Tag Archives: poem

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 24

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Photo Credit: Zoltan Tasi
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I’ve missed a couple of days this month, but life has a way of sneaking up on me. The marking period ended and grades had to be entered and finalized. I’m preparing for all the year end activities—concerts and shows and oh yeah, my baby graduating is graduating eighth grade.

Wait.

My baby is graduating eight grade.

Sigh.

He’s off to high school next year and new big adventures. Leaving mama in his dust and growing to be such an amazing human.

Now I’ve probably got you thinking I wrote a poem about the Little Wonder. Not yet, but I can promise you one is brewing. That kid is one of a kind. A child I begged God for—one that nearly cost me my life but worth every bit of everything.

Any way I digress…

The prompt for today had us start off by reading Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s “Lockdown Garden.” Then we had to try to write a poem of our own that has multiple numbered sections. The goal was to attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view. Finally I was to set the poem in a specific place that I used to spend a lot of time in but don’t spend time in anymore.

As always, the poem started with me having an intention of direction, and the poem (wild and untamed beast that it is) went its own way. I’m not sure it met the prompt, but as always, it met me where I needed to be. Enjoy!

Blood Moon 

1.
The water understands;
sound stirring
the light loosens
unraveling fingers 
into the dark night.

2.
There is loneliness
in my glass bowl—
hands folded behind,
waiting and wondering
when blue and green
will bring on the birds.

3.
Circles slacken
fan and wrinkle;
four corners unite
under the roll
of lapping waves.

The sky looms
a vessel become void.
How does water
siphoned, fill the fissures 
below the surface?

4.
I turn around,
turn toward the ripe 
red berry rising;
night has darkened—
only lingering light
haunts me.

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 21

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Photo Credit: Madelynn Woods
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Today’s (optional) prompt. Begin by reading Sarah Gambito’s poem “Grace.” Now, choose an abstract noun from the list below, and then use that as the title for a poem that contains very short lines, and at least one invented word.

Here is the list of words from which to choose:

Glory
Courage
Anxiety
Failure
Defeat
Delight
Confusion
Calm
Belief
Cleverness
Despair
Honesty
Deceit
Strength
Confusion


“Don’t
Tell
Mom”

The gas
in my eye
Lights

the torch
that lights
the gas;

The lit gas
still gaslights
Mom.

Don’t 
Tell
Mom.

Tell mom
only what 
she needs.

I never 
did that;
I never…

Mom
Don’t listen.
Look mom.

I am
the only one
who cares.

I am
the only one
who speaks

Truth
(doesn’t matter 
if it’s true).

Is it truth
if it begins
as a lie?

If so,
Don’t tell
Mom.

Keep her
in the gasblack
darkness.

-Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 20

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Photo Credit: Diane Picchiottino
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The life of a teacher never ends and report cards are due tomorrow for all 450 ish of my students, so my time has been maxed out today. I always promise myself to transcribe my old school pencil grades into the electronic gradebook earlier than the week grades are due, but alas, I cannot seem to learn my own lesson.

So here I sit, tired, wanting sleep so badly, fighting off a virus on some sort, and desperately wanting to keep up my writing streak for NaPoWriMo. The poem below is one I have written and revised earlier, but it satisfies me to publish it today for you to enjoy.

Today’s prompt was a good one. Have you ever heard someone wonder what future archaeologists will make of us? What about what someone from an alien civilization will make of us?

NaPoWriMo today challenged me to answer that question in poetic form, exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist. The object or site of study could be anything from a “World’s Best Grandpa” coffee mug to a Pizza Hut, from a Pokemon poster to a cellphone.

I chose instead an object from the past with deep significance. It misses the prompt perhaps, but it doesn’t miss my heart.

grandma's table

the magic of the mahogany table, relating 
not so much to the nature of the grain, running
like streaking waves of darkness toward the light, 
but to the explosion of connection, gathering
strength to weather whatever lay ahead. wondering
if the jagged crack near to the one end, weakened
any hope for repair.
when great grandma sat there
three months before her passing, when she complained of not hearing the words, 
should we have known?
when she bowed her head with focused chewing 
and wanted her black coffee light with cream,
should we have pulled her back to earth, resisting
the angel of death hovering nearby. 
or is death the true wonder of all mysteries, pointing 
toward the light, always toward the light, moving?

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 19

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Photo Credit: Florian Lidin
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From the NaPoWriMo site:

And without further ado, here’s our daily (optional) prompt. For this challenge, start by reading Marlanda Dekine’s poem “My Grandma Told Stories or Cautionary Tales.” One common feature of childhood is the monsters. The ones under the bed or in the closet; the odd local monsters that other kids swear roam the creek at night, or that parents say wait to steal away naughty children that don’t go to bed on time.

Now, cast your mind back to your own childhood and write a poem about something that scared you – or was used to scare you – and which still haunts you (if only a little bit) today.

Happy (shivery spooky) writing!

The Ghost

The ghost in grandma’s attic 
always left me shook
I heard the creaks and clatters
of all the steps he took.

I knew he wafted through the walls
of every floor and space,
but the attic in my closet 
was his very favorite place.

Nighttime he’d begin by knocking,
Scraping, scratching,screeching;
I never knew just where he was
or if he’d come a reaching.

For many years I felt the fear 
creeping up into my bones;for if I closed my eyes I knew
my soul the ghost would own.

I wonder if the ghost still lives 
in grandma’s former dwelling;
for stories of his haunting deeds
still told are quite compelling. 

—Carla Jeanne

NaPoWriMo 2023 day 18

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Photo Credit: Tucker Good
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The prompt for the day, challenged us to write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet. This is a prompt that lends itself well to a certain playfulness.

If you need some examples? Check out this poem by Jessica Greenbaum, this one by Howard Nemerov or this one by John Bosworth.






