Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo, Day 16: Writing from a Photo

At Least I Can Walk

I do all the work around here,
but I don’t even have a name.
Not that I need one, but it does
rankle when my roommates, who
are total freeloaders, by the way,
do have names, and apparently
have very fancy fins and tails,
which, OK, yeah yeah yeah,
I do see them—I do have eyes,
you know—and I guess those
things are very nice, but if you
ask me, I’d rather have this
muscular foot. It gets me
zero attention, but at least
I can walk, you know? And
I can climb up the side when
I need to be alone for a while
to think. To chew. To feel
good again, solid as
my shell.

 

 

OK, now that you’ve read this far, here’s the photo (the first one of the three).

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NaPoWriMo, Day 15: A Parody

The Pancayke

(after William Blake’s The Tyger)

Pancayke! Pancayke! Newly born
In the griddle of the morn,
What immortal hand and plate
Could prepare thee to meet thy fate?

In what distant bowl or dish
Did thy flour and eggs first squish?
With what spoon dare he to stir?
What the mixer dare to whirr?

And what slow and steady man
Could pour thee in the frying pan?
And when thy dough began to firm,
What bold spatula gave thee a turn?

What the flipper? What the fork?
And dost thou go well with pork?
Where’s the bacon? Or the links?
Did we eat them, quick as a wink?

When we all threw down our knives
And got up to resume our lives,
Did he smile our mess to clean?
Did he yell or make a big Scene?

Pancayke! Pancayke! Newly born
In the griddle of the morn,
What immortal hand and plate
Could prepare thee to meet thy fate?

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NaPoWriMo Day 14: A Sonnet (A Petrarchan One … Yikes)

Game On

We had a good time at the baseball game,
my daughter and I, cheering and clapping,
no time for boredom, nor yet for napping;
we learned to call each player by his name.
But women’s sports are not treated the same—
will she still see the crowd’s pennants flapping,
hear the thunder of all those feet tapping,
next month at the women’s basketball game?

At least in our house, unfairness won’t fly—
not with the six-year-old righter of wrongs.
We can’t give big contracts, but we can try
to send some love from our seats way up high,
to rally the crowd with signs and with songs.
We cheered for the Sox; we’ll cheer for the Sky!

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NaPoWriMo, Day 0 (Last Catch-Up!): A Carpe Diem Poem

Cranky, cranky, cranky.

Go Seize Your Own Day

Which day should I seize?
This one? I have too much
to do today, can’t spend
hours looking at clouds,
rolling in dandelions,
testing myself to see
if I like butter. I do.

I know this already. I know
all the things I like, don’t
need to press those
buttons again and again.
I can have wasted days now,
whole weeks of them; I can
line up wasted years,
a long, blank column, if
I want. (Sometimes I do.)

Don’t tell me to seize
any days. Go seize your own,
let me manage mine (or not).
It doesn’t matter if I hoard them
or spend them; the days always
leave me, no matter what
I do.

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NaPoWriMo, Day 1 (Catching Up): A Triolet

Poetic forms often scare me, but this was fun as a mental exercise, if nothing else. Also, you might think I’m now all caught up, but that sneaky NaPoWriMo lady gave a prompt right before things kicked off. So I’ll eventually post my effort for Day Zero (which sounds a little ominous).

Violet Triolet

What can I tell you about the violet?
It might grow wild, all over your yard.
I pick up the phone, begin to dial it;
what can I tell you about the violet?
Some people pot it and try to style it,
but those people are trying too hard.
What can I tell you about the violet?
It might grow wild, all over your yard.

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NaPoWriMo Day 12: Phonetic Translation of a Foreign Poem

Rakish Diatom
(after All People are Pregnant, said Diatoma, by Hasso Krull)

Cook immense on raised Dad, rakish diatom.
Raise on end keyhole, yeah, raise on end hinge,
or could not koi guest vast to have at sunny day.
Eye Lou on sunny to mine. Sun on gee I lose.

Knee rakish diatom Socrates Ella. Socrates rakish
same jut to agar Tony peel, sedum coulis
nor Aristodemos, yeah, rakish hill gem at a sea
Apollo door oh say la, kiss rakish Oma super daily.

Wake Plato manga west porno cat egg, yeah.
Cost tool vat cook need porny cad, mottles Dad,
cash achy you west has to sure rest porno cast
you level Tevas? Can Dad may or nay?

Oh tucks Olie um Dad to pay magma Vi nude.
Agar Tony you rest algas pay day day pee do.
yeah, eat key gee hey Jack sand a name you are, hey catty, are you to me:
ragtime tonight arm a too zest. Ragtime I lost.

OK, here’s the original:

Kõik inimesed on rasedad, rääkis Diotima,
rase on nende keha, ja rase on nende hing,
oi kuidas nad kõigest väest tahavad sünnitada.
Ilu on sünnitamine. Sünd ongi ilus.

Nii rääkis Diotima Sokratesele. Sokrates rääkis
sama juttu Agathoni peol, seda kuulis
noor Aristodemos, ja rääkis hiljem edasi
Apollodorosele, kes rääkis oma sõpradele.

Väike Platon mängis õues põrnikatega.
Kust tulevad kõik need põrnikad, mõtles ta,
kas äkki ühest hästi suurest põrnikast
üleval taevas? Keda meie ei näe?

Õhtuks oli emme ta tuppa magama viinud.
Agathoni juures algas pedede pidu,
ja et keegi ei jaksand enam juua, hakati arutama:
räägime täna armastusest. Räägime ilust

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