And so the poetry project has completed.
The journey continues..... I hope you join me along the way
Embrace the weird...
NaPoWriMo2017 GloPoWriMo
My knack
for doing
the same thing
over
and
over
bearing
that jagged burden
an over the hill
sisyphean
romantic
notion
that it would
be different
this time
it is
an
illusion
a
delusion
my
reflection
inside
an aluminum foil
mirror
faint
truth
forms
beneath
the surface
Here
I am unweighted
I fall
into the
sky
Day 30
Words
have
a
way
of
finding
the
one
who
is
lost
and
bringing
them
back
home
have
a
way
of
finding
the
one
who
is
lost
and
bringing
them
back
home
Day 29
Part I
Curiosity
There is more than one way
to skin a cat
as I discovered
in the flickering florescent
formaldehyde soaked
sense of being
right
that there was never
anything wrong
But what is new
pussycat?
Sunny
sleeps
in the crib
while the baby
wears a collar
with a bell on it
so we can hear
her
answer
what she wants to be
when she grows up
She cries out
until her voice
breaks
in the barren birches
their names
echoing
over the creaking
frozen
pond
There is more than one way
to break
a girl's
heart
Day 28
A girl has her needs
at least every three weeks
that must be met
the display of skin
cracked and calloused
eased into
the warm oil slicked bath
heels pumiced
all my hard edges
pushed back
cut
and polished
smooth
It is almost enough
to forget
how you forgot
how to
touch me
how to
blend
and
blur
our
bodies
undulating
hours
as one
seeking
to connect
and let go
Your thumb
runs the length
along each straining
side
pushes the precious
center
pulling me
closer
closer
until
I
come
undone
it is almost enough
but a girl
has her needs
I have stood out
too tall
too long
in the gelid judging winds
There was no choice
but to grow
spindly spines
since my solitary
one was not strong
enough
to defend
my position
my reason
hanging
torpid
in
the balance
too tall
too long
in the gelid judging winds
There was no choice
but to grow
spindly spines
since my solitary
one was not strong
enough
to defend
my position
my reason
hanging
torpid
in
the balance
Day 26
Breakfast
I blend smooth all the sundry intentions
drink in the obligatory elixers of the day
I blend smooth all the sundry intentions
drink in the obligatory elixers of the day
Lunch
I slink out and search the concrete wasteland
for scarce leafy harvests of time
I slink out and search the concrete wasteland
for scarce leafy harvests of time
Dinner
I rip and whip and twirl and toss
I rip and whip and twirl and toss
the keepings for my life
Morning
Pages spread open on the table
ready to receive as the cat runs circles and the tea grows cold
Pages spread open on the table
ready to receive as the cat runs circles and the tea grows cold
Noon
The darling hour begs the question
to let the heart run free in the field or to remain fenced in to the flicker
The darling hour begs the question
to let the heart run free in the field or to remain fenced in to the flicker
Night
Hours happy and languorous sprawl out on the evening chaise
the muze and procrastination pettifog in the parlor
I count each breath in and out and in and out
hear each heart beat lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub
lub
dub
.
Hours happy and languorous sprawl out on the evening chaise
the muze and procrastination pettifog in the parlor
I count each breath in and out and in and out
hear each heart beat lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub
lub
dub
.
Day 25
*Inspired by the prompt to write about my daily life
*Translation: Ma Vie Quotidienne - My daily life
Letter from my 80 year old self
Dear Jenni,
I like that you are playing with your name. Keep playing no matter what you do. It is the joyful silly moments you find who you are and what you have to give.
I know you have been feeling the pressures of life - the job, money, wanting romance. Ease up on yourself a little. You are not defined by those things. Taking care of yourself and being present to life will get you further than any of that.
Don't be afraid to venture a bit - Travel!! Stay Open! You are amazing.
And remember, NOW is where it is at! Not the future fantasy or that crap. Your imagination is a gift - use it to write, to speak to create!
Love you aways.
Letter from my 5 year old self
Dear Jenny,
I hope you are having a good day. If you aren't then make something so you are happy. A little dance or an afternoon of games is a fantastic way to clear out the grumpies.
Keep up the play. People like you and what you do. I do too.
