Good, Bad, and Editing

I wrote every day
and kept the posts coming.
Some came out quite well,
some felt unbecoming.

Others helped me out,
can't take all the credit.
Now some of these poems
will be seeing edits.


November's last prompt from BlogHer: What did you learn from doing NaBloPoMo?
Some days are better than others for writing.
Sometimes forcing yourself to write can turn out well.
Vacations can make daily posting more difficult.
Vacations can make for great inspiration.
I have got to keep a more regular time for doing my writing.
It's nice to have writing friends.

Long Road Trip Haiku

the long drive made me
ready for my bed at home
and non-greasy food

Rubaiyat

In this lifetime there is no other way.

You must do your best to enjoy today

if you desire to feel truly alive.

that is what the wise men and women say.

If what you are really hoping to find

is a deeper and more meaningful life,

you have to pick yourself up and begin

to discover what will give you the drive.

It's important to remember that when

your struggle starts frustrating you again,

you should not putter about or delay.

You can never know when your life will end.

Real Toads: Rubaiyat

Four line stanza

10 syllables per line

aaba rhyming scheme

I often have trouble with form-based prompts because I don't know about what to write. This time I decided to just come up with the ending words and see where it led me. It might need some revising for more compactness and a less repitious sound.

Also shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry #77

Wrestling

tumble
jump, roll

grab hold and spin around
get the other guy down

no matter who's won
dogs always have fun


Shared with Thursday Poets' Rally #57

Thanks to The Poetry Palace Community for the Perfect Poets Award for week 57! To see other winners for this week, visit here. I nominate Masked Are We and Myopic View.

Turkey Leftovers

turkey leftovers
make yourself a great sandwich
or fix up a plate

Black Friday Limerick

Many people bought presents today,

waited in lines making sure to save.

But I don't have the cash

even with prices slashed.

So, all of our presents are homemade.

Dear Merchants - Limerick, Mad Kane's Humor Blog

NaBloPoMo BlogHer Prompt:

Do you like to buy presents ahead of time or right when you need to give them?

I have been doing a lot of crocheting of gifts lately, with some sewing thrown in on occasion. In fact, I wrote a poem about crochet recently: Knots. Good luck with your impending gift finding.

Cuddles

Cuddling the dog
'til he tries helping me type.
His claws just won't work.

The all brown loves to get in my lap during computer time. I was trying to write a poem, and he insisted on helping.

Preparations

Half naked trees
losing their leaves
slowly undressing.

We cover up
and snuggle up
and eat it all up.

Both groups just try
ways to survive
the long winter's night.


Included in The Gooseberry Garden's Poetry Picnic Week 15

Simply Receive

ABC Wednesday features the letter S this week. Thursday is Thanksgiving in the US. Here's two version of the same four line poem reflecting on themes of thanksgiving. The second includes more S words.

Simply receive the earth's blessings.

Be thankful for the harvest's bounty.

Treasure true friendship and of love

that lasts a lifetime in all its forms.

Simply secure in Earth's sacrifice,

Be satisfied with the harvest's surplus.

Sing of sincere shipmates and of love

sustained for a lifetime, in all its shapes.

Stars In Love

Love is blind and lovers cannot see

why they should look where they are going.

The lover is all that has meaning,

but t'wards sorrow they went careening. 

a black hole tore the lovers apart.

Now each star has a hole in its heart.

Inspired by the story of S and R, an astral romance.

Part of Carry on Tuesday #132:

"Love is blind and lovers cannot see"

"Merchant of Venice" - Shakespeare

More Shakespeare love quotes

Autumn Air

Crisp, Brisk, Invigorating. 

My nose is cold from the breeze. 

My body is warm from the sun 

and long sleeves. 

Warm yet chilled is how a day in 

autumn feels. 

I love that feeling! It's such a special sensation.

Truffula Tree Haiku

Poor truffula trees

made into useless thneeds

for the Onceler's greed.

Do you remember

truffulas in November,

our dancing: limber.

