banks after the latest thunderstorm.
As far as rituals go, it is delicious.

Couplet Practice (4.6)

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Couplet Practice (4.6)

Stuck in the curse
Of my free-striding verse
Like cuffs on my feet
The hamper the beat
Of the song in my mind
Which is one of a kind
Yet I can’t touch the sound
Which ambles around
The edge of my sight
And won’t enter the light
So I write what I know
While I wait to be shown
What the words have to say
At the end of the day
If I’m lucky I’ll see
What my words need to be
Or else I’ll waste time
With a series of rhymes
And hope for the best
After a decent night’s rest.

NaPoWriMo Strikes…Again!

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It’s that time of the year again – it’s National Poetry Writing Month! And luckily, this year I’ve remembered that I do NaPoWriMo every year.

For the next 30 days, I will endeavor to put up a new poem every day. On days when this gets away from me – either because I’m reclining in the heat of a luxurious bed, or because I’ve been called to the mountaintops – I will post the necessary make-up poems as soon as possible.

So without further fanfare…Shall we write?

<strong>Day 1: A Poor Beginning (A Sonnet)</strong>

I’ll christen paper with this pen of mine
Or click the proper electronic links
I’ll edit out the words which do not rhyme
And iron out mistakes and awkward kinks

For what do I endeavor to unfold?
What hopes of mine do I intend to find?
A writer seeks to leave no truth untold
Even those that lurk within their mind

I pray the words from this my feeble brain
The crude and crumbly edges of this noise
That from my witless rambling you will gain
A speck of strength to speak with your own voice.

I’ll write a month of poems grand and dire
In hopes a better poet gets inspired!

Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main

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Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main
Was a saltwater woman in soul
Yet within the timbers of her heart
Rested a peculiar hole

Now, Jovial Jane of the Spanish Man
Had a very fine feathered hat.
She sent her foes to the briny depths
(But never harmed dog nor cat).

And Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main
Had a Damascus steel blade so light
She could the cut the heart out of a scurvy knave
Before even starting to fight.

Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main
Feared naught but the squall and reef
And woe to the wind or sandy shoal
That brought her ship to grief.

Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main
Sat in the crow’s nest above
And wondered if maybe the thing she was lacking
Was someone to trust and to love

So Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main
Picked up her compass and steel
Her fine feathered hat she set on her head
And planted her feet at the wheel.

Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main
Never stop sailing the blue
Because Jovial Jane of the Spanish Main
Was always looking for you.

Small Realizations: A Sonnet

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Dappled sunlight white and yellow fell
Upon my couch with pillows orange and blue,
And I resplendent in this cozy spell
Thought lightly about life and what I do.
I am one who crossed the great wide sea,
Who lives a life away from what is known.
I shrugged off comfort and complacency
And left for foreign shores and foreign towns.
In truth I did not give these musings strength
(A Sunday morning is best spent in rest)
I sent them off with tea until at length
One tiny thought sat heavy in my chest:
How have I crossed the world and lived by chance
Yet never once have I been asked to dance?

No joke! I was just sitting there, on my couch, thinking about nothing in particular, when it occurred to me that I have never been asked to dance.

Wait…

I think I was asked to dance when I was in seventh grade? SEVENTH. GRADE. Oh my God, what happened? I make light of it in this sonnet, but that is ridiculous!

Time Upon a Hill: A Halloween Poem

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Time Upon a Hill

I lay upon the ground at night
Upon All Hallow’s Eve
And set my ears and eyes aright
So that they would perceive
The spirits walking through the sky
Or roaming ‘cross the ground
With eyes shut gently by and by
With ears shut to all sound
I waited there so patiently
Out on the grassy hill
But not a soul came near to me
The air was light and still
Alas I realized too late
Why I was all alone
I came to recognize my fate
I saw my aged bones
Through empty and unseeing eyes
I heard with deafened ears
There’d been a lack of mournful sighs
For the past thousand years
I lay upon the ground at night
A thousand Halloweens
Just waiting till the time was right
For my spirit to be seen
Perchance you’ll be the lucky soul
To see me when I rise
And dance upon the clouds that roll
Across the purple skies
But luckier I think you’d be
To die and rot away
Then you can come and dance with me
Until the end of days
But fear not me, nor death my sweet
You’re young and full of time
So go and carve and trick-or-treat
And I will pause my rhyme
For I remember well my rest
Upon the hill of green
Someday perchance you’ll join me
On a blessed Halloween.