NaPoWriMo - Catch up Days 1-10 with apologies for lateness getting on the train and delight to be riding along

NaPoWriMo  -apologies something strange going on here tonight cannot add any photos between poems will try again tomorrow.. again hope I have not offended any - by rushing out 10 poems to catch up ... 

Day 1 – A Triolet – Still Possible

Still Possible

There was a time when I thought that all was yet to come

Hopeful, possible with simple effort expended

Then time ran as proverbial sand vanished now then from

There was a time when I thought all was yet to come

Uncertain now I stand at the shore sipped on coke and rum

The tide reaches toward my bare feet extended

There was a time when I thought that all was yet to come

Hopeful, possible with simple effort expended

Day Two – Musical Line Poem - They Said They Were Too Young To Love

“They say that we’re too young to love”

they sang

young raven haired boy father

hair rakish over smoldered eyes

mother so tall and slender he

called her Stretch his arm

in command on her back

as they moved together

in the long ago living room

where a little girl watched

and knew

they weren’t too young

at all

Day Three – An Epithalamium – Wedding Close

She didn’t wear a long white dress

Diaphanous and blowing around her bare ankles

In the tropic breeze

Instead something tiny designer trendy

He in brilliant white rolled at elbow and shin

She had no flowers in her hair

They had no bower above their heads

Yet between us she almost

Ran

Down the sand

At first look

Turquoise sea no match for her

Shining already wedded eyes

Day Four – Blues Poem – Like A Rumbled Storm

My man has a temper like a rumbled storm

True, my man has a temper like a rumbled storm

You ever stand out in the rain when the lightning comes

My man has a temper like a rumbled storm

That is the truth, he has that temper like a rumbled storm

But I ain’t afraid of the tempest caught in the wet rain pounding

My man has a temper like a rumbled storm

My man has that temper in him like a rumbling storm

And it hurts so good to drink him down

Day Five – Tee-Ball

It was the first day

He was just four

But they said he could

Play with the big boys

The big boys of five

And one of six

Helmet falling over eyes

Fixed on that tee

That kept moving

In mystical machinations

Declining the heavy

Downswung bat

Until it stopped

And the stands roared

As the ball fell and dribbled

Off into the red dirt rolling

Halfway to pitcher’s mound

Day Six -  The Feral Kitten  (with apologies to Marianne Moore)

Come

From the waving marsh

            Of boundless sea salted creatures

            Sleeping, skulking, foraging

                        Collected in mystical colonies

Across the road

Skipping small

            Fluff of coal, moving with purpose

            Up impossible paving stoned

                        Stairs where people stay

Come

From the waving marsh

            And do not run as blood brothers

            And mothers instructed

                        Stand on legs of inches

Alone

Unafraid

            Surrender all for the door

            That opens and arms

                        That hold you close

Home

From the waving marsh

            To the kingdom in which

            You shall reign on little cat feet supreme

                        Over all within

Day Seven – A Color Poem – Red

She rises from the fetid pallet shared by siblings younger, burning in the still black night. Walks in shred of clothes of sleep-feet bare on stones outside the hanging door, into the open air, burnt in stilled unknown conflagration, stands at the off hinged gardened gate and runs through toward the flame of the horizon of her suddenly certain crimsoned horizon.

Day Eight – Outside Poem – To The Sea

Early morning

Doors still shut

Quiet ringing

First bird trills

As road crossed

And through

The open latched

Gate purchase

Found to the sea

The long road winding

Away through grassy

Promenade of just waking

Canada geese

Glowering on both sides

Focused eyes remain fixed

Ahead to the thin blue line

Widening with each breathed

Step salted air

Singing the Siren song

Of the approaching shore

Day Nine – A Persona Poem – Harry Stack Sullivan (psychoanalyst)

I entered that dim chamber

That circled the abyss within

Which I would later learn we

All would circle in ghastly perimeter

I entered that dim chamber

Looking for the laughing mother

Who had vanished one strange

Night of mysterious screams

And found instead sitting

Still as death itself her visage

Something small stiff

against her bared breast

“Your brother” she stretched dry

Lips over yellowed grin

Reached her tremored hand

to bring me close

to them as I withdrew

Back to forever seek unknowing

Now revealed

Day Ten – First Line … A Poem Is Dead, When It Is Said (Emily Dickenson)

A poem is dead

When it is said

Is true the forced

For poetry dances

On multiple plains

Of senses folded

One upon another

Understood within

Deconstructed upon

Expression

Day 11 - 5 Sense Poem ... The Shimmering


There in wet frangipani bushland drift blossoms across silk sheened skin - she, young and barely there, reaches two fingers to press a petal against her pastel palm as soft silence thrums her songbird pulse in languid luxuriation lifting the bloom past parted lips tipped to tilted tongue the frangipanied elixered ecstasy melting as molten manna, she sighs soaked sentient sensory satiation - Shimmering.

and

Day 11 - 5 Sense Poem ... Bubble Gum


Held hard in damp five year-old-palm,
The five cent piece
Stretched on tip toe to clink the counter
Exchanged one single pink chubbed rectangle
Unwrapped in crackled release
scent of sacred sweetness sticky