Today's prompt from Patricia K. Lichen, Author
Weekend Haiku & Limericks: truffula trees

As to the second one, it's about my college's homecoming-type event, Cornhuskin'. My senior year, our class's theme was Dr. Seuss.
Our class sweatshirt:

Photo by Meghan Laurin

Another poem about Cornhuskin' here as well as some more info on Meredith College's most unique of events.

Knots

Over, under, around, through,

the simple little knots we do.

Repeat, two, three, four,

now you've got a shell's worth more.

If you've got knots enough

you can even stuff with fluff.

Keep it going round and round

suddenly a blanket you've found.

One little tool, one really long string:

now you've made a beautiful thing.

If you're confused by what I say,

I'm discussing the art of crochet.

I have been crocheting a lot lately, working on Yule/Christmas gifts.

A shell stitch is a group of stitches that are all worked into the same space. It's quite common in granny squares and was what mostly made up my first projects when I was learning to crochet.

Moving makes an impetus

Moving makes an impetus

to clear out old things,

to find solace in release,

to no longer cling.

Seek vindication within

the personal spring.

Do not resist the changes.

Enjoy what's coming.

Three Word Wednesday CCLXVII (267)
impetus, solace,vindication

We'll be moving this Yule. I'm excited for the new place, meeting new people, and seeing new things. However, moving is always a process and generally stressful. One step I'm both dreading and looking forward to: finding stuff we no longer need and can donate.

Run Away

Run away with me

through the reddening trees.

Leave rushing behind.

We'll make our own rhymes

and rhythms to suit

ourselves, world on mute.

Definitely rough, but maybe I'll play with it some more later.
For other R related poems, photos, and blog posts: ABC Wednesday Round 9 R

Autumn

Listen as the wind blows.

Leaves come tumbling down.

Devour their color.

They float to the ground.

Never Gets It Right

Serving as we have,

it was never our intention
to run our community.
Students will continue to exist
only if the writers experience hope.
Join us.
Come to the experience in writing.
Learn and develop with the criticism.
Know that we are no journalism department.
For every issue, feedback is provided.
Access and bring forth ideas.
Is it impossible, the reality of focusing on students?
The work is for anyone who
dirtied their hands, found a book,
or shared our community:
this community of students.

Words for this poem were found here:
Meredith College's student-run newspaper, The Herald
Issue 28.5; Date 11.2.11
"The Herald Never Gets It Right: A Letter from the Editors"
Ashleigh Phillips and Emily Gamiel, Editors

Grocery Limericks

I went to the store for a pickle.

Last week it cost only one nickel.

But too bad for me,

they now cost 1.03.

Why are the prices so fickle?

I went to the store for some honey,

but didn't have quite enough money.

The clerk laughed at me,

but I just don't see

why the clerk thought it was funny?

I went to the store for some garlic.

I heard it's helpful if your joints click.

I eat it each day,

and pain goes away.

I hardly even feel arthritic.

Last Night

Poetry Jam suggested writing a poetic still life, whether one set up and captured by yourself or one found and enjoyed. I looked about my living room, and these objects jumped out at me, telling at least part of a story.

We decided on coffee and dessert.

Those two pair up quite nicely.

I think that you and I

pair quite nicely.

We had run out of coffee and

shouldn't eat a whole pint.

We had a few drinks

and kept talking.

We talked for hours about nothing

and everything while our

chatter blended into 

one great night.

Submitted to Poetry Picnic Week 14: What I'm Thankful For

I'm thankful for my friends and boyfriend who inspired the spirit of this poem and the beer, iceream, cute martini glass and coffee that make up the story.

Death of a Twin

Today's prompt/form idea came from dVerse: Craft prose to poetry There are three steps.
1. Find a prose passage that seems poetic. You know you read some stuff that just sounds cool.
2. Break it up into more poetic lines and stanzas. Reformat it, basically.
3. Alter it to better fit your definition of poetry. A few options: even out rhyme, meter; more flowery words; clearer images.

I used a passage from Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese, which I copied below the poem. I loved reading that book. It's about a pair of twins born in Ethiopia, Shiva and Marion. Their parents were an Indian nun (who died in labor) and an English surgeon (who fled shortly after their birth). They were raised by two Indian doctors at a mission hospital. Very interesting story about love, medicine and family both chosen and natural.


