always wanted to retire on an island, not exactly what i had in mind but gotta give it to this place, if disappearing is the goal, it fits the bill, it’s a bit crowded and noisy, but the city gave me my own four walls, a fine pine box actually, kinda’ reminds me of my first apartment, damn, but we were cramped in that place, walls thin as paper, no room to move, the family packed in like sardines, like this place where they stack us three deep...some of the locals say this place has been around for 150 years, there’s folks here from 1918, the Spanish Flu, from that Aids Crisis, and Yellow Fever, this place has some history, more than a million souls rest here they say and now me, plopped here like a time capsule from 2020, from COVID-19, whose time ran out, a day past two weeks sprung from the morgue to make room for more folks with no one to claim ‘em, not that i don’t have nobody, my people, they live out of state, and i didn’t tell ‘em i was sick, didn’t want to worry ‘em, you know humph, wonder how long it will take ‘em to miss me, maybe they’ll find me, maybe not, doesn’t matter much now, peace out as they say and hey, wear a mask
~kat
For NaPoWriMo2021 Day 8 Prompt: Today, I’d like to challenge you to read a few of the poems from Spoon River Anthology, and then write your own poem in the form of a monologue delivered by someone who is dead. My subject is inspired by the Potter’s Field on Harts Island in NYC, now being used to bury the unclaimed victims of COVID-19. Read this NY Times article.
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
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”
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.
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.
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
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!
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like mercury colliding... 