April Musings - 14. NaPoWriMo 2017 Week Four

Here are the final poems for 2017.  Be prepared for a bit of silliness.

Day 21

Prompt: Go anywhere with the idea of mirrors.

The wood-encased glass reflects

The room in perfect opposition.

Mahogany chair with plaid cushion

In front of the oak rolltop desk.

The leather recliner that the cats

Like a little too much.

The bed with skewed sheets and

Blanket crumpled in a pile of brown softness.

The woman in the frame

Blinks when I do

Waves when I do

Dances when I do

Weeps when I do.

She leans forward and places her hand against mine.

Her green eyes seem simultaneously

Familiar and foreign.

She is not me.

Her hand is weathered and rough.

Wrinkled with swollen fingers.

Her hand doesn’t lie flat against the mirror’s surface.

But, upon closer inspection, neither does mine.

Day 22

Prompt: Use the title of an anthology to jumpstart a poem.

In a dream, I travelled along

Skipping, whistling a happy song

Then realized something was wrong

When I chanced on a mingling throng:

Many bells that had lost their gong!

They gazed at me, with faces long,

‘How can we ding without our dong?’

Wondering why they thought me strong,

I said ‘should you attach a thong

To a stick, tapping swift along

The left side you will find your bong.”

I resumed my journey, ere long

The day broke with a BONG BONG BONG

Woken by a ping without a pong,

Couldn’t think of anymore words with –ong.

Day 23

Another anthology first line prompt.

Another Happy Place

Let me gallop, let me go,

Shuffle off from Buffalo

To visit friends, who, although

We’ve never met

Are dear and yet

Food and wine and words do flow

Easy as affection grows

Stronger with each passing snow.

Day 24

Unprompted

I dance naked in the rain,

Arms upstretched, twirling as

Cool droplets cascade off hot flesh.

I dance naked in the rain,

Hair impeding my sight until

I shake it free.

I dance naked in the rain,

Jumping in puddles and rolling in mud,

Becoming one with the Earth.

I dance naked in the rain,

Exalting in the freedom,

Until flashing lights reveal

The face of a laughing cop.

Day 25

Prompt: Write a poem of perhaps.

Perhaps the lamp finds joy in illumination,

Or perhaps it would rather slumber in

Contemplative darkness.

Perhaps the table finds place-settings and

Spills burdensome,

Or perhaps it takes pride in being useful.

Perhaps the chair groans when its legs

Must support so others can rest,

Or perhaps it finds strength in

Buttressing the weak.

Perhaps the rug revels in being trod on,

Or perhaps it would rather lie undisturbed,

Cherishing the warmth of the sun or

The purring body nestled into its soft embrace.

Day 26

Unprompted

Suburban Sprawl

Condos and McMansions now stand in fields

Where I learned to gallop,

Jump ditches and banks,

And stay on board when

Potential energy turned kinetic,

Rivaling the best rodeo broncs.

I wonder what gardeners may unearth

When they plant flowers where crops once flourished?

A horseshoe lost during mud season.

A rusted piece of farm equipment.

The bones of beloved steeds who taught

Hundreds the same lessons I learned.

Day 27

Write a list poem about the things you believe in.

Things to Believe In

Cheesecake for breakfast.

IM conversations consisting of only

Emojis and memes.

Head butts and purrs right before bed.

Long walks by the river at sunset.

A steaming mug of coffee to start the day,

And a cup of chamomile to end it.

Day 28

Prompt: Write the particulars of a short car ride…not so much who you’re with or where you’re going as what you see along the way.

The blurred landscape comes into focus

As flashing lights on the yellow bus

Brings traffic to a halt.

A boy trots across the street,

And as the door closes, the commute resumes.

The scenario repeats seven hours later,

As life is again paused in the same spot.

The boy emerges from the yellow contraption

And jogs the return path.

Details lost in pre-coffee haze are clearer now.

We are on a suburban road with a rural feel.

A lean-to stands like a guardhouse

At the mouth of a path parting a barren field.

Two white stone lions sit with teeth bared,

Daring anyone to mess with the boy in their charge.

It’s a spectacle wildly out of place among

The prefab cookie cutter domiciles dotting

The rest of the road.

Why are the lions there?

What did they guard in their heyday?

What lies beneath the loam?

Where does the path lead?

The questions are forgotten as the lights

Fade and stop sign folds to the vehicle’s

Side like a wing

And the trek continues.

Day 29

Prompt: Write an “I am” poem.

I am the bringer of food,

Thrower of treats,

Supplier of ‘nip.

I am warmth on cold days,

Good for a scratch or two.

I am the flinger of mice,

Birds, and balls with bells.

I am ignored when the

Food dish is full.

Day 30

Unprompted

Staccato rain hums

Lullabys, mesmerizes,

Comforts, and renews.