or is it napowrimo #18? i’m horrible at math. 
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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a short one. something told me to add more to it would be to venture too far down already well-worn paths. the heartache sagas. this way, ending here, leaves stark the fact that she’s longing. it’s a good excuse for letting the draft go, anyway.
be sure to visit our last napowrimo party at read write poem today!
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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we have a pet robin. that’s what the kids say, anyway. i remind them again and again that she is a wild animal. this is the third year she has built a nest three feet from our front door. we rejoice the first day we notice the eggs (today). four the first two years. three this year.
it’s incredible when they hatch, homely, trembling, purple eyelids bulging, yellow beaks wide and hungry. they grow so quickly. last year, i was lucky enough to watch as two of them left the nest.
we have many hawks here, and one of them is very comfortable getting close to the house. he watches the nest as closely as we do. last year, i think he got one or two of the babies. but that’s what hawks do (although i did shoo him away once or twice).
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although this isn’t based on a specific prompt, you should go see what’s up with the prompts and poems at read write poem. many many many of the napowrimo people are still going!
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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don’t forget to visit the other napowrimo-ers at read write poem!
i’m so far behind, i think i’m ahead.
most of you know i have a pretty darn good excuse for taking myself out of the running for the napowrimo goddess crown (the object of this whole writing extravaganza is to be recipient of the diamond tiara, right?). for now, while it’s still april, i’ll identify my poems by their napowrimo number. it’s how i’m going to cheer the rest of you on. it’s how i’m going to get back into writing after the hiatus. it’s how i’m going to get away with calling crappy drafts “poems” for a few more days.
this piece is inspired by a true story. a piece of my morning. angelina jolie is here, in little ol’ albany, filming a movie. they’ve closed down one of our bridges — the one between jill and me, the one my narrator jumped off in a poem late this winter — to accommodate the crew shooting scenes. it presents a great challenge to me to get most anywhere when this bridge is closed. the other bridges over the hudson are miles away. i spent some of my day driving out of my way.
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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go see what everyone else has been writing about over at read write poem!
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
sometimes, i lament the fact that i feel unsettled, unfit, unwelcome, out-of-place and out-of-sorts nearly everywhere. today, however, i’m feeling grateful that i know one place i belong. even though i don’t know why or how, my place — the place that always makes me feel like myself — is ogunquit beach in maine. there are other beaches that look a lot like it. there are beaches that are warmer (last evening, it was in the 30s with a ferocious wind). there are beaches that are more private. there are beaches all around. but this is the one. this is the spot. i don’t question it; i allow it.
i go there whenever i can, even if it’s Read the rest of this entry »
i resort to list poems a lot when i’m under pressure, like napowrimo pressure, for example. i’ll home saturday (today), writing and cleaning, instead of at the poetry festival in saratoga. but it’s ok. it would have been too stressful to go and still try to get ready for easter now that i have decided that it’s time for me to go back to maine to be with my mom, dad and sister (brief update follows poem). i’ll leave after an early easter dinner with the boys on sunday. so this could be my last napowrimo poem for a while. of course.
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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update: my mom has deteriorated markedly the last week or week and a half. she’s been unable to eat for most of that time. she’s unable to get up to use the bathroom. she can’t hold her own cups when she wants a drink or sustain her voice long enough to state what she needs. she “sleeps” some with her eyes open. she had wanted to put off getting a hospital bed in the house until she absolutely couldn’t put it off anymore; it was delivered today. the boys will go to stay with my mother-in-law so dave can keep working unless i decide i need him there.
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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this idea has been brewing for a bit. i don’t know if there are more sections or if this is it. no need to make the difficult decisions now. in the midst of the napowrimo orgy, one must only enjoy the fornication. implications? complications? revelations? retributions? that’s what the morning after is for.
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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just a fun idea. i’d like to get a little more creative with the fake poem titles eventually.
i’m a french horn player. or i was. i still “can” play. it’s just very difficult. i have a decent range and a full sound, but i lack stamina. the french horn is considered the most challenging instrument in the orchestra. you can play most notes in the open position by simply changing your embouchure, so it requires a good ear and lots of practice to achieve, reliably, the right note. i’ve always had poor sight-reading skills — trouble predicting intervals and sorting out complicated rhythms. however, i love it very much. i melt at its sound in a piece of music. its voice is joy and melancholy in a single tone. it thrills me to put my lips to the mouthpiece and create a note, to string some notes together and play a melody.
i came to the french horn in a round-about way. in our school, instrument instruction began in the fifth grade. i wanted to play drums. my mother wanted me to play flute. it was one of my early lessons in how “the person who pays for the roof over your head — and the instrument you play — is in charge.” i joined the rows of girls learning to play the flute. i hated it. everything about it. its sound. the fact that i seemed to blow far more air through the thing than was actually utilized in playing. the fact that you hold it out toward the right (i insisted that as a lefty this was quite impossible; i was probably just being stubborn. me?). i quit after Read the rest of this entry »
again today i thought of giving myself a free pass on poetry. but i have a really bad habit of giving myself a free pass on one thing and then letting everything else slide along with it. my commitments to myself are precious and i feel horrible when i desert them just because i don’t feel like it. then i beat myself up. and i’m brutal about it.
i just don’t feel like poetry today. i got up too early and i’m off my game. i’m feeling sour about a few things that make me want to stomp around or eat chocolate. but in the name of maintaining the upper hand on all things lazy and cranky, i’m poeming. and putting a smile on my face. can you see it?
