Day 12 of Napowrimo

This was almost too hard to even write. The prompt for day twelve is to write a letter that you could never say out loud. I wrote it down.
I can't share it yet. Maybe not ever.

Day Eleven- Tanka

Light wind from the fan,
cools the furrowed, sweat brow
and the sweaty bodies...
Fuck! The kids should be asleep!
No, we can't finish later.

Days 9 and 10 of Napowrimo

Day 9 had a prompt to write a poem in the noir style. All I could think of was the Steve Martin movie and now I can't think of anything else. Well, that and Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
Alas, I do not have enough noir to draw from so I've skipped day 9.

Day 10.
An Un-Love poem.
Not to be confused with a poem of hate.


These dishes
you've created for us are
delicious.
These dishes
you've piled in the sink are
vicious.
These dishes
fill me with thoughts
malicious.
Learn to
wash as you go or
sleep with the fishes.

Ottava Rima

I've tried my best to create a poem that has eight lines written in iambic pentameter. Then I gave up.
The rhyme scheme is a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c. That was much easier to accomplish.

Clicking, clacking- metal connects with ground
8 counts to learn, the rhythm does repeat
Scraping, digging- heels and toes make sound
1 moment is needed to find the beat
Stepping, stomping- Broadway bound
2 tap shoes worn on talented feet
Dancing, moving- a love for the stage
3 shows a year until death of old age

Day Seven

It's the time machine -past, present, future
It's the enemy -silent monolith
It's the most precious -questions and answers
It's the emotional pull -sorrow and elation
It's beckoning, waiting -liquid crystal display
It's time for my show-
WHERE IS THE REMOTE?

Day 6- A Valediction

This is the mountain I've created, all at once unfathomable and minute
The myriad display of colors, textures, all familiar in separation by together the whole represents an impossible task- to choose.
defining myself by deciding-
What of this mess? How will I pare down? (Pare! Ha, I make myself laugh)
this chaotic jumble before me-
so many varied sides of myself and yet too many carry reminders. too many are dirty, worn, torn, useless.
The more I study, the more I see what has to go. What I finally have to buckle down and do (buckle!)
It's you, I say to myself.
"It's you."
I say it out loud, pointedly staring at the glaring errors of my life. I'm ready.
Willing and able to say goodbye. I reach into the heart of the giant before me.
"It's you!" I say aloud, again. You, who had served me so well have become painful, even embarrassing.
Farewell to you!
Fare thee well, my neon-orange-platform-sneaker-Spice Girl shoes.

A Belated Day 5

The Didactic Cinquain

relationships
hard, easy
holding on tightly
love happiness pain fear
bonds