NaPoWriMo: Days 7, 13, and 14

Dawn Bluebird

Blue dawn darkness,

sedate indigo,

sleepy sheet, fallow

fields far afield. And silence, only glitz stars

trembling in disquiet

in the quiet, flicker

faint like gemstones, the light

only a hint

of the roar in space

of themselves.

Silence, cold trees

and blue sky like satin, only

distant orange Mars


like an eye in the western sky, so bright

for the light darkness.

Silence…and yet…

echo bluebird,

cheery call punctuating

the silence, bright morning song

the color of the blue

of the bird, the same

as the

sky. Quiet,

only the bluebird

singing soliloquy, solo,

bell-like ‘fore dawn.


cool silence,

full of song.


Sleepy crocus, open your eyes!

Don’t you feel the sun

beaming hot from the skies?

Hear the sparrow! crisp and clear

melodies sailing, rippling near

and far, up and down. Poke your heads

above the ground and smile

in the sunshine of spring.

Fall Spring Leaf, Floating

Gusty wind, tearing

yesteryear’s dead decaying leaves

that were once a blaze of

and with

color, sending them

fifty feet into the air, more, spiraling

and drifting, a memory hanging

by an invisible thread. Dead,

it falls

among the new living.

Spring has announced itself in a hundred ways since I came back after a 5-day trip. Suddenly there were rich purple crocuses and the stalks of daffodils and tulips poking up through the dirt; wildflowers starting to show; there were Song Sparrows serenading, Chipping Sparrows calling, Yellow-billed Cuckoos, Olive-sided Flycatchers galore devouring all the bugs; pussy willows showing their catkins; the grass was greening up; and the air was warm and fresh. Of course, my delight after this cold winter is amplified by the fact that I’ve never seen a bulb (plant, not light) popping out of the ground, I haven’t heard a Song Sparrow or a cuckoo before, and there were no pussy willows where I used to live. Finally, it’s starting to sound, smell, look, and feel like the Aprils that I’m used to! At last the doors and windows can be open all day, letting the fresh air permeate every corner of the house. Even last night was in the fifties, a temperature normally reserved for summer evenings.

Ah, and now for the prompt of the day! Since I’ve already written a prompt about the sensual side of the spring season, here is one that isn’t necessarily similar to today’s prompt. Actually, it’s one of my favorite old prompts from a creative writing teacher I had. First, write a list of things you do everyday, such as a routine or something like taking care of the dog (food, walk, etc.) If you think your routine is utterly boring, so much the better. Pick a superpower; it can be gecko feet, throwing fire when you get angry, telepathy, being able to walk through walls–anything. Now imagine what it would be like to do your routine of you had that superpower. Do your sheets stick to your hands? Do you burn the toast by accident? Or is it so much easier than you thought it would be? On a related vein, what would a superhero do every morning? Make it as comical or serious as you want!



NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 23

Birdsong Ritual

I hear the birds singing gaily

as they flit and they fly about.

I hear the birds. Singing gaily

dawn to dusk, melodies sailing.

I hear the birds singing. Gaily

praising the day. So many that

I hear! The birds singing gaily.

as they flit and they fly about.

 The poem I wrote above is a triolet, composed of eight lines with eight-syllables each. As you can see, a few of the lines are the same; namely the first, third, fifth, and seventh, then it’s the second and last. The rhyme scheme is very tight, too. I’ll show it:








The bold capital letters are the lines that are alike, and the lowercase letters show which lines rhyme with which. Very interesting, eh? Why don’t you give it a shot? If you think you’ll be confused, copy the rhyme scheme above onto your page and fill in the lines. You might find it easy to copy the similar lines before you start so you know where you have to put what new lines. (I didn’t end up doing that, but I wish I had)

There’s one week left to NaPoWriMo!


NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 15

Yes, this may not be the most consistent April that there has ever been, but it exists, and isn’t that enough?


Riding up like the peak of a roller coaster

and folding wings while swooping,

spread, climb

fold, descend,

wheeling and curving in joy and life

of glory and ecstasy

and beautiful rhapsody

and delight that spring is here.

 In the town that I live, the arrival of the swallows is the signal that true spring has sprung. Their little muddy nests on the undersides of bridges and the eaves of houses are teeming with the activity of the constantly arriving and departing parents. If there’s time to study it during a rare, low flight, you can see the vivid colors. Most usually, though, all you can see are the dark wings and blotches of white. This makes them difficult to distinguish from swifts, which, although they have similar flight patters and shape, are very different birds. The easiest way to tell them apart is that swifts have longer wings. The swallows also have a particular dolphin-like whistling squeak as they soar free in the wind, a sound that suits their flight.

