Why Not?

Na/GloPoWriMo Day 30: Final Challenge,  try your hand at a minimalist poem. What’s that? Well, a poem that is quite short, and that doesn’t really try to tell a story, but to quickly and simply capture an image or emotion

 

Words and thoughts

meant for the page

not the air

the point and click same day delivery generation

created a new art form

Pwoermds

It’s really a thing

it’s really a word.

The Shady Tree

Day 29 of Na/GloPoWriMo 2019 : Today’s challenge is to blend these concepts into your own work, by producing a poem that meditates, from a position of tranquility, on an emotion you have felt powerfully

 

Maybe

if I smile more and dress in pasty oatmeal  colors

and hold open doors

and let everyone else pass through

and thank them for the chance

to serve them, to help them, to be there for them

 

One day I will fit in.

 

Maybe if I walk slower

and think slower

and give up my favorite spot

under the shady tree where me and my dog rest

after our long walks

and scuttle and hustle behind everybody else instead

 

One day I will be rewarded

and be allowed to fit in.

 

Maybe if I agree

I was not right, I am never right

where did I get these silly ideas of mine?

If I turn off the lights

behind my eyes

 

I will be allowed to fit in.

 

Or.

 

I could just be me

a flawed and imperfect Soul

sitting under a shady tree

with the best dog in the world

 

and not worry about

ever

fitting in.

Pumpkin Seeds For Brains

Na/GloPoWriMo 2019 #28: Challenge Write a meta poem or  poem about poetry:

 

Do you know that thing you do to words Anita?

That thing where you bang them together on a page and you

cut and nail and draw all over them

and in the end you stand up and  call  your Freak show of malformed words

Poetry?

 

Don’t do that.

 

Poetry should flow and dance

and leave a trail of starlight  in it’s wake

It should shush you into silence

it should make you feel light and

you should always

but always

sit in reverence

as you read it, hear it absorb it into your unyielding skin

like flowers

in a field

feasting on sunshine.

 

So in all politeness I reply:

 

I have pumpkin seeds for brains

and a dark place in my chest where my heart used to be.

I always write about the things crawling and nesting  inside of me.

 

I am like  Poetry’s weird Auntie

who shows up at Funerals

and laughs at the graveside

as the coffin is being lowered into the ground

and everyone wonders as they stand there silent and somber

 

” Who in the Hell invited her?”