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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)



a good ending

a good ending

peeper chirps muted
by mist hov’ring o’er the stream
twilight’s serenade

crimson streams of daylight fading
moon ascending the eastern sky
we bid another day goodbye
my weary bones need no persuading;
sleepy, I am quickly fading
’twas another amazing day
filled with blessings, hard work and play
with bits of kindness, love, romance
someone to share it with, to dance
in warm embrace, to slowly sway

now I lay me down
in the stillness of the gloam
to your breath purring

~kat

For Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge – prompt words Chirp (Purr) & Twilight (Gloam) an opening and ending haiku, combined with the Weekly Décima Challenge, prompt word Dance – D line Rhyme.

The Traditional Décima Poem

Décima poetry is a 10 line stanza with 8 syllables per line. The rhyming pattern is abbaaccddc. Using the 10 lines there are generally two ways to organize: The 10 lines, or breaking the 10 lines into two stanzas using abba/accddc.

The abba/accddc requires either a period or semicolon after the fourth line break.


mere mortals

mere mortals

it shouldn’t surprise us
how nonchalantly death
steals away our breath
in just a blink
without considering
that we have things to do
life to live, we’re not through
no death don’t care
the cruel fact of it is
when it’s your time to go
you can bet death will show
ready or not
immortality’s not
for mere mortals like us
just accept it, don’t fuss
enjoy the ride

~kat

For Tanka Tuesday’s Theme Prompt this week: “Immortality”, the Abhanga, which 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.

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

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