Monthly Archives: April 2019

Writer’s Block ~ NaPoWriMo #28

Writer’s Block

blame it on the muse when every syllable
is out of sync and rhymes are…hey, what
rhymes with purple? anybody?…ANYBODY?!
when nothing feels inspiring, and prompts
are falling flat; you know what I’m talking
about; you make it look so easy, perfection,
just like that; there are days when I hesitate
to call myself a poet, I’m an impostor and I
know it, head swimming with words, it’s
absurd I let it get to me, a word is just a rose,
oh I suppose there’s nothing left to do but
walk it off; i’ll chalk it up to my imaginary
friend, I hate it when her voice is silent


For NaPoWriMo 2019 Prompt #28: try your hand at a meta-poem. (A poem about poetry, a poem that is somehow aware of itself as a thing made of letters and words.)

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 28 April 2019

It’s a beautiful Sunday where I live. The sun is shining, the sky is blue; there are a few clouds, the white wispy kind, and there’s a lovely cool breeze. Yes, the world at large is still going bananas. All I need to do is turn on the news to be bombarded with all the crazy, but sometimes you just need to take a break from it all. Or at least I do. And that is exactly what I am doing. I’m chilling today.

Time to clean the slate then, with a glance back in the form of a reverse poem. Yes the past week was a bit wacky. Aren’t they all. But I’m taking advantage of this tiny bit of heaven while I can.

Peace y’all!

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 28 April 2019

while headless chickens race around like rats
judgment over fabricated scandals,
those who dare, rise in humility, to challenge twisted liberty,
grains of sand
We’ve got company
my fierce predator, roams the halls at night
weaves to the heart, returning
how beautiful, how still, the muffled hills
Sawetness everywhere
I remember
but things will never be the same
I’ve heard the veil’s thin ‘tween here and heaven


A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.

When I Remember, Missing – NaPoWriMo 2019 #27

When I Remember, Missing

When it is quiet, thoughts swirl in my head,
The memories of a long forgotten past
Tinged with regret, rememb’ring dreams now dead;
Time slips away so quickly, our fates are cast;
Tears well up in my eyes when I think upon
Dear friends who’ve passed away, oh how I miss them;
The pain, just as fresh as when I heard they’d gone,
Too soon, before I had time to make amends;
It’s the words I didn’t say that haunt me most;
Sometimes I say what I would have told them then
And hope that they are listening somewhere close,
I’ve heard the veil’s thin ‘tween here and heaven;
But if I dwell on the best of times we had,
I feel them in my heart; how can I be sad? 


A sonnet re-penned, inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet #30 (see below), on prompt for NaPoWriMo 2019 #27.  

Sonnet #30
By William Shakespeare

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor’d and sorrows end.


A Trio of Triolets – NaPoWriMo #26

A Trio of Triolets


it’s really not for me to say
let’s just agree to disagree
but things will never be the same
it’s really not for me to say
my thoughts don’t matter anyway
i’ll miss how close we used to be
it’s really not for me to say
let’s just agree to disagree


I remember
it was morning
that September
I remember
molten embers,
people mourning
I remember
it was morning

about this weather…

it’s raining again
wetness everywhere
oh, when will it end
it’s raining again
weather’s not my friend
it frizzes my hair
it’s raining again
wetness  everywhere


For today’s NaPoWriMo 2019 Prompt: write a poem that uses repetition, I decided to try my hand at the triolet. It is a challenging and fun format. I was able to come up with a trio of them.  The triolet is only 8 lines long with a rhyme scheme of: ABaAabAB (the capital lines are repeated with the A line repeating on lines 1, 4, and 7 and the B line repeating on lines 2 and 8). The syllable count for each line should match.


it can’t be winter…NaPoWriMo 2019 #25

it can’t be winter…

if I believed the calendar, the wavering
in my stride, my fading memories, the
thinning of my hair and skin, I might
be convinced that it is winter, as you say
but my heart still sings sweet odes to
spring, of quiescent vales greening,
blooming buds, air fragrant with lilacs
and honeysuckle, it was only yesterday
a robin called my name and it was
dawn, I am sure of it, the day flushed
with golden haze, the breeze a-buzz
with the hum of honeybees, of gardens
laden with tubers, beans and peas,
it could be summer after all, my heart’s
refrain, a reverie of endless days, of salty
air and sand, tree leaves pitapatting in
the wind, like the sound of my children’s
tiny feet, growing heavier with each passing
day, it can’t be winter yet, I’ve still so much
to do and say, no matter that the night
is looming, there are dreams yet to
be realized, a reckoning, as chill sets
in, a letting go, a harvesting, how like
the autumn trees I cling to every turning
leaf until it’s time to let them go, now
that I mention it, it must be fall, it can’t
be winter yet…and yet…I saw a snowflake
flutter by, it caught my eye, suspended,
drifting slowly, I suspect a few more
still, and in the silent winter white perhaps
I write; I’ll weave a tapestry of spring, of
summer, and of fall, time slipping through
my hands like sand, I’m tired, I admit it,
how beautiful, how still, the muffled hills
look dressed in snow, how blessed am
I to be here still to see it ‘fore I go


For NaPoWriMo 2019 Prompt #25:
write a poem that:

  • Is specific to a season
  • Uses imagery that relates to all five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell)
  • Includes a rhetorical question, (like Keats’ “where are the songs of spring?”)


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