Monthly Archives: April 2023

A ReVerse Poem

A ReVerse Poem

i’m not honest, not one bit
she is a wall at the forest’s edge
it’s zaniness, that’s what it is
i am not a fan of flying
devoured by madness
because what matters most
beyond conclusion
from dark dawn to dark dusk
turned into months into years
down, down, downsized
floor to ceiling windows
the sweet scent of buttercups
my heart swelling, splintering
did you know? I write poetry
by fireflies in pickle jars
she fancies herself organized
bitter, and smooth to the tongue


NaPoWriMo 2023 Challenge Day Thirty: Off prompt. Rather than writing a palinode – a poem in which you retract a view or sentiment expressed in an earlier poem, I decided to extract a line from several previous poems as a finale to this year’s daily challenge. Doing a ReVerse Poem* has always been my way to sum things up at the end of the day. Sometimes the combination of lines make sense…and sometimes, not so much. But it does give me a snapshot into each previous day’s endeavor. So, there you have it! Another NaPoWriMo in the bag. Until next year…😊

A ReVerse poem (a practice I started many years ago) 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.

Mr. Better Than Sex…Cake

Mr. Better Than Sex…Cake

The seduction begins with
an orgy of chocolate cake mix,
devil’s food, because, well…
given his titular title he has
a reputation to defend.
Add a ménage a trois of eggs,
and wetness, water, if you will,
and a fair amount of lubricant,
cooking oil, to the connoisseur,
to meld the mix into a smooth batter.

He prefers a preheated oven to do
his rising, filling the entire room
with the aroma of his decadence,
foreplay to what comes next after
about thirty minutes or so.

While still warm from the oven,
with a wooden skewer, or fork,
poke holes in the cake, reservoirs
to be filled with a slathering
of sweetened condensed milk…

“Oh, but I’m not finished with you yet!”
he teases playfully, inviting me
add a smooth layer of caramel sauce
and another of sweet whipped cream,
with a sprinkling of crushed chocolate
toffee candy…”yes please! chocolate on
chocolate…oooh, yes, yes! Please don’t
stop…here, and there, and oh…there…”

a drizzling of caramel syrup brings
this all to a climactic finish!

“Ooh la la, Mr. Better Than Sex Cake,
I am breathless, you’ve outdone yourself!

My tender tastebuds are tingling!
I think I need…a tall glass of milk!”

A Note to the Avid Gourmet:
There are a few variations to this
recipe that include ingredients
such as vanilla cake mix and
pineapple…but in my humble
opinion, vanilla is well, vanilla
and pineapple is too sweet. I like
my cake dark, decadent, slightly
bitter, and smooth to the tongue.


NaPoWriMo 2023 Challenge Day Twenty-Nine: write your own two-part poem that focuses on a food or type of meal. At some point in the poem, describe the food or meal as if it were a specific kind of person. Give the food/meal at least one line of spoken dialogue.

everything in its place

everything in its place

she alphabetizes the books
in her small library nook
by title and category, and if
it applies, by author as well
with some shelves dedicated
to vinyl records, cds and dvd /
blu ray films, also sorted
accordingly; for good measure,
cataloged electronically on
spreadsheets that she keeps
on her phone, a ready reference
just in case, you never know…
you know?
with so much time and energy
devoted to caring for her collections
she barely has time to enjoy their
contents, to peruse her beautiful
book pages, or listen to a favorite
tune, or sit long enough to catch
a flick, start to finish, without
interruption or distraction…still,
she fancies herself organized
to a tee, because being so feels safe
and settled; helps erase the chaos
ping-ponging in her scattered brain;
things in their place keeps her sane
or at least implies as much;
a secret, her secret, hidden to
those who only judge books by
their covers, where eccentricity
is a gentler reality to madness


NaPoWriMo 2023 Challenge Day Twenty-Eight: write your own index poem. You could start with found language from an actual index, or you could invent an index, somewhat in the style of this poem by Kell Connor.

the buttercups of recollection

the buttercups of recollection

memories of my feral youth
flash like jiffy pop in my head
at the sight of buttercups in bloom
what wild little beasts we were
slamming the screen door on
our way to never land at dawn
small change in our pockets
to spend on penny candy, the
streetlights striking midnight
at dusk when all good brats
scurried back home before
turning into pumpkins, days
in the sunshine with dandelion
stem curls in our hair, the gritty
satisfying taste of mud, fashioning
queen Anne’s lace into bouquets,
collecting fossil rocks, garden
snakes in coffee tins, and pop
bottles to earn enough money,
50 cents, for a Saturday matinee
fearless, it’s a wonder any
of us survived considering how
cautiously we rear our progeny
in 21st century bubbles…once
upon a lifetime ago monsters hid
under our beds or in the closet
never dared to stalk us in daylight…
simpler times then, nights illuminated
by fireflies in pickle jars
buttercups glowing under our
chins to prove we liked butter
ringing round rosies like whirligigs
on a breeze, down, down…to ashes


NaPoWriMo 2023 Challenge Day Twenty/Seven: write your own poem titled “The ________ of ________,” where the first blank is a very particular kind of plant or animal, and the second blank is an abstract noun. The poem should contain at least one simile that plays on double meanings or otherwise doesn’t quite make “sense,” and describe things or beings from very different times or places as co-existing in the same space.

i am not what

i am not what

it’s biology. blood and
spit transport the slurry
of DNA that determines
what i am to the world,
pale, easily sunburned
skin, big arms and hands,
small breasts, and breeder’s
hips…that’s what my dad
called them…I made good
use of them too, squeezing
out several healthy
babies in my day…and
an aversion to cilantro
DNA…now when I look
in the mirror my eyes
look the same as in my
youth, blue, with the
same dashes of gray,
gray like the random
strands that pepper, or
is that salt, my blond
thinning curls, my body
softening, i’m older now,
and wiser, I think
wisdom, while hard-earned
is wasted on the old…
one look at me and you might
decide you know everything
you need to know about
who I am, but I am not
my DNA, my soul begs
to differ…confuse what
with who and you will
completely miss the who
standing in front of you
like a book, it is only
when you flip through the pages…
give it a try…you’ll see…
did you know? I write poetry


NaPoWriMo 2023 Challenge Day 26: write a portrait poem that focuses on or plays with the meaning of the subject’s name. This could be a self-portrait, a portrait of a family member or close friend, or even a portrait of a famous or historical person.

%d bloggers like this: