Today’s prompt is Paris, and the form is rhopalic verse.
Bucket List
I’ve
never
ever been
to Paris, the
city of lights and
city of love; nor have
I ever seen the Eiffel
Tower or the Louvre. I’ve never
strolled along the Seine, never sailed a
toy boat in the Jardin des Tuileries,
never prayed in Notre Dame cathedral. I
can’t even speak French. But maybe someday I will
have the time and the means and the opportunity
to fly across the ocean and experience all the
wonder Paris has to offer. It’s still on my bucket list.
Oh. Man. My intention was to do a zentangle drawing on the even-numbered days of October, but I accidentally wrote a poem instead. And it’s a dark one. Oh well.
Self-Execution
this millstone ’round my neck is like an anchor
dragging me to the bottom of the abyss
I will never be able to extricate myself
I am doomed to drown here
unnoticed
unrescued
unmissed
it’s my own fault
I did something I knew was wrong
I have no one to blame but myself
I have no right to associate with good people
my momentary satisfaction wasn’t worth the price of my self-respect and reputation
I am my own judge and executioner
I know the only just sentence
no other recourse but to disappear
to throw myself into the depths weighted down by my guilt and shame
no longer a blight upon the earth
Today’s prompt is how we honor loved ones. Although the prompt was intended to be about those who have passed on, I chose to write it about the living.
How many times?
how many times have you walked through the door with a bouquet of flowers for me, for no special occasion
how many times have I gone to do a chore, and discover it’s already done—you did it for me
how many times have I been angry or upset, and you’ve distracted me with jokes and silliness until I laugh and forget
how many times have you made something special for me for dinner—something I like but you don’t particularly care for
how many times when I’ve had to do something physically demanding were you right there next to me, silently helping me
how many times have you reminisced with me about the old days when we first met or first dated or were first married, and told me what was running through your mind when we were just getting to know each other
how many times have you saved up for something I liked but thought was too extravagant for me ever to own
every time you do those things, I’m astounded by how much you love me
What it Takes to Write a Poem Daring
Intentions and aspirations, requiring keeping
Seat (butt) in
Chair (Sit. Stay.)
Intent on
Poetic devices, rhyme and meter, concentration for
Long hours devoid of any joy
I accept there will be
No reward without
Effort
I’ll Tell You Mine if You Tell Me Yours
Do you want to hear my story?
You must listen with your heart.
Do you want to hear my story?
You must answer with your art.
There must be a compensation.
You must listen with your heart.
You’ll receive no dispensation.
Tell your story in return.
There must be a compensation
or my tale will make you burn.
Share with me your darkest secrets.
Tell your story in return.
Whisper all your shameful regrets.
I have always loved you only.
Share with me your darkest secrets.
But you left me waiting, lonely.
Do you want to hear my story?
I have always loved you only.
Do you want to hear my story?
disappointment and despair
the showy explosion lasts only a week or two
then the lie is exposed
the bursts of color that promised life and beauty
decay to brown
the leaves abandon their posts
fall lifeless to the ground
all that’s left are stark gray trunks and branches
naked
indistinguishable from death
the cold dark months drag on and on
as snow reduces the landscape to black and white
like primitive television
no autumn sight-seeing for me
it’s all a scam
a build-up to nothingness
Today’s prompt is how to spend the weekend, but you know, when you’re retired, weekends don’t have the impact they used to–we’re on perpetual Saturday. I chose The Bop as the form.
Retirement
our calendar is all weekends now
each day indistinguishable from another
no workweek to give us structure
no place we have to be
(except for doctor appointments
and routine errands)
what day is it? hell if I know
no reason to dress up
no bosses to please except each other
all the time in the world to do those things
we couldn’t do when we were working
all those things we put off for later
when our schedules wouldn’t be so full
what were those things anyway
damned if I remember
what day is it? hell if I know
we may not be accomplishing anything special
or taking those cruises we put off
the grandchildren we thought we’d have
haven’t materialized
but that’s okay
we still have each other
what day is it? hell if I know
The prompt for today is to write a prose poem about following your path wherever it may lead.
Lead Me In Your Path
Meandering through the neighborhood, I rack up my daily steps. Good for my health! But also, good for my soul. As I wander, I wonder. I explore. I notice nature (or truly, I notice my neighbors’ landscaping). Flowers and plants and trees arouse my joy and my appreciation of beauty. Sometimes I listen to scripture as I walk, sometimes to music. Sometimes I carry my camera so I can capture the splendor of the outdoors, the antics of the local wildlife (or wandering pets). Other times, I walk to clear my head or to think, to thank God for my blessings, to ask Him for guidance. Walking outside is a path to my inside.
First of all, I just realized today is an even numbered day, and I meant to draw instead of writing a poem. Oh, well. We’ll see if I have time to draw later.
Secondly, it looks like the OctPoWriMo site has been updated, but I’m getting a gray screen on the home page that won’t let me click on links or leave a comment. Is that happening to anybody else? Does anyone know a work-around?
Today’s prompt is to write a pantoum about the change of seasons. I live in Arizona, and up to September 23, we were still getting temperatures of 100 degrees or more.
Sonoran desert, October
Goodbye to temps of 100 degrees—
the blazing sun was getting old.
I’ve ditched my tanks for short-sleeved tees;
the 70-degree pool seems icy cold.
Perfect weather for patio-sitting
(goodbye to temps of 100 degrees),
perfect for walking or hiking-trail-hitting
since I’m wearing my short-sleeved tees.
Pleasant temps and days getting shorter,
ditched my tanks for short-sleeved tees.
Pumpkin spice latte with my daughter—
goodbye to temps of 100 degrees!
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