NaPoWriMo #9

[NaPoWriMo challenge of the day: write a poem inspired by noir, in a detective voice]

 

She didn’t see me.

She wasn’t supposed to.

Hell, if they did, I’d be out of a job.

Pardon my language, broads.

 

She was wearing the brim of her hat over her eyes,

slender frame speeding down 7th Avenue as fast as

her high heels could click clack.

Even if I hadn’t been on her case,

I’d a thought she looked shifty.

Especially by street lamps at two in the morning.

 

Into the Edison she went.

I wasn’t surprised.

That’s where they all go,

them dames in the furs

running from the reporters, the cameras, the crowd,

the private eyes who are out to expose their dirty laundry.

She didn’t see me.

But she knew I was there.

 

She told the concierge that Ms. Parker was expected.

(Sure, sweetheart.  The Algonquin is down the street, doll.)

Grabbing the key, she took the stairs.

I followed – balls of the feet, one stairwell behind.

Twelve floors.  Criminey, she had strong lungs.

 

We rounded the corner.  Room 1209.

“Ms. Parker” knocked a pattern on the door.

It opened.

There she was.

“Big Blonde.”

Beauty in a tux

delving into the furs.

 

I’ll dim the lights here, folks.

Let’s just say, this one

was an open and shut case.

NaPoWriMo #7

Every March, the crocuses burst.

I never expect it.

The ground is barren to me.

I cannot feel the pulsing

through my snow boots.

But without fail, up push the little green stalks.

Out stretch the buds yellow, purple, and white.

So reliable.

So excited to be.

Anticipating the exact right moment.

Will I ever be as wise as a crocus?

NaPoWriMo #5

[NaPoWriMo challenge of the day: write in the form of American cinquain]

To kids

when soccer’s life

like toppled cones distressed

the parents shout out from the stands

a game?

 

The crowds

encourage youth

the echoed claps support

the flurried block of elbows, knees

and feet

 

The team

they wobble wild

into a puppy pile

with laughter serving to remind

unite

 

At noon

small hands reach up

to grasp the coach’s snacks

the jerseys blue and red debate

no more

 

Just five

the girl in pink

with ruffles flouncing bold

observes the neighbor boy with glance

aside.

NaPoWriMo #4

[NaPoWriMo prompt of the day: write a poem with one of Iain M. Banks’ spaceship names for the title and inspiration…]

“A fine disregard for awkward facts”

 

Patchwork quilt skirts qualify

as formal attire

(evidently)

This was lesson number one

disheveled pony tail

mismatched socks

and an out of control smile

 

Lesson number two:

Stop signs are optional

(obviously)

other cars will stop

and your guardian angels work overtime

out of pity

when you are by nature

utterly oblivious

 

Truly the summation

was in lesson number three:

The rules don’t apply to you

and that means you

 

I was reeling by the time we

arrived at the restaurant

 

The server told us the entrees

come with soup

or salad

 

My date asked

What’s a super-salad?

 

Totally shameless

She was hoping for flying vegetables

 

And I thought

 

I’m going to marry this woman.

NaPoWriMo #3

[NaPoWriMo challenge of the day: a poem in the style of a sea chanty...a form of work song with strong rhyme, rhythm, and refrain]

 

The call of liberating strife

those voices cry beyond one life

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When raging of the heart-right crowd

explodes into a smoke-blown cloud

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When justice fears to show its face

and weighs in favor of one race

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When education fails to save

our womb-loves from a bullet grave

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When children’s wrists are bound so tight

forced to absorb the shame by night

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When women’s bodies aren’t their own

nor is the right to form their home

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When robes declare that love’s not love

and claim their judgment’s from above

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When body parts define our roles

instead of minds and hearts and souls

Once more to the picket lines again

 

When ev’ry hand in hand held tight

will hold us through the heart-torn night

No more to the picket lines again

NaPoWriMo #2

there wasn’t a day I didn’t

think of you,

My sweet

just a misunderstanding

honestly

you know it wasn’t how it looked!

dear, looks are so deceiving

you were so easily taken in

I forgive you

trust your heart

you know it only beats for me

transparent as I am,

how could I tell anything but the gospel truth, My own?

it was never my intention to hurt you

but everything will be fine now

because I love you

My darling

[NaPoWriMo prompt of the day: poems that lie]