Love always
My path
is
always
waiting
for me
to return
home
Day 24
Based on The Artist Way Week 4 assignment
I sit
seeking
comfort
in
familiar surroundings
waiting...
for a friend
for the wine
red and rustic
to calm
my nerves
the
rogue
bite
eases
my breath
and keeps
me good company
A well worn
traveller
traveller
sits near
untouched
both
of
us
wondering
why
I chose
another
to
exploit
my desires
I could
not
resist
The New One
who
spreads
without shame
before me
My laugh
hums
low
and
deep
it is simple
We all spin
1000 miles
per hour
each day
Our private
worlds
warble
as we
weave
image
and
mirage
into
out of
what we tell
others
ourselves
Holding on
for dear
life
laying
claim
to
a common
obliquity
the truth
is
we
are
all
Littlechaps
begging to stop
the only spin
there
is
is
Day 22 Inspired by the musical "Stop the world, I want to get off" --by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley
Voices carry
greasy bags
of take out talk
up stained stucco
beaten down streets
The Sirens echo
background singers
to the slurred sidewalk solos
under my window
I sit silent
in this hollow
darkness
listening
Each thought
picks and plucks
raw
my atria
flooded
with
static crackle
of white
noise life
Day 21 - Inspired by the prompt to write a poem that incorporates overheard speech.
My mother' s intention
was to defend the legacy
Ensure
the signature
on the life
we would create
Our pointillism path
gave the impression
of purpose
if not direction
I resisted
the bland vagueness
preferring
to see things
in black and white
my
Chiaroscuro
view
of the world
Life
layered
fat
over lean
slowly
curing
until
the time
grace
took
form
under
the varnish
of
an
ordinary
name
NaPoWriMo 2017 GloPoWriMo
Day 20
Photo Credit:By Claude Monet - The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. DVD-ROM, 2002. ISBN 3936122202. Distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=155867
Light slipped
soft and pink
between the blinds
dawn's gentle fingers
urging open the day
I wait
at the table
my tea growing cold
legs growing numb
waiting
waiting
for her
Finally
she waddles
in
all
sleep crease and crust
wearing only
a tattered robe
mismatched socks
and a face folded
in on itself
Good Morning Sunshine, I say
She mutters something
about needing
coffee and aspirin
the windows
open
blinds
shut
Her voice
breaks the air
with sandpaper
and shards of glass
This makes her sound cross
but I know
she is just waking up
after a rough night
she mutters....
I must look
written hard
put back wet
as she takes a seat in front of me
the fold of her robe
gapes open
to reveal a glitter dusted cleavage
above
a
black lace
ivory boned
corset
How do you sleep in that thing? - I ask
(quite cosy in my fleece)
who said I slept? - she utters
gutteral goo
oozing
down her chin
Can you hand me my cigarettes? she asks
My eyes widen
as the Gitane Blond
appears
at the table
Since when do you smoke? -
not quite shocked as much as startled
- a shrill of an alarm
- a chill up the spin
Wide awake now, I think
There is a lot you have not noticed lately - she purrs pulling
out
a
long
white
specimen
putting
it in
her
hot
mouth
It sticks
to the scarlet
remnants
of last night
bobbing
up
and
down
with
her
muffled
laughter
She points
one
perfectly
manicured
flame
tipped
finger
at
something
in front of me
my new pen
and rasps
"Can I have a light?"
soft and pink
between the blinds
dawn's gentle fingers
urging open the day
I wait
at the table
my tea growing cold
legs growing numb
waiting
waiting
for her
Finally
she waddles
in
all
sleep crease and crust
wearing only
a tattered robe
mismatched socks
and a face folded
in on itself
Good Morning Sunshine, I say
She mutters something
about needing
coffee and aspirin
the windows
open
blinds
shut
Her voice
breaks the air
with sandpaper
and shards of glass
This makes her sound cross
but I know
she is just waking up
after a rough night
she mutters....
I must look
written hard
put back wet
as she takes a seat in front of me
the fold of her robe
gapes open
to reveal a glitter dusted cleavage
above
a
black lace
ivory boned
corset
How do you sleep in that thing? - I ask
(quite cosy in my fleece)
who said I slept? - she utters
gutteral goo
oozing
down her chin
Can you hand me my cigarettes? she asks
My eyes widen
as the Gitane Blond
appears
at the table
Since when do you smoke? -
not quite shocked as much as startled
- a shrill of an alarm
- a chill up the spin
Wide awake now, I think
There is a lot you have not noticed lately - she purrs pulling
out
a
long
white
specimen
putting
it in
her
hot
mouth
It sticks
to the scarlet
remnants
of last night
bobbing
up
and
down
with
her
muffled
laughter
She points
one
perfectly
manicured
flame
tipped
finger
at
something
in front of me
my new pen
and rasps
"Can I have a light?"
