Tag Archives: writing practice

Day 7 poem, Fall WriMo 2016

This poem formed during the wee hours this morning, in a wakeful moment between sleep cycles. The words arranged themselves as I spoke them in my mind, and I desperately hoped, as I slipped back under, that I would remember them. I’m not certain I did, but this is a fair approximation.

arborial dreams

in sleep, our fingers still curl
as if encircling a branch
and our hands clench, gripping
as though our lives
depend on it, which they did once
upon a distant ancestor


Day twenty-one poem, LexPoMo 2016

LexPoMo2016aFor some reason, I completely forgot to post yesterday’s poem. The prompt was “synchronized.”

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.


like clockwork, the orange
mackerel tabby leaps on the bed,
walks on my head, and I know
it is six a.m., sure as if she’d been
wound and set the night before

Day twenty poem: LexPoMo 2016

LexPoMo2016aThe poem inspired by today’s prompt (clock wise) is a rather flippant, but I think there’s something a little dark and sad beneath the surface.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Borrowed time comes due

she used to set
the minute hand ahead just enough
to keep her on time when she ran late

now she turns
her face to the wall, covered by both hands
to hide how much time has passed

Day nineteen poem: LexPoMo 2016

LexPoMo2016aClearly I’ve been bitten by the silliness bug. The prompt for today’s poem was “glue stick.”

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Adhesive evolution

after bottles and pots
and paddles and jars
and brushes and guns
and tubes, glue has finally
found the form it was always
meant to take:


Day eighteen poem: LexPoMo

LexPoMo2016aI went off-prompt today because something silly tickled my fancy instead.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Unusual beauty

She has vampire toes
pale, slender, and preternaturally agile
with dark red nails, wet and shiny
as fresh-spilled blood

She has vampire palms
smooth, without past or future
to map in lines, only the arches
and loops of an endless now

She has a vampire smile
expressing neither guile nor truth
empty of meaning and free
to carry whatever prey may desire

Day seventeen poem: LexPoMo

LexPoMo2016aThe prompt for today’s poem was “an agreement.”

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Arranged marriage

they had an agreement to never evacuate
upstream from their shared habitation

to conduct any tawdry business
in distant jurisdictions

and hunt as far afield as possible
from their home territory

they remained together quite happily
so long as both could travel

but as their circles tightened
over time, with age and infirmity

they obstinately fouled the nest
and sat defiant in mutual excrement

Day sixteen poem: LexPoMo

LexPoMo2016aToday’s prompt was “text message,” and something popped out at me in some text I was reading this morning. Found poetry adapted from a passage in Chapter XXXVI of Adam Bede, by George Eliot.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

The journey

The next morning she rose early and set out
walking the road towards Ashby under a leaden
sky with a narrowing streak of yellow
like a departing hope on the edge of the horizon.

It had not yet occurred to her that she might get money
for locket and earrings, and she applied all her small
knowledge calculating how many meals and rides were contained
in two guineas and the odd shillings, which had a melancholy
look of pale ashes to the other bright-flaming coins.

Days ten through fifteen: LexPoMo

LexPoMo2016aI was without internet access for several days, so these poems didn’t get posted to the Lexington Poetry Month blog. But in keeping with my promise to myself this month, I’m posting them here in a block.

Day ten prompt: blinking light


Criminy! Turn off the blinkin’ light, will ya? Geez, it’s the middle
of the night, already. Some of us have to get up
in the morning.
Where were ya, anyway? Out with that
Maurice or one of his friends? Hey, I can ask,
can’t I? I gotta right.
What’s it to me? A fella gets woke up like this
gotta right to ask questions. If ya’ don’t like it, next time
don’t turn on the blinkin’ light.

Day eleven prompt: charging


He has a reputation for running up debts she cannot pay
Too easily he sees red and lunges headlong at anything that moves
Something restless in his blood calls out to her worst judgment
She feeds off the energy of his palpable buzz

Day twelve prompt: sheep


All we need
is a little direction

All we want
is green pasture and still water

All we like
is to do what we please

All we have
is you

Day thirteen prompt: plan


I’m sitting out on the deck, trying to enjoy the lovely morning (bird song, light breeze, etc.). Someone is doing yard work on the next street, and they’ve been using something with an obnoxious gas motor for more than an hour. Except for when I’m mowing the lawn (which I’d frankly rather do with a non-motorized push mower, but that’s a topic for another day), one of the major benefits of yard work is the peacefulness of it. I don’t really see the point of spending so much outdoor time using a machine so noisy I have to wear headgear to protect my hearing. And the electric gadgets are bad enough; the gas-powered ones are a downright public nuisance.

Enough rant for now. I think I’ll go check my sprinkler out front.

Day fourteen prompt: beer goggles

Grasping at straws

It goggles the rind – that thick protective
layer of flesh (to cushion against impact)
encased in a slightly tougher skin (to control
moisture loss) – how such bizarre writing
prompts come about. I think perhaps
beer (or the consumption in great quantities
thereof) is somehow involved.

Day fifteen prompt: utilities

Pithy musing

utility is but
from futility


Day nine poem: LexPoMo

LexPoMo2016aYesterday’s prompt (computer bag) tumbled around in my head all day without much result. (Hence no post.) But when I tossed today’s prompt (drop dead) into the mix, the two stuck together in a weird way that caught my fancy.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Color saturation

The computer bag drops dead
in the center of the room. The lizard man
who brought it here is tired; there are dark
scales under his eyes. He doesn’t quite blend
with the wallpaper, a cartoonish crazy
quilt of flowers in shocking hues.

No wonder he is tired.

Day seven poem: LexPoMo

LexPoMo2016aThe prompt became the title of the poem. I usually avoid doing that, but it just seemed to work best in this case.

Reblogged from the Lexington Poetry Month blog.

Please call…

Her voice echoes down the line, no further
than London but it might as well be

England: he will not answer when he sees her
number in the caller ID, will not pick up

the phone to dial his childhood
home. She waits and hopes, withering

each time the phone rings and he
is not on the other end.