Category Archives: Prose Poem

A Dinner Date Dilemma


A Dinner Date Dilemma

“Darling, dinner’s at 8,” George called to his wife of twenty-two years, we don’t want to be late.”

“Almost ready,” she winked, sashaying by, “I couldn’t resist, was on sale, what you think?”

As he glanced at his watch, George thought to himself, ‘Don’t say it Rita….please don’t…there she goes!’

“Does it make me look fat?” Rita blurted, fluttering her lashes while striking a pose.

Any gentleman will tell you it’s a no win situation… a trap that few escape unscathed!

“I love the color Rita; how it brings out your eyes, it’s new you say? And your hair…like it swept off your beautiful face in that way. Always love that perfume how it wafts through the room…”

“Geooorrrge…!”

“Are those new shoes? I hope they’re comfortable. Can’t have them pinching your toes while we dance, come now, let’s go.”

Rita shifted her pose, tapped her foot on the floor, and side-eyed this lovely man she adored. “You didn’t answer my question…!”

George squirmed, ‘oh hell,’ he thought. “Well…”

“Shhhhhushh, Georgie stop. Don’t answer me that, of course I look fat, no dress can hide that!”

Rita rushed to his side, kissed his shiny bald head. “I love you,” she said.

“And I love you Rita, my beautiful girl,” George smiled, “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.“

~kat

Day One NaPoWriMo 2022 - The idea is to write your own prose poem that, whatever title you choose to give it, is a story about the body. The poem should contain an encounter between two people, some spoken language, and at least one crisp visual image.

mind blown – NaPoWriMo #8

mind blown

I don’t believe I knew what “brrrblubbbballlloooobalub” meant when I was new and my vocabulary was nonexistent, but I’m guessing I liked it all the same, smiling at my parents’ funny faces when they said it… I don’t believe they understood what it meant either, but it stopped me from crying, so they said it again and again…and again. They didn’t understand a lot of things those early years, as they grew up with me and learned about parenting, trial and error being key…somehow I survived barely, moving on and out before they lost their minds…you think I’m kidding… I should have said, before my father put a bullet between his eyes and my mother destroyed her body with years of drug abuse and doctor tripping…too much?

What I meant to say is that I have a pretty good idea how not to lose oneself to oblivion, not because I’m any less neurotic than my parents…I’m afraid my genes are laced with lunacy…but I have tried to learn from their mistakes, spent decades vomiting words to therapists (with an “s” because it takes time to find the right one who is not a bible-thumping, name it, claim it, pray the demon out of you, zealot), gotten the right mix, the perfect recipe, for my anti-depressive cocktail of pharmaceuticals, legal, of course, and I have tried to be good, to be kind, to be a good listener, to be a helper, but not a doormat, and to learn to say no, to learn to trust, to let myself love another person, and to give myself permission to walk away from anyone or thing that feels wrong…it has taken me a long time to figure out I’m okay…

sometimes I let out a roudy brrblubbbballlloooobalub when no one is listening just to feel the rush of joy that bubbles up inside me, centering me in the moment, so I can breathe in and out and smile. I think I’m starting to understand what that silly gibberish means after all these years. Absolutely nothing, of course and that is okay…that is okay.

~kat

A prose poem for NaPoWriMo 2019 #9 Prompt – Write your own Sei Shonagon-style list of “things.”


You Shoulda Been There – NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 28

Forgive me for not saying goodbye this time. I tried to tell you, nagging, you called it, but you can’t say I didn’t say it a thousand times, our conversations devolving from engaging discussions about the mystery of us, to heated one-sided rants that were less about uncapped toothpaste tubes, more about the mystery of us, shattered. You know I already said goodbye, you do, screaming it at the top of my lungs, and sometimes in whispers, muttered under my heated breath, I’ll give you that, but the truth is, you stopped listening…and so there is this, a postcard from the edge. I’m not sorry you’re not here, don’t miss me, not that you will, now that I’m gone…I promise not to write.

~kat

For NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 28, Prompt: draft a prose poem in the form/style of a postcard. Pictured, is an actual vintage postcard from Palo Alto, California. I added the caption. And the sign, as suggested by my friend Peter at Peter’s Pondering. 😉 I wasn’t sure how to pull off a proper prose poem, so I started with a free verse and then eliminated the line-breaks. At any rate, I loved this bizarre postcard and imagining who might send it!