Today’s prompt: “write a poem that emphasizes the power of ‘if,’ of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-six-7/)

If I Could

If you could see yourself through my eyes,
Maybe you’d stop doubting, stop
Wondering if you’re worth it.

If I could see myself through your eyes,
Maybe I’d finally understand
Why you choose to be with me.

If I could do one thing,
One single perfect wonderful thing,
I would

Be.

Just be.

With you.
With me.

Without doubt.
Without worry about the why.

Without wondering,
But with wonder.

Just be.

What would our lives be like,
If that were enough?

Today’s prompt: “write a poem that incorporates at least one of the following: (1) the villanelle form, (2) lines taken from an outside text, and/or (3) phrases that oppose each other in some way.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-five-6/)

Somewhere, So Far Away

Somewhere, so far away,
A warm, safe place where as a child I lie.
Where do we go now?

I prayed for the thunder and the rain
To quietly pass me by.
Somewhere, so far away.

So dream alright,
I know it’s going to take some time.
Where do we go now?

Where everything
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Somewhere, so far away.

I dream at night
Of going home someday.
Where do we go now?

My home my friends and you
I watch them fade but what can I do?
Somewhere, so far away.
Where do we go now?

Continue reading “NaPoWriMo 2019: Day 5” →

Today’s prompt: “write your own sad poem, but one that … achieves sadness through simplicity.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-four-7/)

Once

Here
Right here
There once was a park
With slides and swings
And teeter-totters and climbing gyms
And a big wooden structure we turned into a fort
Surrounded by trees and filled with grass.

Here
Right here
There were children running,
Jumping, playing, kicking, catching, climbing,
Laughing, yelling, crying, whispering, arguing,
Learning joy and sorrow and triumph and loss.
Learning how to exist in the world.

Here
Right here
Once.

Today’s prompt: “write something that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-three-5/)

You Had Your Mother’s Eyes

When you were first born,
You had your mother’s eyes,
Her sleek body, her bullish face,
Her determined yell.

When you were a toddler,
You looked like Elmer Fudd,
Your face and body grown soft,
Rolling and stumbling through your world.

When you were a child,
Your eyes—so like your mother’s, still—
Took on a look of eagerness and fear,
Your face and body lean and rubbery.

When you were a teenager,
You looked angry and hopeful
And full of a lust
You didn’t know what to think of.

When you were a young man,
Your father made his first appearance—
In the fullness of your shoulders and chest,
The length of your leg and sinewy arms
And your newly found sense of superiority.

When you were a man of the world,
You looked driven—
Idealistic and selfish and sure of yourself,
Convinced this was all yours for the taking.

When you were a lover,
Your eyes—so like your mother’s, still—
Took on a look of eagerness and fear
And a lust you were delighted to embrace.

When you were a father,
Your face and body grew soft,
You learned gentleness and selflessness,
Hope and fear and helplessness and power,
And your eyes were filled with wonder.

When you were middle aged,
Your eyes looked tired and content,
Your body at home with itself—
Yours, more than your mother or father.

When you were an old man,
You had your mother’s eyes,
Her sleek body, her bullish face,
Wrinkled skin and palsied hands
Which knew the toll of a life lived well.

Today’s prompt: “write a poem that … resists closure by ending on a question.” (http://www.napowrimo.net/day-two-6/)

Soft Dark Deep Night

There’s a sound:
Distant whistle,
Muted rumble,
Fleeting in the soft dark
Of the deep night.

It might be a train.
It might be an ancient beast
Awakening.

It grows more distant,
Fainter—a train on the hunt,
A beast rushing toward its destination.

There are stories you used to tell me
Which I will never attempt to retell.

They belong to you.

To soft dark nights
And empty spaces
Where we only knew ourselves.
Your voice in my ear
And your breath on my cheek.

Stories of monsters and angels
And men and animals
And storms and green growing things
And the mysteries of our universe.

Is this a beast hunting you now?
Is this a train rushing to meet you
At some far remote station?

Somewhere, here,
In the soft dark
Of this deep night?

Today’s prompt: “write poems that provide the reader with instructions on how to do something” (http://www.napowrimo.net/it-begins-2/)

Practice Makes Perfect

“Measure twice, cut once”
He always said.

More like – measure a bazillion times
Cut once, mess it up, do it all again.

I always was all thumbs.

“Follow the grain”
He always said.

But the grain is road map
with no key, mapping a countryside
I can’t understand.

I never could get the hang of it.

“Don’t overwork the wood”
He always said.

As I tighten yet another screw
Until the wood splits.

There’s a point at which strength and gentleness converge.
It’s here that master craftsman show their mastery.
It’s a point I’ve never been able to divine.

“It’s OK if you mess up.
Just try it again.”
He always said.

So I try again, and again,
Fail, and try to fail better,
But really I just keep failing.

“Practice makes perfect”
He always said.

So I keep practicing
And I keep waiting for perfection.