Napowrimo2020

The prompt for today is to write a ‘concrete’ poem, one whose words and space are organised to reflect the theme of the poem. I went with the theme of a prayer and a perfect day. If you squint hard enough, you’ll see the shape is reminiscent of hands folded in prayer :) \\\* First, awake to the sounds of birds chirping, the lilt of their spring song reminding you of rebirth. Kneel in quiet contemplation- yield to the embrace of the rising sun, let its light call out to the prayer lurking in the dark places of your tired heart. When morning morphs into the heat of high noon, cherish the beauty of the cherry blossoms pink against the skies, and when the day slowly slides into the bosom of the night, offer up a libation of red wine for deliverance from today’s troubles. Tomorrow comes tomorrow but till then revel in your perfect day.

The prompt for today is to utilise a line or phrase from a twitter poetry bot as a jumping off point for a poem. I went with this from a Richard Siken poetry bot. Here goes: \\\* We know who our enemies are - they are us. They are the memories of yesterdays bubbling up, straining against the resolve of today to begin again.

Today’s National Poetry Writing Month prompt asks us to use a news headline as a jumping off point. I chose to go with the one about the chap giving up solid food (and subsisting on beer only) for Lent this year. Enjoy: ** The body aches for absolution, for forgiveness and release from the weight around my waist, this man born by past seasons of surfeiting. So I offer this, a libation of liquid to quell the sounds of my inner monologue.

Off prompt today… \\\* You have taken seven years to get here each one a memory lodged deep in the space between the hunger of anticipation and the malaise of hope deferred. Now as I hold you in my hands, and see you, frail yet strong, you are Mother returned. I call you Aoife, for you have brought beauty to our broken places

For Day 5 of National Poetry Writing Month, the prompt is to write something aligned with “Twenty Little Poetry Projects,” originally developed by Jim Simmerman. Here goes (very loosely interpreted): \\\* The sun parts the curtain of the night its light like a knife cutting through the crust of bleary eyes. In its wake comes the sound of birds waking - a mellifluous melody and tribute to the muscle memory of the cycle of life and time. ...

For national Poetry Month day 4. The prompt for the day asked to write a poem based on an image from a dream. I chose to go with dreams as a genre of mental experience.. Here goes. \\\* What if a dream is the whisper of God, his touch, light on the shoulder feather-like, a word in the ear of the worn and the weary: Come drink, fill yourself with this water? ...

For Day 3 of National Poetry Writing Month. Today’s prompt is to make a list of ten words, and use Rhymezone to build a bank of words for use in a poem.. Here goes. \\\* Without a care the sparrow flits between the trees oblivious of the need to fret for bread or bed but returns each day to its nest, its place of rest from the coming and the going - from first light to the gloaming - and the cycling of the seasons as they decay; birth and death, being and becoming. ...

Place, for NaPoWriMo2020 Day 2, the prompt being to write a poem about a place. My old house on the corner of 3rd and 39th with its stubborn grass and red earth came to mind. I miss it! \\\* I carry your memories in my heart, the bright tint of your red earth whipped to fine dust by the Harmattan wind, the whistle of your tall pines, the smell of your freshly cut grass in the aftermath of mowing. I remember the sound of cocks crowing the call of the muezzin, piercing the morning air like a knife and cherish the memories of small things, of peace, of beauty and of simple days.

And so in the midst of all that’s broken in the world, its Day One of National Poetry Writing Month for 2020. Today’s prompt is to write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life. My choice is life as peeling onions. \\\* When it all falls apart, like a ball of yarn slowly unravelling, the wind whispers in my ear: this is how life is, an onion, complex in its layers each hiding and being hidden, drawing tears as its juices released in a flash rise. In the stinging we remember the promise of savoury things where in the present bland things lie.