Tag Archives: NaPoWriMo2017

How I wish

How I wish you weren’t here
too many lost souls
swimming in this small bowl

Silently screaming, awkwardly appealing
to my sense of saviour

See me, feel me, touch me, hear me,
write me a song, pen me a letter,
tend to my needs, make me feel good

How I wish I didn’t hear
your lost soul
echoing in this fish bowl

I know you want to be found
but I’m not searching

Yesterday’s prompt was to use overheard conversation. In this case it’s an overheard song, Pink Floyd’s Wish you were here. And I’ve added a bit of The Who.


I didn’t want to hurt your feelings
but now that I’ve done it
I truly don’t mind

Beginner’s luck –
a high score
without even trying

Yesterday’s prompt was to use the language of sports and games. You can probably tell that one was still lingering in my mind 🙂

Today’s prompt on napowrimo.net calls to use overheard conversation. She talked about how sweet he was is a poem that forever keeps the memory of a conversation I heard that irritated me endlessly. Reading back that poem, I remember where I was sitting, where she was sitting, and how she ignored the delicious looking dish she’d ordered.

Hopefully posting this will clear my mind to write about a new snipppet of overheard conversation. If so, I’ll probably post that tomorrow. For now, day 21 of #NaPoWriMo is done. I’ve been reading so much of the poetry that was posted this year that I feel my head is starting to overflow with words.

Sane by proxy

Did you know I have a goboky?
It’s great in times of need
It knows how to divert my anger
It knows how to curb my greed
It knows how to comfort my grief
It knows how to build up my moxie
It supports me when I need relief
It keeps me sane by proxy

Day 18 of NaPoWriMo gave a neologism prompt: to use a made up word. Every once in a while I challenge myself to rhyme. Somehow it seemed a good idea to combine those. Strange, considering that I couldn’t think of a rhyme for goboky 🙂

Today’s official prompt was to write a poem using the language of sports or a game. I accidentally did that on day 9, using a sport I’d never heard of: bowls. And I’ve just remembered an older one, written during NaPoWriMo 2014, which features tennis. Surprising, considering I’m not much of a sports person 🙂


When God created men
she thought: “I’ll create as many as I can
to see how long it takes them to wreck the earth
so I can create humanity 2.0 when I next give birth

Almost a #clerihew, for today’s prompt on napowrimo.net: “Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a creation myth.” #NaPoWriMo day 19.

No bop, no glory

Well, the sky was grey, but she never complained about it, because everything was grey anyhow, so she didn’t notice that sky, she didn’t even look at it, really.

Colour is overrated anyhow, you know, all those poets and painters always going on about it, but truth be told, colour never fed the hungry and didn’t attain world peace either, right? So bugger off with all your pinks and yellow and greens. Ash grey and cinereous will do, thank you very much. Tyrants!

So 6 lines, 8 lines, circles, squares, what do I care? Bop ‘till you drop, but make it fast, I have other things to do.

Again, I tried my hand on one of the prompts I’ve skipped, and digressed 🙂 I wanted to keep this for later this month, when I’ll have to do a day of travelling. But I feel really bad after a huge fight with my son this morning, so this fits my mood. And the amount of inspiration I feel at the moment to create something new 😦

I’ll have to have another go at the bop some other day: In the basic Bop poem, a six-line stanza introduces the problem, and is followed by a one-line refrain. The next, eight-line stanza discusses and develops the problem, and is again followed by the one-line refrain. Then, another six-line stanza resolves or concludes the problem, and is again followed by the refrain.

Here’s a beautiful example of a bop, by a fellow participant: She just could not conform to their ways.

Dear mother

Dear mother,

I know you’ll find this hard to understand, but this is not a suicide note.
It’s what fate has in store for me.
It’s what I was born for.
It’s what I have to do.

Please don’t blame my friends, they could have done nothing to prevent this.
None could’ve averted fate.
Nobody could’ve halted what I was born for.
They did what they had to do.

Please don’t denounce the soldiers, they just followed orders.
They were to execute fate.
Even though they didn’t know what I was born for.
All of them did what they were supposed to do.

Don’t miss me mother. I’ll stay around, I’ll be back before you know it.
Losing me is your fate.
It’s what you gave birth for.
It’s what you have to do.

your baby J.


Why? Why? My son’s on repeat
I don’t know, I say, and, … repeat
But what if? As always, he won’t give up
And for the umptieth time, I have to repeat

Please leave my brain alone, I need a break
let me breathe, stop asking questions, I repeat

Why? He asks. And corrects himself: For how long?
For at least ten minutes, do you understand, please repeat?





Why? I ask
I don’t know, he says
I give up, I reply


I tried a ghazal but digressed (the prompt a few days ago): A ghazal is formed of couplets, each of which is its own complete statement. Both lines of the first couplet end with the same phrase or end-word, and that end-word is also repeated at the end of each couplet.

The prompt for today was to write a letter. I vaguely remembered writing a correspondence poem once so I searched for it. It turns out that was the one that made me featured participant last year 🙂 It’s a bit crazy, and you can find it here.

Half way through my funeral

Half way through my funeral
the doorbell rang
– the wrong door

Half way through my funeral
the choir sang
– the wrong song

Half way through my funeral
the church bells rang
their tower swayed

Half way through my funeral
the angels sang
our preacher strayed

Half way through my funeral
the walls crumbled
I turned around

Half way through my funeral
you removed the lid
without a sound

Half way through my funeral
I left
through the right door

Half way through my funeral
You stayed
You wanted more

Day 15 of #NaPoWriMo, we were invited to write a poem that reflects on the nature of being in the middle of something. So I’m on prompt – but I’m off illustration. I had planned to use only my own work this year, but this poem called for Hieronymus Bosch. At the least the photograph is my own. That counts for something, right? 😉

You won’t like it

If you were to scratch my skin, lightly
again and again
you could see rebuke shimmering through

If you were to take a needle
and pierce my hide
just once
a drop of remonstrance would well up

If you were to take a razor blade
and cut me, slowly
you’d encounter a stream of truth
crimson damnation

Please don’t make me bleed words

My mind won’t wrap itself around a clarihew, the prompt for NaPoWriMo day 14. I’m looking forward to reading other people’s clarihews – a four line poem that’s a satire of a famous person. I’m posting something serious instead.

Somehow it reminds me of one of the first poems I wrote, which happened to be for NaPoWriMo to, in 2013. It’s called unfinished business. It features words filling a bath.

Linking to some clarihews in case you’re in need of a smile:
Oscar Wilde, Marie Antoinette and Rasputin
Scarlett O’Hara
Sean Spicer and Jeffrey Dahmer
Sigmund Freud
John Coltrane
Sartre, Becket and Kafka
Darth Vader
King Richard Lionheart
Edgar Allen Poe
Thor, Zeus, Isis and more
Jesus and more

Added note April 16: I just remembered I did try a clerihew once. I ended up with something political instead of satirical: Permission denied

Lost and found

A  bag of anything
A bucket list of dust
Different shades of luck

The last compilation poem for now. Three days in a row of creating a poem by blog titles and posts of fellow participants in #NaPoWriMo. I might do more later, but I don’t want it to become a gimmick. And I’m behind on some interesting prompts, so time for a new challenge!

You can find the poem that provided the title here.