The Closet, NaPoWriMo

spring cleaning,

of a sort—perhaps–

objects that

beget the

remembrance, past events, some

forgotten, we smile

 

at the old

report cards, boxes

of them and

school projects–

you kept them through all the moves–

holding our childhoods

 

long after

we’d outgrown them, but

there it is–

a lunchbox–

a small book I made for you,

in a school art class,

 

there my first

published book, you stamped

it with your

name, assigned

it to classes, proud father

storing books and dreams,

 

phases of

our lives sharing space

with antiques.

Ming vases

once held living flowers, but

all things turn to dust–

 

we vacuum

the closet, and close

the door, laugh

so much junk!

Though I understand wanting

to hoard memories

 

 

Today, Day 18 of NaPoWriMo, we’re challenged to write an elegy “one in which the abstraction of sadness is communicated not through abstract words, but physical detail.”  This is written in a series of shadorma stanzas. I couldn’t get this poem started until I remembered my sisters and I cleaning out the big storage closet in my dad’s last apartment. He died over twenty years ago in May.

I’m also linking this to Open Link Night at dVerse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The In-Between, NaPoWriMo

Whitall House, Red Bank Battlefield, National Park, NJ  Merril D. Smith 2019

I’ve wandered here

two hundred years, or more?

Long ago I lay wounded—

becalmed for seconds?

Hours? Days?

Other men, babble-tongued

around me,

the same red blood

flowing from us all.

 

I thought—

what did I think?

An adventure? A duty?

I’d return to marry my sweetheart.

I had one once.

 

The living don’t see me

as I drift past–

though once a child stared

bowl-eyed in my direction.

The vixen cocks her ears

and shields her pups

when I pass,

while the crow calls a greeting.

 

There are others here,

more ancient that I,

they seem a part of earth

and trees–

but I cry silent tears

as the owl hoots,

rising moon-driven.

 

Day 17, NaPoWriMo asks us “to write a poem that similarly presents a scene from an unusual point of view.”  The park in my town was the location of the Battle of Red Bank on October 22, 1777. I’m not certain I believe in ghosts, but I also don’t not believe. If anyplace is haunted, it would be a battlefield, I think. If you want more info, I found this article by the historian who now oversees the house and park.

 

 

Hear Me, I’m Here, NaPoWriMo

 

Here! He cries,

Here I am, me.

Hear me, he sings

then Cardinal takes wing.

 

See me, in wind she winds

and calls. Caw! Caw!

See me, in wind she whirls,

glides in a sea-misted twirl.

 

They’re there, then go,

their feathers glistening–

while I stand here, then there,

watching and listening.

 

For Day 14, NaPoWriMo. I’ve incorporated some homonyms. I’m tired today, but I was determined to write something.

 

 

 

This Life, NaPoWriMo

William Heritage Winery

This life, dull

as it seems, without

flashy cars

or jazzy

toys, expensive vacations

to island beaches–

 

still, it’s mine

loved for its loving,

family,

husband, and

children, friends, the poetry

found in moon and stars,

 

in sunshine

moments of cat purrs–

wine kisses,

coffee and

talk, a movie, and a walk

into the sunset.

 

This life, dull

only to others,

but to me

contentment

(most of the time). Yes, worries,

but still, I’m dancing. . .

into the sunset.

 

 

Today, Day 12, NaPoWriMo, challenges us “to write a poem about a dull thing that you own, and why (and how) you love it.”  Another shadorma train and more lists.

 

 

 

 

 

Origins, NaPoWriMo

Franz_Marc,_Blaues_Pferd_II,_1911

Franz Marc, “Blue Horse,” 1911, [Public Domain] via Wikipedia Commons

When the stars

exploded, diamond

dust scattered

sparkling grains,

spindrift of night seas, and here

they planted themselves

 

in dream worlds,

I see shadow ifs

the before,

the after,

shadow seas and blue horses

places known, maybe

 

we swam in

oceans, we lived in

caves, and trees

sheltered us. And now? We seek

new stars. The moon hums

 

in comfort,

a warning of what

might be if–

or when–

we return to the starlight,

sailing cosmic seas

 

Today, Day 11 of NaPoWriMo asks us to write an origin poem. I decided to go way back. Kerfe inspired me with her shadorma sequence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Butterfly Effect: A Variation, NaPoWriMo

Pond beside Multiplex, Voorhees, NJ--Merril D. Smith 2019

“’Cat’s paw’ is the weather term of the day. It is a light breeze affecting a small area, such as would cause a patch of ripples on the surface of a still water surface.”

–US National Weather Service, Nashville, TN, Feb. 5, 2014

Cat’s paw breeze tickles

the water ripples,

sighs in a reflective purr.

 

The goose quivers in delight

on the water ripples

honks to her mate, in flight

 

he answers from above

the water ripples,

then settles by his love.

 

Crow hears their squawks

from the water ripples,

caws from his perch on the rocks.

 

The sound carries for miles

beyond the water ripples

to where the mockingbird smiles,

 

and from up in a tree

far beyond the water ripples

he sings of hearts soaring free

 

in cat paw tickles

water ripples trickling

sighs, caws, purrs, and cries

 

And I open the window–

on a catercorner breeze

to listen to his reprise.

 

The NaPoWriMo, Day 10 prompt is to write “a poem that starts from a regional phrase, particularly one to describe a weather phenomenon.” I don’t know what region “cat’s paw breeze” comes from, but I love it. The poem evolved because yesterday afternoon, I listened to a mockingbird put on a long concert that included the calls of other birds.