Category: napowrimo
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7 April: NaPoWriMo and RDP Day 7
On the Kitchen Windowsill There’s a finger-length silver shoe with a notch, it’s an ashtray but never used as such, and next to it a small terra cotta chicken with a wooden spoon protruding from the back of its neck, for salsa I’m told, bought it in Cartagena on a hot day after a miserable…
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6 April: NaPoWriMo and RDP Day 6
A Spoonful of Urban White In the echoes of distance, all there, gathered in this milky night, were destined to sombre lament. Their footsteps, a river of invadingsecrets flooding these gritty streets,and dazzled by night’s watery lights. And the milky moon, sharp as a knifebroke through clouds, and thenfaded back into echoes again. A poem…
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4 April: A Triolet for NaPoWriMo
A Witness Oh, if only it existedin the silence of traveled clouds,the language of peace from afar,oh, if only it existed.A soul’s asylum bound by stars –a witness to silent words,oh, if only it existedin the silence of traveled clouds. Written for NaPoWriMo Day 4: Form poem, a triolet; constraints of ABaAabAB; in iambic tetramenter AI Digital Artwork…
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3 April: RDP and NaPoWriMo Day 3
1.There once was a mischievous catWho loved to chase after a ratWith a flick of its tailAnd a rambunctious wailThe rat slipped away just like that! RDP word today is Rambunctious 2. What counts Yesterday I was myself,but today I am not, and yesterday will happen again, yet today will not. I am counting each day…
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2 April: NaPoWriMo Day 1 and 2
Day 1. The Blow Fly Such sadnessin this invisible wind,trifling in this spider’s grate. Did you know your tearstaste like wine.Do you feel venom’s fiery pyre. Shake like whiskers,tremble in its nest.Your wings, a curse,in a spider’s universe. Book cover image Lord Dunsany. The Book of Wonder. London: William Heinemann, 1912 — Source. Day 2. What is fog.A feeling…
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27 Nov: Q and PA Day 27
A Poem Based on Henri Rousseau’s “Myself. Portrait Landscape” (from L’ile Saint Louis) This woman’s name is Clémence.She is Henri Rousseau’s lover. You must, she tells, Rousseau,be frontal, be primitive. Be the lion in your jungle. Dress yourself inbest Sunday’s black, and permit your feet to rise on pavements.Pause semaphores on their lines, and strike…
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26 Nov: PA & Q Day 26
A Particular Tree (Major Oak, Nottinghamshire) Beyond the iron gatesof the low stone wall,where the view widenson the slow rising hills is a model of serious trees. There amongst the birds, fields and things that arepermanent and unbroken,we look up at that tree as true and honest wisdom. Its limbs stretch out inthe morning sun…
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25 Nov: Q and PA Day 25
In All seriousness A boy asks the local halal butcher“Are you Santa, sir?” And the butcher rolls two fingerson his bristley beard, as if piecingmyth and faith into a jigsaw puzzle. He spins the rotisserie, fat rendersin long drips from the doner meat,and he slices precisely thin sheets. “No, I am not Santa, but I…
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24 Nov: Q’s and PA Day 24
For a Bear Called Cedric You’d poke it with a stickto see if it’s really dead,and if it grabbed the stick you’d not be surprised. He was made from a sock,stuffed with squishy fluff,and had a button in his ear, and you’d not be surprised if he was smiling at the moon, and sat on…
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23 Nov: Prose for Miz Quickly
A Poem Not Beginning with a Line by Elizabeth Barrett Browning I’m just a slug on the wet inner-face of the discourse, writes Jack Underwood. I don’t know Jack Underwood, but I read what he wrote, and assume lots of people also read him, and I believed every word he wrote about dead rabbits, and…
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