Tag Archives: challenge prompt



you entered
my heart,
you, to whom I am
bound like
a drunkard to wine
I begged
to be freed
from your kisses


A Blackout poem and digital artwork for Mind Love Miseries Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt inspired by the poem, The Vampire by Charles Baudelaire. (See below)

The Vampire

By Charles Baudelaire

You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,

To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
– Infamous bitch to whom I’m bound
Like the convict to his chain,

Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
– Accurst, accurst be you!

I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison
To give aid to my cowardice.

Alas! both poison and the knife
Contemptuously said to me:
“You do not deserve to be freed
From your accursed slavery,

Fool! – if from her domination
Our efforts could deliver you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The cadaver of your vampire!”

Published in 1857.

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.


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

no regret – NaPoWriMo #6

no regret

i don’t care to entertain
or name the what if only’s
wondering may well beget
regret, the past can’t own me


…and just for the sake of “if”, I’m resurrecting a free verse poem from the archives:


if you were brave
i could tell you who
i really am
jot my truths and epiphanies
like a grocery list
or like laundry, wet and
beleaguered hang
myself out to dry
it is troubling…normal
doesn’t fit my vocabulary
or my soul

call me lunatic
manic or insane but
i have noticed
the same wind catches
some leaves of grass
leaving others unmoved

kat 2001

For NaPoWriMo #6 Prompt: write a poem of the possible, a poem that emphasizes the power of “if,” of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world, I am trying a new form I found. The Awdl Gywydd, a Welsh form pronounced “ow-dull gee-youth” has the following rules:
• Four lines
• Seven syllables per line
• The final syllable of the first and third lines rhyme with the 3rd-5th syllable of the following lines
• The second and fourth lines rhyme and the a and c rhymes can slide a little. Here’s an example:

photographs – NaPoWriMo #4


my walls are covered with photographs
milestones of my life, of family
silly, happy smiles that make me laugh
precious moments, captured memories
if you visit you’ll notice them all
framed in glass, prominently displayed
in hopes their subjects might come to call
and know they’re with me every day
faded images, collecting dust
it’s been several years since they’ve been by
i’ve haunted  social media sites just
to see what’s new in their busy lives
time moves on, it’s memories that last
my walls are covered with photographs


A sonnet of sorts…rhyming with 14 lines in response to today NaPoWriMo Challenge Prompt: write your own sad poem, that achieves sadness through simplicity. Playing with the sonnet form may help you – its very compactness can compel you to be straightforward, using plain, small words.

Wouldn’t You? – NaPoWriMo #2


Wouldn’t You?

how can it be? fluffy clouds
swirling past my outstretched
arms, the sky so crystalline
blue, I’m squinting, cool breeze
tossing my hair, sun rays,
warm on my back…flying,
I’m not sure quite how, lost,
my aversion to heights, here,
to take in the sights, a bird’s
eye view, where the niggling
every day is blurred into
a beautiful sea of green and
blue, wet, shiny rooftops,
and the shimmer of leaves
topping the trees…floating,
soaring…bUgs IN My teETth,
tOO cloSe, toO CLosE to the SUN…


WHAT TIME IS IT? I’M LATE! shit, shit, SHIT! Glasses, where are my…
teeth, brush my teeth, take a piss, bad hair day, bad, bad, bad, damn alarm…
damn fucking alarm…

Need to text work, tell them I’ll be…
SICK, taking a sick day…phone on mute,
going back to my soft, warm bed, back,
back to my lovely dream, it’s the
only sensible thing to do, don’t you agree?
Wouldn’t you do the same if you were me?


NaPoWriMo #2 Prompt: To write a poem that similarly resists closure by ending on a question, inviting the reader to continue the process of reading (and, in some ways, writing) the poem even after the poem ends.


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