Month: Apr 2018
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AprPAD Day 30
[Note: This is the last post for the April Poem-a-Day Challenge and NaPoWriMo] To Boldly Go I’m making creamed tuna on toast for dinner, which involves stirring and staring into a pot, so I interrupt the tedium of it all with idle chitchat, which I know he’ll listen to with one deaf ear. Did you…
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AprPAD Day 28.1
In Waves Down in the far field where school boys play football, where the occasional siren or barking dog is heard, where weather cuts limbs, and rolls in waves and rivulets, down there where weather is a predator … there once stood an old oak tree. It sustained years of play, and penknife love notes.…
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AprPAD Day 28
Those Old Time Riches [Draft Version] Mum always said we were rich, but as a kid, it never felt that way. Rich kids wore store-bought clothes. My mum made all ours. Only once did I choose the fabric. Choice was her privilege. Her money; Her choice, and that seemed fair comment to me. My…
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AprPAD Day 26
In the Mossy Yellow In last year’s flower pot, grassy overgrown, mossy, yellow as lemons’ rain, or peel, or pollen cupped on the cusp of spring, a nest round and deep, soft as a mother’s breast. Was a bird. Day 26: Senses NaPoWriMo It’s National Poetry Writing Month, which explains the surge…
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AprPAD Day 25
Messages of Warning to My Much Younger Self Bend your knees. Yes, mice are living under the decking. Your belly shouldn’t wobble like panna cotta. Bend your knees. Pushing your little sister into the pool won’t teach her to swim. Don’t ignore your left eye. And bend your knees. You’ll flunk algebra; it doesn’t matter.…
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AprPAD Day 24.2
A Splash of Water i. A layer of golden pollen and a splash of rain on brown bread toast II. wind sings against the window, splashes of weather that splinter dry dust III. My throat aches for a splash of water and the taste of kind words. for Twiglet #73 It’s National…
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AprPAD Day 24.1
An Anti-Form Poem I am sick of highfaluting poems that rhyme and break at I-am-so-precious points which is why I am writing straight-as-sticks stanzas that are dead and boring and have no trace of punctuation well except for those hyphens for AprPAD Day 24: “An anti-form poem”
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AprPAD Day 24
Those Holes I don’t know about you, but I’m filled with quiet holes. Contemplative holes. Every time a friend dies, or family, it’s another hole. Grief is some sort of unspoken language, and some people just expect you to fill those holes up. A friend died the other day. A man of faith. Love.…
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AprPAD Day 23
The Myth of Planned Obsolescence Two plates are tapping. Tit.tit.titting against each other. I’ve loaded the dishwasher wrong. No, if it open it now, I’ll flood the floor. I hate those dishes anyway. They’re 40-years old, and refuse to break. Won’t even chip. Yeah, I know, they don’t make things like they used to. Damned…
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AprPAD Day 22
I. Tulip (rewritten) A tulip’s deep and echoed voice, a flower fountain, a red streaked revenge. It is a vanity, even in its own shadow. But such beauty drowns in rain. Once loved by spring, now dies away, carried off by a Narcissus glance. AprDay 22: A Plant II. I watched a bee…
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