My Late Start on National/Global Poetry Month

I didn’t get my usual notification and overlooked the start. I WILL be catching up. What follows explains what its all about and gives the Day 1 prompt

Na/GloPoWriMo is an annual challenge in which participants write a poem a day during the month of April. What do you need to do to participate? Just write a poem each day! If you fall behind, try to catch up, but don’t be too hard on yourself – the idea here is to expand your writing practice and engage with new ideas, not to stress yourself out. All too many poets, regardless of their level of experience, get blocked in their writing because they start editing even before they have written anything at all. Let’s leave the editing, criticizing, and stressing out for May and beyond! This month, the idea is just to get something on the page.

If you’ll be posting your efforts to a blog or other website, you can provide us with the link using our “Submit Your Site” form, and it will show up on our “Participants’ Sites” page. But if you’re not going to be posting your work, no worries! It’s not a requirement at all – again, all we’re really trying to do is encourage people to write.

To help with that, we’ll be providing some daily inspiration. Each day, we’ll be featuring a participant, providing you with an optional prompt, and giving you an extra poetry resource. This year, those resources will take the form of poetry-related videos.

And now, without further ado – let’s get to it!

Our first featured participant is Miss Ella’s House of Sleep, whose poem “Annie Edson Taylor’s Birthday Plunge,” used our early-bird prompt to explore a fascinating and little-known historical figure.

Our resource for the day is a short film of January Gill O’Neil reading (and acting out!) her poem “How to Make a Crab Cake.”

For our first (optional) prompt, let’s take our cue from O’Neil’s poem, and write poems that provide the reader with instructions on how to do something. It can be a sort of recipe, like O’Neil’s poem. Or you could try to play on the notorious unreliability of instructional manuals (if you’ve ever tried to put IKEA furniture together, you know what I mean). You could even write a dis-instruction poem, that tells the reader how not to do something.

Beauty

By the spinning of genes through the ages
no fate is ever the same.
Some receive beauty’s blessing.

I saw a boy at the bus stop
Oscar Wilde would have died for
that full sensual lip with a curve
and that nose, so defined,
and the girl with the sultry eyes
by the blue open door.
I was floored.
She’s the trace of a rose incarnate.
Where are such faces created?

Do angels fall down from above,
and are they gifted also with Love?
I think they’re not.

Sun-splash

we crossed the bridge
grey river
hard pavement
heavy bags
traffic
you nudged against me
laughing

and there it was
the sun splash!

bare cafe
formica tables
coffee tastes good enough
food just doesn’t matter
people chatting
you smile at me
that little light
in your eyes

and there it is
sun splash!

it can rain
it can pour
the wind can howl
the town can fall about my ears
i feel your warmth
close, so near
i don’t quite reach to take your hand

but there it is
sun splash!

everywhere
sun splash!

Juicy

I feel around your edges
until I find the entrance.
I sense your essential essence

Four words
spring to mind
”every kind of juice”

I am surprised.
Delighted and surprised.

Every kind of juice.
Sustenance sublime!

Slow Swing Sonnet

If I wouldn’t look like a stalker
I would follow this woman everywhere
Just for the pleasure of looking

Like a hot calypso
A summer rumba
The way she moves her body
Is a slow swing sensuous sonnet
Full of warmth and sunshine
Such grace in every gesture
And her face
Such a smile
It makes my heart race
Just thinking

I wouldn’t presume to pursue her
No more than I’d chase a breeze
but I’m caressed and soothed
by her passing

Reaching for Heaven

when people talk of desire
they speak of fire and heat
but a fire can be extinguished,
in itself it’s not complete

desire is the beginning
the waking of stronger powers
that sweeps you off your feet
and put a stop to time

only when you are mine
that power comes with a passion
far beyond ourselves
it pushes, it tears, it’s agony,
it’s joy, it’s free, it’s sweet,
it’s the urgent demand of life

when the wind comes down from heaven
and whirls true lovers up,
groaning and gasping,
flying,
upward,
through the longing stars,
they cling with desperation
there’s another dimension
to the grip of their grasping arms
until they fall together,
soft to their tumbled bed

you touch my beating heart
we can talk
or fall asleep
we know we are one whole part
i feel such tenderness
it’s then i can stroke your lovely skin
and cradle your gentle head

excite me, ignite me,
never needs to be said
the fire of desire will return
we’ll go to heaven again
by a slower, gentler path

Behind the Masks

I see you walk in the world,
but your life is a closed facade.
I see the face you wear,
the same one you wear every day.

Expressions sometimes change.
It’s basically all the same.
I hear your conversations,
polite and carefully restrained,
and the poses you’ve adopted
and the way you think you are.
We’ve all been conditioned that way.

So for god sake put on a mask,
a mask of your own creation.
Yes, wear that one.
Let your hair down.
Log into virtual reality
if that’s what it takes to be free.

Behind that mask you can hide.
It’s the way to express yourself.
I’ll never be your judge.
You can be that hidden creature
you truly want to be.
Become your avatar.

Your dream ambitions
will show your secret essence
and then, for better or worse,
we’ll know who you truly are
and,
at last,
you will know your self.

Dazzled

I look around
and see the life
that glows within
and shines about
from every place the sunlight falls
and I recall
the times before
my sight was dimmed
by crippling grief
and realise that I’ve been blind
to all the joys that once I saw.

I sense a sunrise in my heart.