Tag Archives: poetry

NaPoWriMo 2024 Day 9

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I must confess I have an addiction. If you know me at all, you may know immediately my weakness. It began about thirty years ago when I discovered the joy of paper stores in Hungary. I had never seen a store dedicated solely to all things paper before my first trip in 1994. Not only did the paper stores in Hungary have all kinds of paper, they also had stickers and notebooks and pens—all different kinds of pens. The moment I walked into my first paper store I was hooked.

The prompt for today was to write my own ode celebrating an everyday object. I chose my favorite pens—Staedtler Tripus Fine Point. I am IN LOVE with these pens as you will see from my poem.

What is your secret (or not so secret) addiction?

ode to my german loves:
staedtler triplus

you
my darlings
fill my senses 
with color; 
the rich repertoire 
of line and design 
never confine 
me to the ordinary. 
and contrary 
to popular belief, I am 
fulfilled by change 
and the ability to rearrange 
with a simple stroke. 
I wish all of life
were as simple as
you
my darlings 
inspire
you light my heart on fire
and cause my desire to burn
hot and thick with love for
you
my darlings 
infuse
creativity so rich I lose
all sense of time in your hues; 
oh
you you you 
my darlings
bring beauty 
subtle and fine 
and change my duty
into exquisite pleasure
at the mere scent of
you
my darlings 
transform 
this beige world
into a landofrainbowcolor.
oh oh OH...
you.

—cjpjordan

NaPoWriMo 2024 Day 8

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Photo by Evan Jordan

This is my first poem of the National Poetry Writing Month or NaPoWriMo. Given that it is eight days in to the month, I’m a little behind the eight ball because life has thrown me some recent curve balls. But…I say better late than never!

Today’s poetry prompt was to write a poem that centered around an encounter or relationship between two people (or things) that shouldn’t really have ever met – whether due to time, space, age, the differences in their nature, or for any other reason.

It seemed only fitting then that today I would write about our solar eclipse. Here we only experienced 98.6% totality, but just south of us, there was 100% totality. It is an unlikely and rare encounter, and so, by my estimation, quite suitable for this prompt.

Eclipse

The unlikely meeting 
of the moon and the sun
cast a spell over earth.
Amicable but arresting,
the friendship seemed 
as deep as darkness
and as cool 
as a crisp autumn day. 

Only a thin veneer 
of light could be seen
in the tension
between darkness and light.
But the light 
(or perhaps the darkness)
brought us together—
witnesses of a chance rendezvous—

where two old friends
passed through the shadowlands.
It was not the friendship
that drew us in;
it was the fact that
in their unlikely harmony,
we found solace 
in the serendipity.


—cjpjordan

NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 24

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Photo Credit: Zoltan Tasi
https://unsplash.com/@zoltantasi

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
https://unsplash.com/@madelynn_woods

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
https://unsplash.com/@diane_soko

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
https://unsplash.com/@alieneuh

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
https://unsplash.com/@tuckergood

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
https://unsplash.com/@jbcreate_





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 
https://unsplash.com/@_sriggs





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