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


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



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.




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


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



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?”



And Nothing But The Truth

Day 26 of Na/GloPoWriMo 2019: Today’s (optional) prompt is centered around repetition. Repetition is at the heart of the rhetorical strategy of “Duplex.” We engage with it daily in the choruses of songs, and it’s long been recognized as one of the ways to keep a listener’s attention and create a sense of satisfaction or closure in spoken or written language, whether that language takes the form of a speech or a poem or even a comedy routine. Many forms of poetry expressly require or rely on repetition – for example, the villanelle or pantoum.


This is the truth and nothing but the truth so help me God:

Robert Johnson

did not sell his soul

at the crossroads

to the Devil

so that he could play the Blues


Robert Johnson

did not go to Hell

after he died

because he sold his Soul

to the Devil

so that he could play the Blues


Robert Johnson

was never at the


with guitar in hand

calling the Devil Forth

to sell his Soul

so that he could play the Blues


I know it for a fact,

I know this is true

because I am always at the Crossroads

and I know who has been there

because I am always here

when it’s time to pay up and pass through.

The Face Of Summer

Final Thursday of Na/GloPoWriMo 2019 #25 :

  • Is specific to a season
  • Uses imagery that relates to all five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell)
  • Includes a rhetorical question, (like Keats’ “where are the songs of spring?”)


I love the summer

so say my friends

who love to wear flip flops and insist they only feel alive

when the Sun shines relentlessly in the sky  and the cool nights close in

and the crickets chirp and the nightingales sing.


Cool fruit flavored  drinks in hand, swathed in slick, thick  Sunscreen

the Summer air is heavy  with the sent  of charcoal fueled  barbeques and freshly washed cars and

backyard shampooed  dogs

all around them

they sit upon their plastic chairs  and  cry in agony,  ” I hate the  winter”

relentlessly like a broken record.


My Summer loving friends sing their praises to the Sun.

Shouldn’t they be singing them all to Ra?

Because every Summer I watch my friends

take one step closer,  they are  one Sunbeam nearer

to looking like the

unwrapped mummies

on a shelf in the Museum of  Cairo.


Yes. You Heard That Right.

Na/GloPoWriMo  Day 24: Locate a dictionary, thesaurus, or encyclopedia, open it at random, and consider the two pages in front of you to be your inspirational playground for the day. Maybe a strange word will catch your eye, or perhaps the mishmash of information will provide you with the germ of a poem


When it is bored

and looking for some fun

my brain sends a crazy message

straight to my tongue.


It plays with words I see

and ties them up in knots

it shoots them past my eyes

and straight out of my mouth:




Façade, facade

such an easy word to say!

One  day I read it

and then in a meeting I pronounced it


Thanks for that internal organs

just remember

I know how to hurt you too.

Time To Wake Up

Day 23 of Na/GloPoWriMo challenge:  Write a poem about an animal.


Have you ever had that dream

where you woke up by moonlight

not in your bed, safe and warm

but maybe you were running through a field or into a forest

and you could feel your heart race and your mouth full of teeth, grinding impatiently

because you were so eager to get to where you needed to be

out there in the moonlight

where you could sing as loud as you want and run as hard as you want until

you found your prize and brought it down as smooth as a leaf being pulled down stream

Have you ever had that dream?

I do, every time the moon is full.

The Artist’s Embrace

Day 22 of Na/GloPoWriMo: Today’s  challenge is to write a poem that engages with another art form – it might be about a friend of yours who paints or sculpts, your high school struggles with learning to play the French horn, or a wonderful painting, film, or piece of music you’ve experienced – anything is in bounds here, so long as it uses the poem to express something about another form of art.


Photo A.M. Moscoso


My brain will not talk to my hands

my eyes will not see for my heart

Ink and paint and clay are noise to me

a jumble of sound, lines without form, the bones that create art

are strange to me, alien to me, magic to me

to capture one single line that could create a face, a tree ,bliss or despair

what that must feel like for just one single second

for my brain to talk to my hands, for my eyes to work with my heart

to experience the joy when  color and light embrace.


Photo A.,M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Reflections Of My Nightmare

Na/GloPoWriMo Day 21: Today’s  challenge write a poem that  incorporates wild, surreal images. Try to play around with writing that doesn’t make formal sense, but which engages all the senses and involves dream-logic.

It was my face, in the mirror looking back at me but it was smiling

and I was not I

could not to yell at it, I could  not to touch it I was

fading away my hand was turning to glass,  it was as light as  a desiccated leaf  and I was empty except for the

coldness that was creeping out of my ears, my eyes my breath all of it turning to frost

in the air but my face in the mirror was flushed, tan and smiling lifting it’s face to the sun in it’s world with a photo shopped smile

but I was not smiling and I thought if I could just move away from that image of me

the fake image of the fake me with the fake smile in the fake world I could feel warm again so I turned around

and there was another me, in another  mirror and it was smiling and I was



Photo A.M. Moscoso

Day Twenty of Na/GloPoWriMo

Write a poem grounded in language as it is spoken – not necessarily the grand, dramatic speech of a monologue or play, but the messy, fractured, slangy way people speak in real life.


I keep my darkness



but sometimes it dreams


what if…and so do I.



I dream of dancing bones

and cats running through graveyards

some of the time, I scream myself awake from that dream,

most of the time,  I don’t.


Sometimes I dream I have bouncy blond hair

and frosty blue eyes and I that I can

flip my IQ  on and off like a light switch

I always, always scream myself awake from that dream.


Sometimes we sit there

me and my darkness and

we wonder why we are so quiet,

in a world that gives you permission

to let your freak flag fly.


Maybe we need to be invited in, like Vampires

maybe- sometimes.

at least, that’s my story for now


I’m sticking to it.