Sijo - NaPoWriMo #28

NaPoWriMo prompt for today:

Write a sijo which is a traditional Korean verse form with three lines of 14-16 syllables.  The first line introduces the poem’s theme, the second discusses it, and the third line, which is divided into two sentences or clauses, ends the poem – usually with some kind of twist or surprise.

 

I walk through streets of broken glass

              lined with empty buildings

In this vacant town even the ghosts

              have moved away

Here I will set up house

              with all my memories of you                                   

             

Crazy Cat Lady Problems - NaPoWriMo #27

I have a lalpful of cat this morning.

He’s large and orange and purring and

does not care one bit that I need to write today.

I suppose this is the crazy cat lady version of,

“the dog ate my homework”

Fire and Wind - NaPoWriMo #26

Somewhere a fire is burning,

dry leaves and unleavened loaves

turning to ash

with unabashed women

stirring, stirring,

until the flames regain their whirling heights

hungrily devouring all in their path

souring our ideas of power  

 

And the dry ash flies up

on the wind

independent of even gravity,

dancing and drifting with the depravity

of fiery demons

 

And somewhere winds are shrieking

blowing, billowing, and peaking

above the church’s spire

higher and wilder

catching up papers, leaves, rags, and sheaves.

Then lightning strikes, it sparks

and starts a fire.              

Nothing Much to Say - NaPoWriMo #25

 

I can almost feel blood pulsing

through the capillaries that carry it

down

to my fingertips

as I press the computer keys

to type this drivel.

I have nothing much to say

but I need to say it for another five days,

because April is the month of

30 poems in 30 days,

and this is only number 25.

So if you stick with me, gentle reader,

you may learn more of my

very, very ordinary life

my cats, my dog,

my weird little hangups,

and weirder little random thoughts

that stroll through my head

mostly unbidden, and usually hidden

from you and you and you.         

Beginnings and Endings - NaPoWriMo #24

 

Beginnings and endings can be tricky,

We mark beginnings in many ways,

A ball drop, a photograph, a toast

or an awkward introduction.

 

And there are all sorts of middles –

dramatic

disappointing

painful

suspenseful

incredible

satisfying

fulfilling

harrowing

crushing

or just… middling

 

With endings we often don’t know

when they are happening

a final goodbye or a last kiss,

Endings and beginnings can be tricky.

 

 

 

In the Beginning - NaPoWriMo #24

Beginnings and endings can be tricky,
We mark beginnings in many ways,
A ball drop, a photograph, a toast

or an awkward introduction.

And there are all sorts of middles –

dramatic

disappointing

painful

suspenseful

incredible

satisfying

fulfilling

harrowing

crushing

or just… middling

 

With endings we often don’t know

when they are happening

a final goodbye or a last kiss,

Endings and beginnings can be tricky.

Lessons in Listening - NaPoWriMo #23

I listen to the river

and wonder,

can I ever learn her language?

Or the deep, quiet lake,

or the restless, rushing waves of the ocean.

Can I learn the language of the trees

as they whisper to one another on the wind?

Or the slow language of the rocks,

and the earth and the sands?

I watch the clouds

and listen to the wind,

but there is so much more

than I can grasp.  Still, I love to listen.                               

Moving House - NaPoWriMo #21

My husband and I are moving house,

sort of.  Maybe.  But maybe not.

For who can move away

from 35 years of living?

What crate do you pack all your memories in?

How many boxes does it take

to hold a life?

A marriage? 

A family?

 

This old house is only a place,

but it’s the place

where so much

of your life happened.

 

This new place does not have the spot

where your son took his first steps

or the spot where your daughter

lost her first tooth.

It doesn’t have the place on the stairs

where your children sat

when you overheard

your daughter asking your son to play Barbies

and your son answering

that he would,

for a quarter.

 

This new place does not have

 the hallway you walked

 all those nights

when the babies wouldn’t sleep,

or the spot where you stood

when you learned of

the attack on the World Trade Center,

or the door your husband walked through

when he brought home the stray dog

who became a part of the family.

 

It does not have the sunroom

where you slept every night

while recovering from knee surgery

and you couldn’t walk

up the stairs to the bedroom,

the sunroom where you sit

every morning

writing and reading

with your dog and your cat and your coffee.

 

And now you are old,

and there isn’t enough of you left,

of your life left,

to make all the new memories

that will transform another house

into a home,

into your home.

Elemental

Water, Earth, Air, and Fire,

Building blocks

and also, demolition tools.

Both the over-abundance

and the withholding

of these materials

can destroy

anything,

everything.

 

So why do we not take more care

of the ways we use  

them?

 

And, of course,

they often remind us

of the many ways they are

beyond our control.

 

“Humans,

you are not

Masters of the Universe or

Rulers of the Planet or

Lords of the Land,”

they seem to me to say.

 

We have our place,

along with all the other creatures

amid beautiful,

terrible,

wonderous,

grand, and humble mix of

Water, Earth, Air, and Fire                                        

Untitles - NaPoWriMo #20

 

Now, at the start of spring

Winter sends us one last blast

of cold.  Like a dying

patient who rallies

just before he

finally fails,

finally falls

into whatever comes next

 

Though no one seems to mind

when Winter dies

 

Winter has one of those,

“it’s a blessing”

deaths,

 

though, when people say it

about a loved one

(theirs or mine)

I want to scream

or give them a slap

or both,

no matter the circumstances of the death

 

But the death of

Winter is

another matter.

 

After all,

we know that

Winter

will always

find her way back.                                                      

 

 

  

Underneath - NaPoWriMo #19

Underneath the surface

is where we find the monsters,

and the treasure.

Under the dirt, the rot, the slimy, wriggling things,

that’s where the proper monsters lie.

