Category Archives: free verse

like shooting stars

like shooting stars

soft as a whisper,
her sweet perfume
lingering in the air,
tosses wisps of my hair,
like a comet, bright,
breathtaking, for a brief
moment as she flits by,
i tilt my head to catch
the sound of her laugh,
avert my eyes when
she glances my way,
she’ll never know how
my heart flutters
when she is near...
it’s for the best,
i tell myself,
i’m not her
type anyway

~kat


NaPoWriMo2021 Day 6 Challenge:

Go to a book you love. Find a short line that strikes you. Make that line the title of your poem. Write a poem inspired by the line. Then, after you’ve finished, change the title completely.

You may notice the resulting poem is nothing at all like the book or the inspiring line. That is the beautiful irony of taking words or statements out of context, don’t you think?! 😉
The book I chose, one of my all-time favorites…

Old Turtle
Text by Douglas Wood
Watercolors by Chen’s-Khee Chee
and the text:
“sometimes i feel her breath as she blows by”

bananas for bananas

bananas for bananas

a banana is
the perfect fruit

ask anyone
and they’ll tell you

literally anyone...
what is it about bananas
and why are they so special

oh i can list a few reasons
how do i love thee, fair banana...

almost ripe, firm, smooth on the tongue,
a tinge of green, bittersweet

in smoothies, puddings and
in muffins and cakes and

quick breads (warm from the oven, sliced thick, slathered with fresh butter) too,
long, lean, and luscious, perfect

to eat raw, sliced or mashed,
to take along anywhere

already wrapped, delightful to peel
such a fine fruit...the banana

who wouldn’t love them

~kat
———————-
For NaPoWriMo2021 Challenge - Day 5: Find a poem, and then write a new poem that has the shape of the original, and in which every line starts with the first letter of the corresponding line in the original poem. I chose Rita Dove’s poem, “Flirtation” (see below).

Flirtation
BY RITA DOVE
After all, there’s no need
to say anything

at first. An orange, peeled
and quartered, flares

like a tulip on a wedgewood plate
Anything can happen.

Outside the sun
has rolled up her rugs

and night strewn salt
across the sky. My heart

is humming a tune
I haven’t heard in years!

Quiet’s cool flesh—
let’s sniff and eat it.

There are ways
to make of the moment

a topiary
so the pleasure’s in

walking through.

Rita Dove, “Flirtation” from Museum (Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1983). Copyright © 1983 by Rita Dove. Reprinted with the permission of the author.
Source: The Poetry Anthology 1912-2002 (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2002)



NaPoWriMo 2021 – Day 4 – promises, promises

photo courtesy of @SpaceLiminalBot
promises, promises

they never returned, even with faces
masked, big screens, media rooms and sound
bars had saved them from having to cram
themselves into uncomfortable seats, elbow
to elbow with strangers, potentially
dangerous, infested with deadly viruses
or worse, brandishing assault rifles,
the noisy demons in their heads begging
to be slaughtered in the bloodletting
of innocents...no, they weren’t going back.
renovations could not disinfect the crazy,
protect them from the madness, for they
had grown comfortable in their shelters,
unwilling to risk contact with deplorables, cult
crazed zombies, veins boiling with infection and hate...
it’s been years now, since these doors
were shuttered, renovations teased on
a tattered marquee, the people had long grown
weary of promises, promises impossible to keep

~kat

NaPoWriMo2021 - Day 4 Challenge: Select a photograph from the perpetually disconcerting @SpaceLiminalBot, and write a poem inspired by one of these odd, in-transition spaces.

				

head in the clouds

head in the clouds

the clouds fell to earth tonight
millions of water droplets swirled
around me as i walked, my flashlight
capturing their frenzied fluttering
white noise against a starless,
moonless sky, so this is how it
feels to have one’s head in the
clouds, dreamlike, catching tiny
water daubs on my skin and
the tips of my hair and eyelashes,
damp, chill, just me and the trees,
the crunch of gravel under my feet
and the peepers, awake from their
winter slumber, singing of spring

~kat

dead of winter

dead of winter

the trees have been silent lately but
for the occasional moan, pressed
to breaking by the wind; the sun,
choked by damp drear hasn’t shown
his face for weeks; all is gray but,
who am i to curse the day, to
loathe the rain that swells the creeks
and soaks the earth, kissing the
roots, the dormant seedling shoots
messy, messy life, muddy, red clay
paw prints on just mopped floors, no
matter, there are cool wet noses to
kiss and velvet ears to scratch, and a
book collecting dust on my nightstand,
it’s crisp pages longing to be caressed,
words upon beautiful words whispering,
the irony...giving voice to muted trees

~kat