poetry writing challenge - day 30 (last day, sigh)

posted (challenge completed) but posting retracted.

poetry writing challenge - day 29

write a poem in which the title starts with the word 'never'


Never fall in love with technology

there are wires wrapped around my teeth
cords poking out of my sleeve
cables that tickle me
and trip me when I try to walk smoothly by

the male part and the female part
no longer have a compatible connection

the versions are different
this is upgraded, that not
the power cord lost
different systems
source unidentified

nothing reads me
syntax error
undefined error
error 16sFNB
can't play
missing information
connection not found

a technician will be with me in a moment
i am valued

please hold

me.
please hold




me.

poetry writing challenge - day 28

write a sestina. the form is:

choose six words: (words given, mostly, by my loyal reader)
wait, dash, cycle, feel, stumble, trumpet

Stanza 1
Line 1- (A)
Line 2- (B)
Line 3- (C)
Line 4- (D)
Line 5- (E)
Line 6- (F)

Stanza 2
Line 7- (F)
Line 8- (A)
Line 9- (E)
Line 10- (B)
Line 11- (D)
Line 12- (C)

Stanza 3
Line 13- (C)
Line 14- (F)
Line 15- (D)
Line 16- (A)
Line 17- (B)
Line 18- (E)

Stanza 4
Line 19- (E)
Line 20- (C)
Line 21- (B)
Line 22- (F)
Line 23- (A)
Line 24- (D)

Stanza 5
Line 25- (D)
Line 26- (E)
Line 27- (A)
Line 28- (C)
Line 29- (F)
Line 30- (B)

Stanza 6
Line 31- (B)
Line 32- (D)
Line 33- (F)
Line 34- (E)
Line 35- (C)
Line 36- (A)

Stanza 7
Line 37- (A), (B)
Line 38- (C), (D)
Line 39- (E), (F)


...

Bicycle River Race Sestina

I don’t even wait
I am out in a dash
On my bicycle
Rolling fast I feel
I will not stumble
The day starts like a trumpet

The air is golden – like the sound of a trumpet
Even the dazzled river doesn’t wait
The ground won’t let me stumble
Freshness dashes
through me. Rolling fast I feel
first, cold, churning the wheels of my bicycle

It is there on my bicycle
My triumph soon trumpets
My warming legs feel
a strengthening weight
And in the dash
I cannot stumble.

And up ahead a racer stumbles
just part of the cycle
hopes so quickly dashed
and in the distance, the ready trumpet
where people wait
and in anticipation feel

for me, for all of us, they feel
so much if we stumble
if we fall from our fast height. But, wait -
I become my bicycle
Heated, burning, racing the trumpet
And, for the end, make a dash

They all make a dash
No time even to feel
The crowd sings out like a trumpet
Riders, too crowded to stumble
Bicycle next to bicycle
The crowd awaits

Don’t wait, dash, dash!
In a crush of bicycles, I know more than feel
I won’t stumble, but sail first and fast under the sound of the trumpet.

poetry writing challenge - day 27

write a poem of longing.


Old House Kitchen

each word is like a steel ball
dropped in a steel bucket
rolling
empty echoes
they have nothing to do with you.

i could begin by seeing, describing
the kitchen
how that drawer pulled out
and dropped off its tracks
and it would have nothing to do
with you

or the banana peel i put now
fraudulently in the trash
that doesn't exist
that i make up thinking
i could make you up too
or at least your shoes
blue summer shoes
kicked off on the old brick floor

steel ball in a bucket
nothing but circling echoes.
the walls blasted out
the staircase
folded like an accordian

the four wooden steps where we'd sit
in our long warm sleeping shirts
with coffee
and look at Callie, the tree,
misted in the Long Island autumn damp
a little girl by our side
a little bird hopping

the pantry one step down where you kept
everything you needed
to feed us and make us happy.

rich and blessed life.

east wall
west wall
first ceiling
second ceiling
rubble fallen on a handwritten song

brick floor, copper pot, double stove
dripping water, dish drainer, cereal box, cup
full of spoons, hurricane lamps, door latch that lifted
rhododendrons and wet pavers outside
and I would go to the car to get the bag
with flour and yeast and cheeses and i would bring them back

hurry hurry
(fog in my hair) back just to
stand next to you

to stir
the sound of your laughter
into the mix

to move the spoon
as best as I could
in steady,
even
circles.

poetry writing challenge - day 26

write about a miscommunication of come kind.

I'm going to take the low road on this one.

No, slice. Slice!

Honey,
Can you cut the salami
and the cheese?