They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, We will remember them. ~ Laurence Binyon, from "For the Fallen," 1914
My goal for OctPoWriMo this year was 16 poems, one on every odd-numbered day. I’m happy to say I only missed one, for a total of 15 poems.
Today’s prompt is light, dark, and shadow. The form is a new one for me, parallelogram de crystalline.
Embrace the light darkness reigns unworthiness shames me I hide among the shadows cold ostracized my only protection is silent invisibility spark ignites hope and love surprise me writing me a new biography I step forth boldness overcomes fear I embrace the light, defeating dark ©ARHuelsenbeck
The prompt is breaking the rules.
experimenting with anarchy stretching the limits breaking all the rules transitioning into chaos disdaining order defying respectability today I will not brush my teeth I will exceed the speed limit and not come to a complete stop at the stop sign nor engage my parking brake I will leave off the period at the end of my sentence and not capitalize arizona I will skip my vegetables and eat dessert first my rebellion has a time limit disobedience makes me anxious back to normal tomorrow
©ARHuelsenbeck
The prompt is gratitude.
In All Circumstances Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus (1 Thessalonians 5:18 NIV). All right, God. Because You say so. Thanks a lot for this scourge that has killed hundreds of thousands of people worldwide. I can sincerely thank You for the people who call their elderly neighbors and say “Is there anything you need?” I thank You also for the doctors and nurses and orderlies who work long hours caring for the sick. For the grocery clerks who stock the shelves and who gather customer’s orders. For the people who conscientiously wash their hands and wear their masks. For the people who lost their jobs and don’t know where their next meal will come from. For the people who don’t know how they will pay their rent. For the children who can’t go to school. Thank You also for the people who died alone, whose loved ones wanted to be there to comfort them, but weren’t allowed. You see my tears and You know I am devastated for them and angry at You for letting this happen. But I know there are also blessings that I can’t see. So I thank You for Your invisible movement through this valley. I thank You that out of pain and death You can make life and beauty, even if I can’t see it now. It hurts. But I trust You. And I thank You. Even though I don’t know why.
©ARHuelsenbeck
Today’s prompt is change of perspective. My poem is going to seem “out there” if you don’t read the suggested process.
My Hair’s Covid Dreams My hair is tired of stay-at-home orders. Tired of being held back by the ties of my face mask. My hair wants to be blowing free at the beach basking in the sun. My hair wants to hang in my plate in a restaurant. My hair wants to fling around as I dance in public. My hair can’t remember the last time it was cut. It seems such a waste to wash it and comb it. Who sees it? Just a couple of people on Zoom. My hair is tired of ponytail elastics. It’s craving hair jewelry bling. It’s demanding retail therapy—and not the online kind. It wants to be dyed—not some inobtrusive color, but something sparkly and bold, something that will make people take notice. My hair wants a selfie on social media. My hair want to go viral, and not in a pandemic sort of way.
©ARHuelsenbeck
Today’s prompt is growing pains.
Growing Pains When I was ten, my mother took me to the doctor because my legs hurt. The doctor examined me and said I had growing pains. Nothing I could to do about them. When I was sixty, I complained about leg pain, especially after exercise, and the chiropractor asked me to describe my stretching regimen. Um, I don’t have a stretching regimen. And the doctor prescribed one for me which greatly reduced my achiness. I wondered if stretching would have helped me as a child to reduce my growing pains. It occurred to me today when I’m pushed out of my comfort zone forced to accommodate changes happening with greater and greater rapidity that rather than dig in and refuse to budge, I could s t r e t c h up and over and out to lower my discomfort.
©ARHuelsenbeck
This is the last day of National Poetry Month–and National Poetry-Writing Month. This is my 24th poem for this year’s challenge.
Go Away
by ARHuelsenbeck
he’s back
like a bad penny
this time he was gone
for almost two years
he has the sour smell
of someone who’s been
drinking for days
I don’t let him in
go away
don’t be like that
I’m sorry
just let me crash here
I’ll leave in the morning
I close the door
and lock it
he pounds on it
Mary Ann Mary Ann
you’re my last hope
I call 9-1-1
there’s a bum on my doorstep
and he won’t go away
they can’t arrest him
if he hasn’t broken any laws
but I don’t want to wait for that
when the cop car pulls up
he runs away
he’ll be back
maybe tomorrow
maybe next year
he always comes back
lucky me
Noisy
by ARHuelsenbeck
applauding the brilliant performance
burping the ABCs
chortling like a baby
drumming your fingers on the table
ear-splitting screams of terror
foghorns warning of danger
giggling at the silliest faces
hiccupping despite holding your breathe
ick! get that away from me
joking with each other
krunching through the snow
laughing all the way ha ha ha
mumbling an apology
noise inescapable
ouch! that hurts
popping balloons
quarreling like an old married couple
rumbling like an empty stomach
shots fired in the night
tooting horns
ululating uvulas
volume turned all the way up
whistling in the graveyard
x-clamations of joy
yelling at your children
zapping the alien with your ray gun
Meanwhile, somewhere in Arizona
by ARHuelsenbeck
seen from a red tile roof:
cactus and palm trees and wildflowers and weeds
discarded furniture and yard debris
rattlesnakes and scorpions
and a unicorn
t-shirt-, shorts-, and flip-flop-wearing walkers
strolling past the inverted pyramid
speaking in Spanish
protected from burning rays by baseball caps, zinc cream, and sunglasses
Trump’s anti-scientific musings have been dangerous
scary droplets
Love You Forever
Riskfully Yours
by ARHuelsenbeck
I’m dancing on the edge of a cliff
skating on thin ice
poking the sleeping tiger
holding the lit firecracker
jaywalking on a busy street
counting my chickens before they’re hatched
cutting the 2 x 4 without measuring twice
walking the high wire
going canoeing without a paddle
do you admire my fearlessness
recognize my vulnerability
I’m taking a chance
sticking my neck out
offering you my heart
hoping you won’t stomp on it
