For Day 27, the prompt is to write a poem in the form of a review of something not normally reviewed such as a mother-in-law, the moon, or the year 2020…I went for me, the prodigal in need of forgiveness :) \\\* Offends seventy times seven times but returns for forgiveness. Me
For Day 26, on which the prompt is to write a poem based on your answers to an ‘almanac questionnaire’. \\\* I reach out to the sun to quell this longing to be free to feel its warmth on my face like the trees do, stark against the blue skies. The same way the grape hyacinths, teased out by the sense of spring grow out, adding colour to the gaudy box I now call home. The childhood dream was to run free to revel in the clouds of red earth my feet stirred, but fear has me penned in. Hope lingers here. and freedom too.
Off prompt today: \\\* Each night when the day begins to fade into the next I find myself slipping into the haziness of sleep. But the remains to the day fester, rising up from the innards of my mind into the reality of dreams.I reach for rest but find I am worn.
The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 24 is to write about a particular fruit, describing it as closely as possible. Here goes, for the delights of a banana. \\\* Nothing delights a tired tongue on a hot summer day like a banana, the rush of sugar it gifts to the blood like salve on burnt skin. Joy hides beneath its skin and in each bite salvation.
For Day 23 of NaPoWriMo 2020, the challenge is to write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or perhaps, the letters that form a short word. Y(Why) comes to mind. \\\* He rests in the shadows of the night his hands like a “Y”, raised in the exasperation of not knowing. Why? Why does day follow night? Why is the quiet of first light ripped to shreds by the blinding light of the noon day sun? Why does pain persist? Is it the messenger of healing or its foe which we feel as it is driven off?
Day Twenty-Two, for which the NaPoWriMo.net prompt is to find an idiomatic phrase from a different language or culture, and use it as the jumping-off point for your poem. Something about the Kazakh idiom Сенің арқаңда күн көріп жүрмін (I see the sun on your back) which means “Thank you for being you. I am alive because of your help” seemed particularly apt for the times in which we live. Sourced from this list on the TED Blog. ...
The Day 21 prompt is to find a poem in a language that you don’t know and perform a “homophonic translation” on it. I’ve chosen the first stanza of Mbuyiseni Oswald Mtshali’s Umalasi Nomhlambi Wakhe (The Shepherd and His Flock). Doesn’t make sense but.. *insert shrug* \\\* I miss being yellow with anger if Anna never sends chillies. I am callow, seasick with a broken mala. My scent attacked Ursa; I see from back here. ...
Today’s theme is gratitude, with the prompt being to write a poem about a handmade or homemade gift that you have received. Whilst out on a run today I noticed an artist had painted a thank you to the NHS. Here goes: \\\* For the things the few give the many: Life, Time, Breath. Heartfelt gratitude.
Today’s prompt is to write a poem based on collected things which reminded me of a picture I took a few weeks ago in the middle of packing up my house ahead of a move abroad which is now on hold thanks to the CV-19 induced shutdown. \\\* I am finding lost joy in found things, each object saved from the detritus of a past life, a reminder to remember, to imagine again past seasons of loving and of losing. Of losing oneself in the delight of being, and feeling. Each page revisited is a present from the past to the present, a tribute to the loves that once lived here.
For Day 18 of NaPoWriMo this year, the prompt is to write an ode to life’s small pleasures. My first cup of coffee of the day is one of those for me. Loosely inspired by what is becoming one of my favourite poems, Wendell Berry’s The Peace of Wild Things. \\\* When the darkness of night lifts and I awake to the dreariness of existing in this place, forgetting where Yesterday ends and Today begins to slip into Tomorrow, I reach for this worn mug, its stained sides and chipped edges reassuring in their durability. At first light I lose myself to the muscle memory of returning and find joy in small sips.