Watching these beautiful birds soar and climb makes me smile, no matter where or when I see them. They’re adorable, and can be counted upon to return annually to the same nests. I can recall seeing them for much of my childhood. Actually…here’s a prompt! Can you think of a bird, flower, insect, animal, or reptile that you see or saw often? Watch it or find a video online depicting it. Make connections between it, the season it’s seen the most, its environment, or any other connection that strikes you, happy or sad. Anything about any animal, whether you’ve seen it in real life or no, can be used under this prompt if you can’t think of anything. A poison dart frog? Fantastic. Comedic, thoughtful, melancholy…that’s up to you.

Happy Monday, if you can believe that such a thing is possible!


Coastal Summer

Summer! Everyone loves summer, and I do too. The heat? Nah, not really a problem.

Most people have a hot summer, full of humidity and short-sleeved shirts. But I actually live a five-minute bike ride from the beach, so hot weather is almost never around town. In short, my summer is extremely different from the stereotypical summer…unless you live by the beach.

Of course, the summers vary each year. One year, fog laid over the valley each summer morning; another, and it was unusually hot. Despite these variations, though, the warm season is generally around 75 degrees each day with blue, blue sky.

Summer sounds are also part of the composite for every summer. Most places have cicadas and such, but I have never heard them around here. Instead, I hear katydids on warm nights, crickets in every swath of anything, the occasional bullfrog, and coyotes in the river. By day, I’m attacked by the sounds of crows, house sparrows, Lesser Goldfinches, and some house wrens, but the real summer birds are the mockingbirds, kestrels, and red-tailed hawks. The mixed jumble of a mockingbird, like several calls all cut up and pasted into one, is really only heard on the warm days.

And of course, the fantastic weather means outdoors for everyone!!!! Well, yeah. Since I live so close to the beach, on the warmer days I usually pack up for the beach, hang out, and sometimes heat up a bonfire before dragging my stuff back home. Hiking is definitely an option too, when the sounds of native birds and smells of native plants tend to be the only things effecting the air. If exercise doesn’t seem to be what I want, I hang out in the backyard with our fire pit, or just be outdoors.

This may be a short post in relation to the average, but I’m still trying to get back into the groove of regular posts after my poem-posts in April. There will be longer ones, just as soon as I start thinking about posting all week long! 🙂


National Poetry and Writing Month: Day 21

“Today’s” poem is called, “The House Wren”, which really doesn’t have much to do with what you think it does. Did you miss the last few poems? Scroll down to read the posts, or click this to read the archive. Do you want to know when they come out? Subscribe!

Okay, so if I do two a day, I can get caught up in two days. I know, I know, you want me to catch up now so you can read the poems that you love to read so much, but I’m afraid that I don’t have that much time. You see, each day I really have just enough time to post one poem each day, much less FOUR, but I assure you that I WILL get caught up. The end of April is coming, and I am going to complete 30 poems and get you ready for the–whoops, almost spilled the salt there, didn’t I? You’re going to have to wait to see what I have to get you ready for! In the meantime, here’s the poem for “today”:

The House Wren

One of the smallest birds I’ve ever seen

hops closer to my window.

It’s a wren,

a house wren,

looking for nesting material in the bushes.

I see him lift his head,

and let loose his bubbling song.

How can such a small bird make such a gorgeous song?

House wrens live basically all over the United States, most of Canada, and nearly all of South America. If you live anywhere on the Americas, the chances are that you have heard or seen it at least once in your life. Their song is bubbling and melodious. When they see a predator or a rival wren, they make a rasping, croaking call that at first sounds like a completely different bird. These little wrens seem like they’re bon-bons from their small size, but they’re vicious creatures when it comes to nesting sites! If there’s a bird living in a tree cavity where a house wren wants to make its nest, the wren will fling out eggs, nestlings, and even kill adult birds to gain prime locale! But that still doesn’t change the fact that they’re adorable little packages of cute…

Okay, so your poetry challenge is BIRDS! There’s a bird no matter where you live, live you in the city or a rain forest. The next bird you see and enjoy watching you are going to write about. Watch it, think about its song, write down any first impressions, etc. Describe the beautiful feathers, or the way it moves, or how it looks at you. Can you mimic its call? Does the bird answer? Whatever inspires you about your choice bird, write it, even if all you have to say is “The humming bird is pretty because of all its feathers it always goes to the prettiest flowers and makes the prettiest sounds I love hummingbirds.” That can be poetry! If you’re not proud, change it, and if you’re still not happy, do it again, unless you don’t want to change what you’ve written, which is fine. As I’ve said before, no judge is going to review your poems! They come from your heart, which can be as private or as public as you want, just like a Facebook page.