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THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
couldn’t write today for the life of me — whatever that means — but b/c i’m not ready to give up on the napowrimo streak just yet, i’ll grab some notes from the free writing i did and call it a poem. the napowrimo streak, huh? that actually sounds like an alternate activity we could do on the days we fail to come up with a poem. like losing strip poker. not that i’ve ever played stip poker. do you think i’m that kind of girl?
the free writing started to be about things that can be taken away from us (inspired by the thieves at the ymca). it deteriorated into a rant about the bad guys i’ve known. it started to show some promise when it turned toward the realization that there’s nothing, nothing at all, that’s really ours to keep no matter what. i tried to write about the illusion of possessing anything. i tried to avoid using possessive pronouns like my, mine, yours, his, hers. i tried to write about how the only thing there is is this moment. and now this one. and now this one.
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THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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anyway, go to read write poem and see if others had better luck than i. there’s nothing to see here. no streaking poets. go on. git.
i had a chance to write (and drink coffee and gossip and attempt to sort out life’s conundrums, dilemmas and other sticking points) with jill today. “our” starbucks was full — no room to sit — so we had to go to a different one. we survived. i am grande skinny caramel latte. she is grande vanilla latte. pay attention. this will be on a quiz someday. a “contemporary american poets who blog” category is being planned for an upcoming episode of jeopardy.
hyped up on all that caffeine, i wrote a poem “good enough for napowrimo” using my 50 words list per jill’s read write prompt for today. my poem turned kind of mad-libby when i tried to show off and see how many words from the list i could include. (for the record, i managed to use 30 without sounding entirely ridiculous.) jill showed off by writing two poems in the same amount of time. then we made wild plans for taking over the world, leading zippy little poetry workshops and pursuing all the repair guys, firemen and milkmen who will have us.
all this chatter is procrastination of working on a new draft based on the poem i wrote today. ok, here goes:
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
i was at risk today of bailing on napowrimo. i had some lingering anxiety from last night’s theft (of our belongings and hubby’s wallet). i had to do our taxes. i had to do some cleaning. but every day is full of something, right? no excuses. for a limited time only, a bad poem is just as good as a good poem. no excuses. just napowrimo, baby.
and so i used christine’s fabulous read write prompt today even though i didn’t think i could (i actually wrote a paint-color poem a couple months ago and didn’t think i had another one in me today). i pulled an idea from the small notebook in my pocketbook, and it just so happened that the only way to drag the rest of the poem out of me was to give it the name of a benjamin moore shade of orange. (be sure to go to read write poem any day this month and see what other napowrimo-ers are up to!)
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THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
day 3 of taking what comes. used the prompt i posted on the number 3 at read write poem today to get my subject: triangulation. when i was trying to name it, the prompt at poetic asides — “the problem with _____” — helped me.
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i’m sorry for this. it’s all downhill after the title …
THIS PIECE WAS A FIRST DRAFT, REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR FOR REVISION AFTER A BRIEF “LIVE” RUN.
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this is for christine’s prompt at read write poem about using words from one subject matter to describe another. in this piece, three worlds intercept: poetry, porn film-making and pizza. apologies to all three industries. go see what others wrote on the prompt. they linked in the comments at the prompt.
let the poem-a-day craziness begin, alternatively titled “30 ways to embarrass yourself in public.” kidding. somewhat. it’s fun. it just takes a few days for the editor/critique to shut her yap.
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need some inspiration? go see jill’s read write poem prompt for day #1 here. my poem inspiration came (partially) from another source today: the movie “wendy and lucy,” which i can’t really recommend b/c it’s about a woman and her dog being separated. that’s too stressful for me.
it’s official! read write poem will be napowrimo-ing. click on that link to read all about it and add a comment to the post if you plan on joining us. i dare you. i double dog dare you. (and if that doesn’t work, i will get on my knees and beg. come play. give it a try. please please please please. there’s no harm in trying. what have you got to lose?)
this is glorious. it makes me smile every time i look at it. and i look at it a lot.
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on st. patrick’s day, i attended two latin dance classes and drank one mexican beer.
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i feel like my poemer is on the fritz again. yes, i just posted one. but i don’t like it and i didn’t have any fun. (why is this item on a list titled “random bits of gladness”? well, maybe i had a little bit of fun with it.)
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i am super excited about doing hot, sexy things to Read the rest of this entry »