Death of a Twin

His body was warm. 

He never took a breath 

after. 

His expression never changed. 

I felt his pulse,

regular for a full minute.

Then it paused,

as if the heart had just realized 

the lungs had quit. 

With a final throb, he was gone. 

Of all the pulse types, 

this was both the rarest 

and the most common.

Every pulse possesses

the potential to be absent. 

I closed my eyes and cradled him, 

his skull buttressed against mine.

I felt physically vulnerable

lying here next to him

in a way I hadn't known

when we were a continent apart.

With his death 

my biology was altered.

The heat was rapidly leaving his body. 

I lay there, my head against Shiva's, a finger resting on his carotid pulse. His body was warm. He never took a breath after the tube came out. His facial expression never changed. His pulse stayed regular for almost a minute, then it paused, as if it had just realized its lifelong partner-the lungs-had quit. His heart sped up, became faint, and then, with a final throb under my fingers, it was gone. I thought of Ghosh. Of all the pulse types, this was both the rarest and the most common, a Janus quality that every pulse possesses: the potential to be absent.
I closed my eyes and clung to Shiva. I cradled him, his skull buttressed against mine and now wet with my tears. I felt physically vulnerable in a way I'd never felt when we were a continent apart, as if with his death my own biology was now altered. The heat was rapidly leaving his body.
Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese

Poetry

As you many have noticed, this post is not a poem. Do not be alarmed, you are still at JP's Poetry. As part of National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo), there are prompts Monday through Friday all month. Today's prompt asked bloggers to discuss their secret (or not so secret) passion.

For a long while, writing poetry was my secret passion. It wasn't a huge secret, but I certainly didn't volunteer to share my poetry with many people. As a kid, I often made up little songs and loved poetry units at school. I wrote some angsty stuff during my teen years, but it wasn't all bad. As college approached, things got busier at school and I didn't do much of anything related to words during my free time. If poetry came up as an option during classwork, I always chose that form of the project. Occasionally I would submit a poem to an online contest and even had half a dozen or so published in anthologies.

College was even busier. I managed to squeeze in some semi-regular journal writing, nearly daily reading of about five pages from a personal novel, and an occasional poem writing session. I wasn't feeling totally uncreative, but there was lots of science and learning happening. Plus, I was meeting new people, helping to run campus organizations, and having all kinds of new experiences.

I graduated in May 2010 and moved in with my boyfriend. Not finding much available in the way of work gave me some free time and a flexible schedule between chores. I wrote more often and read a lot more. I've even started helping to run the alumnae book club, taken up sewing, and learned how to meal plan on a budget. I heard about National Poetry Writing Month a few days before it started, and decided I'd set up a blog to help keep me accountable. I loved it. There weren't tons of visitors, but I was sharing my creativity, meeting other poets, and learning new forms and styles. After April, I wrote regularly for a while and then let life get in the way.

I'm glad to be back for another month of regular writing and posting. Sometimes I think about collecting some of my work and publishing a book. Making a little money from it would be nice, but mostly there's something magical in seeing your work published.

Mind you, poetry isn't my only passion. I love biology, especially aquatic ecology. And I enjoy helping others learn. I even have waves of other creative pursuits: sewing, painting, cooking, and crocheting. Some days are more creative than others, but creativity is an important part of life. Creating something, even if you don't think of it as art, helps replenish the soul.

What about you, do you have a secret passion? Did you or do you keep it to yourself?

Quagmire

Questing for health

I met a quack.

I had qualms 

about his quaintness,

but I quelled them.

With a short quip

about quibbling

my query was

quite quickly dismissed.

I should have known.

In night's quiet,

I quiver to

have discovered:

qualifications,

that man has none!

For more Q themed poems, stories, photos, and posts of all kinds:

ABC Wednesday Round 9 Letter Q

Dog's Debate

Edward Hopper's Cape Cod; click here for a larger view

The dog's debate:
to chase a rabbit
or go where called.

Margo Roby's Wordgathering
Painting Poems: Tuesday Tryouts

You Choose

Life happens.

