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.
Idylls of Isolation: NaPoWriMo 2020 - 1. April 1-7, 2020
April 1
Teach me, oh brook
to live within a moment’s flash
when one might look
upon a stem of mountain ash
or contemplate the thunder’s crash;
perhaps abash
the visage of that tawny youth
with grin so brash
and manner bold, rough hewn, uncouth,
no thoughts of sadness, shame or ruth.
Play, lyre and crwth
to turn that head of flame-red hair,
and sing his truth
That I might glimpse his smile so rare,
a moment to the heart ensnare.
Flow, lessons fair,
instructions from your murmured book
to answer prayer
that I, in fleeting ardor shook
by laughing eyes was not mistook.
April 2
It was old
four long decades ago,
with its painted finish chipped and worn
and thin cubbies constructed for a bygone age,
yet the fold-down desktop still works fine,
slots and shelves awash with
poetry.
April 3
Blesséd be the rising birdsong
Greeting day behind the hill;
Morning stars won’t tarry too long
While the air is cool and still.
Blesséd be the noonday laughter,
children chasing in the wood;
Robins court and soon thereafter
know the joys of parenthood.
Blesséd be the sheeted cloudwrack
creeping rumpled from the west,
promise of the spring to come back
all in bud and blossom dressed.
Blesséd be full-throated thunder,
Stone and stem and bone to shake;
Lightning’s flash reveals the wonder
On our faces as we quake.
Blesséd be reluctant rainfall
whispered like the kiss we share
while in velvet nightbound heartthrall
echoing the love we swear.
April 4
Too silent
is my contemplation
where no voices tell me what to think
or which reaction is least inappropriate,
and no commotion can mask my words;
but hearing the sink drip,
all is blank.
April 5
A Golden Shovel poem. The last word of each line is a word in the final couplet of @AC Benus's Sonnet 34 from Rima Fragmenta, Sonnets for Kevin.
He said No,
and yet I wanted more
of him and his infectious grin than
the minute taste our brief acquaintance gave me; a
second chance to beguile time’s river,
as only yearning can
make hearts run.
Fate opposed
my hopes, for they within
no course of metaphysics ran, and its
pitiless, predestined channels made steep, strict banks
through which all-potent Chronos dashed as
if to ignore our own two
small currents
in hearts
enclosed.
April 6
Two geese stand watchful
in the reeds on the far shore,
weighing their options.
Loquacious Mallards
tricked out in emerald green
discuss the weather.
Sexy boys,
dressed to kill in their best,
slowly drift my way on the current,
unaware of my avid gaze locked upon them;
goodness knows how many hearts they’ll break
on the stream before they
fly away.
Canvasbacks paddle
Across the glassy harbor
Preparing to dive.
Kingfishers chatter
over the dancing water
to taunt the small fish.
April 7
Some numbers
are grand, unwieldy affairs,
like quaternions and transcendentals;
And some loom large,
measured in the umpteen-‘tillions,
with extra zeroes stored in plastic bins in the basement;
While still others
can only be named by their masters:
Avogodro, Planck, Euler;
But none of these
would dare appear, smeared in sweet icing
on my birthday cake.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed them. Feel free to leave a comment; rant or rave, I look forward to anything you might say.
- 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.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.