NaPoWriMo #25 - First Things First

I really hate this graphics project

"I really hate this graphics project,"

is what she said to me,

and though it's not in my nature,

I'm inclined to agree.

I don't feel like going,

there's nothing more to say,

but since the meeting's scheduled

I've got no choice today.

There are scant few minutes

til out the door I go

In those minutes I've written,

though it's not my best work, I know.

-----

Notes: Okay, I found out shortly after reading this prompt that I have to be at a meeting for a group project in a couple of minutes. (Meaning I have very little time to write this). Ironically, that means that the first thing I heard after the prompt was "I really hate this graphics project." So, this little poem/rant is an expression of my frustration.

Solar Eclipse

I remember you were a golden sun

with eyes that glistened bright like morning rain.

You were as wild as raging rivers run
once just as sweet and just as free of pain.

I remember I looked to you,

as adventurous sailors seek the stars
forever lost upon the ocean blue
or sitting drunk in weary seaside bars.

Now you have fallen, without any grace,
like a great bird with broken battered wings.
Your terrible, bloody, deceitful, face
now shows the plain and awful truth of things:
if you had really flown so very high,

the fall would certainly have made you die.

----

Notes: So, I wrote this sonnet a couple months ago. When I saw the today's NaPoWriMo prompt, I dug it up so that I could post it, because it suits the prompt perfectly. That being said, I did write a new hero poem (see below).

NaPoWriMo #15 - Carrying a tune

Ok... I think I should be upfront about this: I can't carry a tune to save my life. In other words, this cannot go well.

Their skin fit beautifully

It impacted her strikingly,

how their skin fit wonderfully.

She stared fretfully

thinking hers fit awfully.

Her eyes simply couldn't see

that her skin fit-- it was meant to be.

She'd fill out like a sapling tree

if only she would let it be.

NaPoWriMo #11 - The Thing You Didn't Choose

A Poem to You

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Since I walked away.

It's not a choice that I regret,

but it's made me different today.

You could have been my lover,

but it wasn't in the cards.

You were far too immature,

so the choice wasn't even hard.

I've never liked to compromise,

so when you asked me to choose

it was easier to walk away

than to walk a mile in your shoes.

As a result I'm alone,

without you by my side.

Free to do as I like,

but part of me has died.

NaPoWriMo #9 - Your Mission

For today's prompt, we had to write a poem that contained 12 words from a list, a bitter taste and a couple words from a poem that hadn't quite worked.

My twelve words were: flap, pail, jug, lever, octopus, marionette, rug, jam, limp, startle, bruise, walker. The poem that I took a chunk from was my response to Prompt #2, acronym.

On a side note, this is the longest poem I've written so far, and also the first one to rhyme.

How to Catch an Octopus

You'll need a pail of sardines

and some tuna jam

and a jug of sea greens

for if an emergency comes to hand.

Promise him a walker,

for every octopus longs to walk.

Slowly pull the lever,

tell him you want to talk.

Make sure he doesn't see the closing of the net.

Then raise him with a length of cord

til he dangles like a marionette

and let him struggle til you're bored.

Watch him in silence

as he flaps in the breeze.

But keep your distance,

for he has yet the strength to squeeze.

Don't startle the beast

or he'll ink

spewing black where you want it least

til it hurts to blink.

Don't be startled by his desperation

or his willingness to bruise.

There's no cause for admiration

of a creature who can't even wear shoes.

He'll never walk or even limp

or learn to cut a rug.

It's a wonder he's not extinct

when he's less capable than a bug.

Sell him to the market man

for a pocket full of change.

Then walk away, while you still can.

Don't look back til you're out of range.

Don't worry, the bitter taste is normal.

It's just the ink, nothing more.

You've done nothing abysmal.

You're no different than you were before.