Dear Papa

A stray cat
beat his tail 
cautiously. I 
didn’t register the
electric
fear in his eyes—
ghostly,
haunting.
I should have though.
Just behind him the
kitchen drapes blew
lightly, almost imperceptibly.
Maybe the cat was
new in town not knowing
open windows have spirits’
permission to enter.
Queens have come and gone 
right under our noses like this.
Strange happenings
these days—-right.
under.  our.
very. noses. I
wonder who  it was that night.
Xavier? Keith? Roderick? 
You, Papa? Or maybe it was
zero ghosts…and one stray cat.

—❤️Your Abecedarian Daughter

					


		
	


				
						

		

			

				
NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 17

				
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Photo Credit: Joseph Barrientos
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Here is an oldie but goodie—a  prompt to write a tritina. The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.





Ok, so this one confused me a bit. I read it several times and then read an explanation online. The words don’t have to rhyme, and you can chose whatever meter you wish for the three lines. So….Here is my very first tritina. Enjoy!





the sea and the shore 

whitecaps exploded as sea met the shore--
spumescent waves of gossamer shimmer.
what could i do but listen to their song?

the melody calm as an angel song;
a lullaby dancing on toes near shore.
what could i do but watch the blue shimmer? 

the sun rose adding light to the shimmer,
the earth rejoicing in this morning song.
what could i do but cast my eyes from shore?

hope rolled to shore, on a shimmer of song.

					


		
	


				
						

		

			

				
NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 16

				
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Photo Credit: Giorgia Finazzi 
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A new day, a new discovery—this seems to be the way that April goes for me.  





The daily prompt for today was to write a poem of negation – yes (or maybe, no), the challenge was to write a poem that involves describing something in terms of what it is not, or not like. For example, if I chose a whale as the topic of your poem, I might have lines like “It does not settle down in trees at night, cooing/Nor will it fit in your hand.”





Well, I started the process describing climbing since Ev has recently taken to the sport of rock climbing. It started well and I wrote three nice quatrains that were ok but sort of sing songs and bland. The fourth quatrain turned the whole poem around and began a totally new stream of thought.





So, I abandoned the prompt (once again) and the poem took on a life of its own.





Mountain Climb

I have built a house 
on the middle of a mountain;
it is here I discover 
my desire for dance.

I love the rhythm of jumping 
boulder to boulder; I become 
my own secret Argentine tango—
forward, back, cross-step, turn.

Here I learn forward ascent is felt 
in the heart, not the feet;
and here that I realize
the summit was never the goal. 

The thick branches, sap running dry,
the unexpected violence of shifting stone—
the flesh of the mountain as it
mistakes me for an intruder

reminds me of the drapes of darkness.
But the glow of Venus before dawn
grants me a time to wonder,
what is the light for if not to illuminate?

I have built a house
in which I fear nothing and no one.
It is here where before I begin to die,
I learn to live.

—Carla Jeanne


					


		
	


				
						

		

			

				
NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 15

				
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Photo Credit: Sydney Riggs 
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Not-so Little Wonder

He came into the world 
with ink stains on his fingers—
an artist with ancient visions, 
reborn and reconnected—
a hero, a maker, a sage.

He sees the world 
as a blank canvas 
his pen and paper 
the mode and medium 
for his wisdom.

He seems to know the end 
is different from the beginning—
that transformation 
is a journey of sky and earth, 
of water and fire. His 
fingers find the framework

for setting things right, 
for sensing the needs,
for seeing peace to fruition.
Joy keeps him grounded; 
compassion owns his soul.

Many have tried to claim him, but you cannot tame tenderness. 
He does not dally 
in the dimness of dusk 
but delights in the dawn.

Sometimes I catch myself staring 
at his ink stained fingers
and remembering the sugar sand 
of Emerald Coast beaches,
the shape of shells carved

by the singular focus of the sea.
He pays attention to all of it—
the dazzle of daffodil, 
the modulation of melody,
the whisper of willows in wind.

What right have I 
to lay claim 
on any part of his spirit?
What right have I 
to harness the wind?

 —Carla Jeanne 

					


		
	


				
						

		

			

				
NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 14

				
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Photo Credit: Nic Y-C 
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The daily prompt today was to write a parody or satire based on a famous poem. I chose a small selection from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land.






fall from grace

all due respect to the poet, 
september is the cruelest month, 
our children and our harvest whisking away; 
silence and dying leaves, 
singing melancholy in their place. 
my sorrow complete by empty playgrounds 
reminiscent of joy, 
but stark and barren like my arms. 

so i rode my bike to town, 
to the library, to the gym, 
and took myself out to breakfast. 
i listened as george from the diner 
sing the blues about 
the breakfast club dwindling down 
to a few elderly patrons chewing—
a symphony of gums 
smacking against dentures. 

i looked into the dismal gray sky,
taunting clouds covering
seductive sunshine; too much
history here to overlook.
my bags are packed, reservations are made,
it’s time to head south 
for the winter.

—carla jeanne 

					


		
	


				
						

		

			

				
NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 13

				
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Photo Credit: Tony Stoddard





Today’s prompt didn’t spark joy, so I simply wrote. All day long the phrase “I sat for years like an elephant in the garden…” stayed with me as I pondered where the words might take a poem.





Well, read on, my friend, and you will see… the journey is always worth it, even when it is hard and long.





Garden View

I sat for years 
like an elephant in the garden waiting to become a feather.

White quilts warmed
on winter afternoons;
windows opened in the spring—

the subtle scent of daisies
wafting on the breeze.
I grew slowly into my skin—

five decades of painstaking 
transformation; my narrative
unfurling slowly 

as a fern frond 
in the first light of dawn—
a singular dance of joy. 

—Carla Jeanne