i. Coffee is ordered. Cappuccino is brought; drink lost in translation. ii. Mosquito trying to bite; I am attempting haiku. We both fail. iii. Atlantic trade winds Nblow through just shampooed Afro: Air dried natural.
NaPoWriMo 2017: #14
4:30 A.M. in Condado, Puerto Rico In the waking darkness diagonal sheets of wet music fall, each drop a quiet cacophony replaying the previous day: the barking of ownerless dogs the stop and go rush of cars, the ubiquitous tradewinds pushing pedestrians forward; conversations of natives and tourists a spoken double helix of languages; and … Continue reading
NaPoWriMo 2017: #13 (a clerihew)
Obama Barack Obama questions of his birth caused drama just like his idea of universal healthcare Time for a new, better President– buyer beware.
NaPoWriMo 2017: #12 (an enigma)
Education’s enigma The bastard child of compassion and love adopted and raised by sorrow and anger, living in the crimson clotted pens of teachers tattooing grades upon underwhelming pages; it grows in the souls of students; the confused color of “can’t”, it feeds upon directions given, but ignored. It is the hobgoblin, haunting parents who … Continue reading
NaPoWriMo 2017: #11 (a portrait poem)
Toddler He is anything except still life a swirled palette of truck noises animal sounds, tearless cries, and running, jumping laughter. He is a gap toothed, carefree exclamation mark, pointing food stained fingers tugging on sleeves, giving free hugs to knees spit infused kisses to cheeks and seeking answers for endless questions; he paints himself … Continue reading
NaPoWriMo 2017: #10 (3 Haiku)
i. Words are heard; arms, legs, hair move in one rhythm. Her body is the poem. ii. Wide eyes, open mouths: suburban stillness, unnerves inner city kids. iii. Beige window shades sway; sounds of approaching sirens blow through the classroom.
NaPoWriMo 2017: #9 (a nine line poem)
The Haircut In one hand I hold his head, steady; in the other, clippers the electric buzzing of hornets cutting through curls, tight, comb resistant, and black; falling like woolen tears, until it’s done. Years later, I hope, he will not remember this, or that I took too much off the sides.
NaPoWriMo 2017: #8 (a poem with repetiton)
No Child of God… No child of God should ever suffer such horror– of being the innocent bull’s-eyes at which chemical weapons are aimed. No child of God should ever suffer such horror— of being the dead, dust-covered targets at which TV cameras are trained. No child of God should ever suffer such horror— of … Continue reading
NaPoWriMo 2017: #7 (a fortuitous poem)
Lost & Found. The kitchen towel draped over shoulder, swaying to the rhythm of a whisk, bobbing to the beat of a spatula; the towel is there, neither for sweat nor the quick drying of working hands but as a reminder, of loss of the father who wore a similar towel, draped over the same … Continue reading
NaPoWriMo 2017: #6 (a found poem)
After work days have dragged obstinate feet through the week and the calendar has burned itself upon a paper pyre like a five day phoenix we dig ourselves from the ashes and climb out of lukewarm graves; casting aside funeral clothes, we alter our inflexible code of “To do lists” and deadlines, and become each … Continue reading
