To each of you, I wish the night
the darkness specked with pinpoint lights
creating shapes, elusive lines
drawn to what your mind defines
and wraps in warmth, all comfort due,
I wish the night to each of you.
To each of you, I wish the day
to dream of what your heart can say;
Equal dose of sun and cloud
to laugh and cry and sing aloud
the songs that ring to us as true,
I wish the day to each of you.
To each of you, I wish the dawn,
a new-found joy on lake or lawn
to greet you as a golden sight
after every day and night.
In new beginnings, each one cue
the night, the day, the dawn for you.
NaPoWriMo 2013 Day 30
And it comes to an end. This is my 4th time to participate in National Poetry Writing Month, but only my second time to successfully complete the 30 days. Thanks to all who visited, commented, and liked various poems. I think I’m going to take a little break and just lurk and read for awhile. I’ll be back sometime…later.
late amid a lemniscate,
the space between the lines
ever rending – surrounded
by the never ending,
closed in a space
skews with sunbeam queues.
banners flying underneath
the breathing of the winds bequeath
a conquest perpetually given
and in few words, love’s recognition.
eleven times out of twelve, what I write turns out to be something totally different than what I started with. I mean, there is much word-smithing with any poem, but most times- eleven days out of twelve- the subject matter changes completely as I scrounge the floor of my brain looking for connecting thoughts to make it sound logical, beautiful, or even nonsensical. This is funny enough – trying to make something sound like it doesn’t make sense – or even silly – by perusing dictionaries or thesauruses (or is it thesauri?). “The Sauri sought to seek the soar-fly.” – I’ll remember that for later- Rooting up old phrases, or trying to describe how old phrases get rooted up…digging and digging, poking at the word order. It is not unlike scavengers looking for food, hogs looking for truffles, squirrels looking for acorns. Most of the time, they know they are looking for food, but sometimes they happen upon other things. I’m not sure how a squirrel would react if it found a penny on the ground when it was looking for acorns. It probably wouldn’t be very useful to the squirrel (or the hog), and they would ignore it. The poet – particularly one who is looking into every detail- could easily be distracted by the penny in lieu of the acorn. Now this is not useful if one is seeking acorns, and squirrels don’t write poems, but most times, eleven times out of twelve, a better poem comes from the unexpected penny.
I heard a lecture
and how he avoided
doing portrait commissions for
perhaps of the opinion
that he did not need to do them.
-and I learned he spent long hours
working on etchings-
something he enjoyed
more than painting portraits
even with long hours and excrutiating
I’ve rewritten this poem
nine times since that lecture.
A reader is nonplussed
By the words that
Were written weeks ago,
Just as a car full
in front of a telephone
booth, without a single one
of them stopping to make a call,
or even wonder if the phone
The addition of slaw
– made with vinegar and equal parts
horse-radish, mustard, and ketchup
to any picnic dinner
Is rivaled by the
subtraction of potato salad,
the kind with sweet relish and
mayonnaise. Divided loyalties about
how these dishes get made
and who gets the leftovers,
stored in plastic bowls
and covered with multi-ply towels
to keep away the flies.
It is the manner in which the drawbridge is lowered from the side of the castle wall, going from vertical to horizontal, that allows others entry into the inner courtyard. A rain barrel beneath the down spout to catch deluge runoff from the roof in April to use in May. The 3-2 breaking ball thrown in the sixth inning with runners on first and third, and two outs. A Bach bust figurine on the shelf facing out into the room, considering his thought of each note and the placement of same. The care in a resting hand on her knee while she smiles into the gray skies. A potted ivy plant on a glass table across the room from the window. A parting of the storm clouds filled by the waxing moon, visible from the castle tower.