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!



NaPoWriMo: Days 6 and 7

Sifted Beauty

Sifted beauty

to exude and separate the


part of spring, leaving the

liquid awesome raw spring

to pour over your senses


Dirt beneath your fingers,

heat of the sun upon you,

sticks beneath you,

bugs around you,

everything is beautiful

because if it wasn’t

it wouldn’t be there since

it is sifted beauty.


Marine Layer Morning

Blue light from outside.

Then, gradual change in light

to bright grey and white.

 Swift apology for not posting for the last few days. I have been NaPoWriMo-ing, but been convinced that I’ve had to write full posts for each, which I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to do. Well. To do away with that postponition (Is that a word? If not, it should be), I’ve decided to post just the poems every day, prompts on the theme of the poem every few days, and when the urge strikes me, I will launch into a fevered explanation of my creative process.

Until tomorrow!


National Poetry and Writing Month: Day 6

Today’s poem is called, “The Sparrow”. Did you miss the last few poems? Catch up here! Want to read them as they come? Subscribe at right!

Early morning has a special light to it that no other time of the day has. To capture that light, painters have the advantage of sight; poets don’t. We only have words. Stomp poets have it a little better, meaning they can stand up and enact their poetry to grant a certain amount of stress to a certain phrase. Here’s today’s poem: 

The Sparrow

A cool morning,

with the sun shining golden on emerald leaves.

Birds chirp joyously,

hopping through the foliage.

Suddenly a sparrow appears,

alighting upon the bushes.

He searches the branches,

and selects a branch that is much, much bigger than he.

And although it seems to defy gravity,

the sparrow takes to the air,

and with his enormous burden,

flutters away to built his nest.

I found it very interesting this morning to see that the sparrows could pick up sticks that were up to two feet long, and still manage to fly off to cram it into their nests under tile roofs. Once a sparrow brought a stick to our house so long that it stuck out from under the eves and over the bathroom window!

Wherever you are in the world, something happens during the spring, be it simply the return of a certain bird, a special flower, the grass turning green, or something else,  something always happens. What do you take the most notice of? Write a poem about that, about how miraculous it seems. The newly greened grass? Does it mystify you how it can be brown and dead beneath snow and still become beautifully green? Or how about that flower? What’s amazing about how it slowly unfurls to reveal the color? Describe the event you notice in  your words in any language, any cadence, any title.

Spring means rebirth, so write about any re-born objects that you notice!


N.P.A.W. Month Days 4 and 5



Would today be

the first warm day of spring,

or the last warm day of winter?

Would that flower be

the first flower or spring,

or perhaps the last flower of winter?

If there is no border,

no definite line,

how can we tell?

Through only the feel of the air,

the joyous feel,

that living, warm smell.

Through the lush scent,

I suppose that it’s spring.


That was yesterday. (how embarrassing, I missed that day,,,) Now for today:


Nann bread in a drawer.

I remove a slice,

then hurry over to watch something.

“Why does it taste like dirt?”

I look down, and see;




That actually happened to me yesterday, and it was not the high point of the day. One good thing came out of it, though. (“What’s that?”) I discovered that…

Mold tastes like dirt!