If you ignore it

or pretend that

time isn't hurtling forward,

you miss out.

Death happens.

If you ignore it

or pretend that

you can prevent getting old,

death still comes.

Life happens.

If you enjoy it

and do your best

to find happiness each day,

you will live.

Poetic Asides Poem A Day prompt: what won't wait

Coke on a Hot Day

A tall glass of chilled Coke

is my Kryptonite

on scorching hot days

that bring fuzzy logic

and extra thirsty dogs.

Indian summers

always leave me wishin'

for a cool blue lagoon

that this Georgia peach

could jump right into.



Poetry Tow Truck #45: Have a Drink on Me
Used this Drinks' Names List to find some inspiration.
It was actually kinda nice to think about some warmth since it's been so chilly lately.

In case you're thirsty, here's some recipes:
Kryptonite, fuzzy logic, Thirsty Dog (beer brewing company)
Indian summer, blue lagoon, Georgia peach (a personal fave)

Corn Parade 2011

2010

back again.

Here to wish

our lil sis

the best of luck.

Shuck, girl, shuck!

Yesterday, Meredith College had it's annual Cornhuskin' competition. On a very simple level, Cornhuskin' is what we do for homecoming. Meredith is an all women's college, so there's not football game and no associated pep rally or tailgating parties. There is, however, a spirit week. On Friday night, the main event draws family, friends, staff, faculty, and alumnae to the ampitheatre to watch skits, dancing, apple bobbing, and giant talking props.
We also have a tradition that every other class has a special connection: Big Sis & Lil Sis. A member of the big sis class shows her lil sis around school, helps them learn about the many traditions, and even takes them around town. Evens are with evens and odds with odds.
I graduated in 2010. Our lil sis class, 2012, is the senior class this year. As the big sis class, we come back to campus to cheer our lil sis class on. It was a fabulous time! I got to see some friends, watch some awesome skits, saw an amazing apple bobbing performance, and enjoyed being back on campus again.

If you're still curious (or a bit confused), some of our students put together a lovely webpage about the history of Cornhuskin' here.

Man'yoshu: I will have to wait

Your delightful breasts

tease me, beckon me forward.

I want to feel your

soft skin pressed against my own.

For now, I will have to wait.

dVerse Poets' Pub: Form for All
Man'yoshu: a widespread form in Japan during the 700s CE
Poems were declarative rather than introspective, imagistic rather than abstract.
1 of 3 topics, Somon: mutual exchanges of love or longing
1 of 2 styles, Tanka: syllable counts of 5-7-5-7-7.
Learn more about the form here.

Getting Blood Drawn

The puncture

jerked me from daydream.

Do not look.

I hate blood.

Movies with lots of carnage

often make me faint.


Saw the form at Poetic Bloomings
Shadorma: a syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5.

Got some wordly inspiration from Three Word Wednesday
3WW CCLXV (265): carnage, jerk, puncture

P is for Puppy

My puppy teaches meprofound lessons daily.
The key to inner peace:
take more time for playing!


For more P-centric Poems, Photos and other blog Posts, check out ABC Wednesday: Letter P

Love Often

Love often during this

one life. You don't get

another chance at it.

"Love one another"

Last words of George Harrison, of the Beatles (1943-2001)

For more poems from this prompt: Carry On Tuesday #129

For some other famous people's last words and a video of George singing "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" check out Carry On Tuesday Plus

Note: In my more southeastern US accent, those end words rhyme a bit better. :)

Dog Park

It is now National Blog Posting Month 2011 or NaBloPoMo!
A bunch of people all decide to write a blog every day for a month. Due to popularity, it happens every month with a different theme. November is the traditional month with lots more bloggers and prizes. Here is the blogroll which (currently) has over 600 blogs!

Today when we went to the park,

One dog couldn't hold in his bark.

Another played fetch with her ball,

And one didn't move much at all.

When it started to pour,

People ran for the door.

No one wanted to play

On a cold, rainy day.

Thank you Poetry Rally!

I wrote a poem

about my dog's favorite place

Thanks for the award!

Other winners and their poems here.

I nominate LifeSpect: Tender Power for this week's award.