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- 04/07/2016
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Occasional Poetry - 19. NaPoWriMo 2016 Week 1
APRIL 1
So I flirted and I fooled,
I read sonnets 'til I drooled,
then I shouted to the poet crowd: "I'm in!"
Though sometimes sounding phony
(more doggerel than pony)
I would hope my verse makes everyone to grin.
Never mind my fingers black,
or the adjectives I lack,
My thesaurus or my dictionary thick;
Every day I'll try a verse
(or an ode - whichever's worse),
and perhaps this literary stuff will stick.
APRIL 2
Snow on bright flowers;
April's unkind foolery
repeated each spring
APRIL 3
A writer whose prose might be deathless
had a date with a poet most breathless;
after meeting at one
they had hours of fun,
and the novelist deathless was yeth-less.
APRIL 4
I want the gentle, kindly spring
its lovely greening song to sing,
as if to heal cold winter's spite,
and put its meanness on the wing.
I long for days all golden bright,
suffused with softly glowing light,
as if the gods had sent a flame
to warm the globe from their great height.
I want an end to winter's frame
of teasing days, yet all the same,
as if to taunt with promise false,
delighting in a frozen game
I yearn for birds, their fluted calls
reminding us that life enthralls,
as if to mock the snowy king
whose frigid storming so appalls.
APRIL 5
Who is this crumpled, ancient hermit crab
with lifeless eye and rolling sidewise gait,
this grey, encrusted, solitary drab
whose mind is bent by recollection's freight?
He carries in his head the solemn weight
of cowardice and lies and visage droll;
his carapace festooned with whims of fate
to camouflage the iron in his soul.
Well hidden, living near the sunlit shoal
you find him after careful, patient quest;
and see that self-suppression took its toll
while in convention veiled he acquiesced.
And yet, this creature once in daylight ran
pursuing here another fearful man.
APRIL 6
I think I cannot taste more fine
an heirloom than the Brandywine;
although for color that you see,
I like the Purple Cherokee.
For sauce, prolific Roma's best,
but some like San Marzano's zest.
I love those in small fruited mode;
Matt's Cherry needs a postal code.
A yellow pear if awfully nice,
a chance encounter to entice.
I'd really like to plant them all.
Too bad my garden's just too small.
APRIL 7
"Hello, old self, familiar constant friend."
I wondered: should our interview extend
beyond our daily recap and critique
of each event and every goal I seek?
I asked myself, "Hey self, what do you think?
You want to go to town and have a drink?"
"I'll stay at home alone" that self replied.
"Which leaves me where?" I wondered as I sighed.
But now a complex quandary may arise,
for if myself may inner selves advise,
and all those myriad extra selves in turn
discuss me, soul and body, with concern,
Then what a mental babel I shall hear!
Perhaps next time I'd better stick to beer.
-
9
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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