Day 19
Lurching
and
heaving
the chariot
hurls
up
Union Street
it looks the same
as it went in
like
corn
The driver
with hazel eyes
nestled in milky coffee
beneath
a grandfather's
wild
curbfeeler
brow
wags
a crocked
glance
towards
the pile
by a port-a potty
landmark stop
oh the stuff I find
am all about dat
she splurts
spying
the stroller
and stool
snarled
with
a shadeless
ramrod
lamp
I call it
garbology
she glurts and licks
her plush
pintuck
lips
all the hoochiedingies
yawl toss
--- treasure
to take
the silent riders
deep in the steel bowel
rumble grumble
either
hungry
or
sick
at the thought
Even Yelp
maps
lists
and rates
the best
dumpster diving
spots
in the chichi city
as if
they were
dive
bars
ripe
for the pick ups.
I
am
falling off
the edge
no longer
well balanced
in the center
of commitment
I teeter
for ever
catching
myself
before toppling
over
into
familiar
black
now
on
the rising time
I aspire
to pull
myself
up
to climb
the mossy slick
walls
of resistance
find
finger holds
to grip
intention
my
one hundred
obligatory
words
written
on the wall
have not
sunk
in
Only
my chalk
stained
fingers
cracked cuticles
covered in
old
white
corporal
dust
remind me
betray me
My print
the only
evidence
lingering
on what I touch
no matter
how
hard
I scour and scrub
with the block
I am given
I cannot see
the clean slate
Day 17 - Inspired by the prompt to write a poem based on a Nocturne.
Photo Credit: https://sites.google.com/site/veneziamisteroreloaded/home/il-caffe-florian/la-statua-di-marco-vispanio-agrippa/le-leggende-che-riguardano-san-marco/le-due-colonne-rosse/richard-wagner-a-venezia/il-caso-grosso-ed-elisabetta-d-austria/il-ponte-dei-sospiri-ed-i-piombi
Graceful
soul
well worn
with a single
strand
of
strand
of
names
Dorothy
Dorothy Pearl
Grandma Dorf
Dorf
But to me
you will always be
Gram
I remember
when we first met
that first thanksgiving
in the redwoods
by the sea
You came in
on a wave
soft spoken
stories
and sideways smiles
riding the heels
of one
your only one
you walked this world with
The holiday dinners
You waltzing
through the orange tiled kitchen
as you whipped white pepper wisdom
into white velvet smooth mash
- black pepper looks like there are bugs in it and we can’t have that.
Yet for all the potato perfection
you would still sneak a small sample of skin
- all golden and crispy
from the ample breast
for me to savor -
- our secret
That summer before pulling up
decades of roots in the beach town to head out
onto the open winabego road
with your only
We pulled down the day
all creeper and claw
from all eight slatted sides of your story
(There is always another side to things)
How you ran circles around me
as if your seventy or so circles around the sun
didn’t matter
You returned to the gatherings
passed the spatula torch
to your eldest,
who held fast your wisdoms, kindness and custom
who gathered your stories into a neat kindling bundle
knowing it would warm the heart hearth
in the winter of your absence
When I saw you last
to celebrate your final circle
around the sun
Your once sturdy and supple
frame crumpled
into a chair
(you never before sat for long)
to be wheeled to the table
the food without your finesse
yet we all eagerly devoured
every moment we could
every
watery blue gaze
and trembling smile
a precious feast
to be thankful for
You rest now
in the chapel of chimes
with your only
Your stories
the pearl
to be shared
Dorothy Pearl Elworthy
August 14 1927 - November 6, 2016
I
paused
for so
long
wadi
waiting
for
a
whetting
wadi
waiting
for
a
whetting
then slowly
the flow
builds
pressure
behind the hesitation
rocks
until
words
the flow
builds
pressure
behind the hesitation
rocks
until
words
run
wild
raging
wild
raging
on
spilling
over
my
edges
my
edges
surging
forward
flash
floods
floods
forgotten
banks
my edges
swell
and
bleed out
banks
my edges
swell
and
bleed out
between
the lines
Photo Credit: ©1995-2015 University of New Hampshire