The ones we simply can’t face

because they are facets

of our own selves.

But just beyond the monsters,

if we kill them or

beat them or

love them

into submission,

is the priceless treasure

that will transform our lives.

 

Untitled - NaPoWriMo #18

There is so much

wrong with my society:

institutionalized corruption

institutionalized injustice

institutionalized sexism

institutionalized racism

 

Sometimes it seems the best thing

to do is to set the world on fire

and just start over.

 

But, of course, I would

never do anything like that.

Though, I might cheer softly

if you did.

 

Anyone need a light?                                                               

Everyday Miracles - NaPoWriMo #17

Today smells like spring

the rain is warmer

the breeze

gentler

 

The thick cloud cover

feels insulating, protective,

not threatening

 

Leaves are unfurling

still tiny

still the bright, new green

of young foliage

 

Grasses are greening,

springing up fresh with the rain

 

Last autumn’s dry bulbs

have burst to life

covering the hillsides

with blue and white blooms

 

The trees,

the grasses,

the wildflowers –

they were dead and now they live.

How can you say you don’t believe in miracles?                               

Humans - NaPoWriMo #16

Humans are the worst

and the best,

sometimes.

 

But it seems they are usually the worst

when they get a bit more

power

and money

than they really ought to have;

than anyone really ought to have.

 

And when are humans

the best?

That’s a bit harder to predict.

Sometimes it’s when they are pushed,

sometimes it’s when they are happy,

sometimes it’s when they are broken,

sometimes it’s when they are loved.

Most times, though, it’s when they are understood.

Sometimes Joy - NaPoWriMo #15

 Sometimes joy
is such a simple thing

 

a good book

a cat, purring on one’s lap

a brilliant sunset fading to dusk

warm socks in winter

 

And sometimes joy

hides her face

within the folds of sorrow

patiently waiting

her turn                                                                                                      

Things I... - NaPoWriMo #14

Here is a list of the things…

I love coffee, strong and black

I love sitting with my dog and my notebook early in the mornings

I love cinnamon

I love autumn

I love driving fast, in a car with manual transmission

I love sunsets, but everyone loves those, don’t they?

I love my family - do I even need to say that?

I love octopuses (yes, that’s the right plural form)

I love horses and cats and dogs and birds and most mammals

I love red wine and dark chocolate

I love elves and Hobbits and Dwarves

I love adventures and

I love staying home

I love campfires

I love thunderstorms, and snowstorms

I love grey, rainy days

I love sunny days

I love dragons

I love books and libraries and librarians (well, most of them)

I love kayaks

I love daybreak on the lake

I love paper and pens

I love lists with all the items are checked off

I love wildflowers

I love houseplants in terra cotta pots

I love trees, especially birch and maple

I love silver earrings

I love so many things in this world

 

I wonder, what do you love?

Progress Report - NaPoWriMo #13

4-15-24

Our almost-two-year-old grandson spent the weekend with Tom and me.  It was both wonderful and exhausting.  Needless to say no computers were opened; no words were written (or typed).  And I’m still recovering.  There is a reason 60-year-old women don’t have babies.  I bow and tip my metaphorical hat to the grandmas out there who have had to take over raising their grandchildren.  But, now for a few words.

 

April 14, and the first tulip has opened.

It’s a pink one that I planted a few years ago.

 

The blue and white Scillas

cover most of the hill

going down to the driveway.

 

Lilac leaves are opening,

though the flowers are a way off yet.

 

Last night we slept with the windows open

for the first time this year.

 

The winter has been mild

but it was a long time in leaving.                                           73

Gone to Seed - NaPoWriMo #12

 Once we were fresh

and tender, young stems

filled with eagerness and

chlorophyll

 

stretching, reaching

toward the sky

filled with passion,

carpels quivering, stamens straining

seed pods full to bursting.

 

But now petals drop,

leaves droop,

stems bend and bow.

Cell walls are no longer turgid.

We wait passively

for the Winds of Chance

to blow us down

or the Rabbit of Fortune

to bite us off at the ground

or the Crow of Despair

to steal our seeds

 

Our green days

are all behind us.

Now we simply wait for

the Keeper of the Compost Pile 

Spring - NaPoWriMo #11

Last week

we had a foot of snow;

heavy snow that broke tree branches.

And yet, my tulips, halfway up,

and Scilla, already blooming,

covered in that same snow

are out today

showy and cheerful and thriving.

 

Spring is relentless.

Try as we might,

it can’t be stopped.

 

Even when it’s painful

even when we aren’t prepared

even when we can’t,

life goes on.       

Stick the Landing - NaPoWriMo #10

For those

who long to

free

fall

do not forget

the landing is costly

Horse Crazy - NaPoWriMo #9

4-9-24 

When I was 11 I learned to fly.

That’s when I started

horseback riding

 

I was chubby

and not at all athletic

but I got on a horse

 

and I could FLY

 

There was nothing better.

 

I wasn’t a natural

I took lessons

I struggled to balance,

to post,

to keep my hands soft,

to keep heels down, eyes up

 

But somehow the struggles

on top of a horse

were challenges I wanted

 

Unlike the struggles

in gym class

to throw and hit a ball,

to climb a rope,

to run a mile,

that humiliated me

 

Because riding

I was never alone.

It was never them against me,

the horse with me.

 

It was us,

and we could fly.                                        

 

Crack - NaPoWriMo #8

crack

in the rock

 

crack

in the plaster

 

crack

in the wall

I have built ‘round myself

 

Crack

in the pavement

 

crack

in the mirror

 

crack

in the surface

that show to the world

 

crack

in the bindings                                            

 

crack

in the temple

 

crack

in the story

that I tell to myself