dearest muse you’ve been so silent fill my head with sweet nothings to pour on the page ~kat
dearest kat you’ve been too busy there is no room in your head the page, left wanting ~muse
Still playing catch up. Today’s letters give a clue as to why! For NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 11 Prompt: Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a two-part poem, in the form of an exchange of letters. The first stanza (or part) should be in the form of a letter that you write either to yourself or to a famous fictional or historical person. The second part should be the letter you receive in response. These can be as short or long as you like, in the form of prose poems, or with line breaks – and of course, the subject matter of the letters is totally up to you.
i don’t remember when the world turned blue maybe it was when the post-it notes on the ‘frig lost their power to inspire me or perhaps it was when i stopped listening to the nameless portraits on the wall... aren’t they just voices in my own head after all, me trying to preserve my sanity is like using crazy glue to stop a dam from bursting i lost control of everything that late spring into summer into... the seasons are all a blur here behind closed doors, no hope left inside locked, the key tossed into the starry night, into the beautiful purple haze, that faded to grey, the darkness in my soul changing hue, to blue it’s all coming back to me now like loose change in my pocket i realize it’s the little things, things that i can’t forget
~kat
NaPoWriMo2021 - Day 10 Prompt: First, find a song with which you are familiar – it could be a favorite song of yours, or one that just evokes memories of your past. Listen to the song and take notes as you do, without overthinking it or worrying about your notes making sense. * Next, rifle through the objects in your junk drawer – or wherever you keep loose odds and ends that don’t have a place otherwise. (Mine contains picture-hanging wire, stamps, rubber bands, and two unfinished wooden spoons I started whittling four years ago after taking a spoon-making class). On a separate page from your song-notes page, write about the objects in the drawer, for as long as you care to. * Now, bring your two pages of notes together and write a poem that weaves together your ideas and observations from both pages.
the world is blooming life bursting from the deep buds to leaves while we sleep dreaming in green
~kat
For Tanka Tuesday...catching up this weekend! A short one-stanza Abhanga.
The Abhanga is: * stanzaic, written in any number of quatrains (4 line stanzas). * syllabic, 6/6/6/4 syllables each * rhymed L2 and L3 rhyme. Often internal rhyme is employed. End rhyme scheme x a a x , x being unrhymed.
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.
Hello dearies...it’s been a long dry spell, with only intermittent blips of light peeking through the dark of winter...and me taking time to breathe after holding my breath for so long. I have missed this place and you, and the Muse has been an elusive imp for several seasons now, giddy I suspect with the woods that surround my house and weary of my rote tiny existence behind these walls of COVID-induced shelter.
You may have heard. We had an election here in the US. Sanity won, but only by a heartbeat. The losers, sore and swift to cry foul, attempted a coup, failing, still loom, waiting for their golden god’s next marching orders. I am happy to say that I am learning to breathe again...big breath in...big breath out...my head filling again with words, tossing around and jumbled, ready for the picking. It feels good to be back...slowly but surely I am.
Sunday’s Long Overdue, Long-Winded ReVerse Poem - 4 April 2021
and me breathing... thank you dear strangers do not linger compassion prevailed their footprints in the dust long disbursed to the wind age of Aquarius dawning tick tock tick full cold moon on ice wash away the pain when the air swelled, when time shifted, words upon beautiful words whispering, the clouds fell to earth tonight it shouldn’t surprise us how you dance with the wind when tempests roar my weary bones need no persuading; liberated only in name bound in symmetry here on the brink only to be nipped now heartless, empty weary of promises, promises impossible to keep the irony of it not lost
~kat
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. I use it as a review of the previous week...or in this case, the past several months.
So it is easier for you to find all the parts/chapters of my ongoing fiction series, I created a new page that lists all the links. You can check it out HERE!
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kat Myrman and Like Mercury Colliding with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
