Thursday, April 3, 2014

Writer's Digest POD: Day Three

Day three's prompt was a message poem.


The letter was old;
paper yellowed and creased
like my grandmother's hands,
worked and reworked
year after year.

Abandoned by its envelope,
lost some time ago,
set adrift in the box
of old family photos
waiting to belong.
If we could only determine

Many attempts had been made
to decipher dates or names.
But the words hid too well
leaving few clues
of authorship.

My darling S--
Sarah? Stephanie?
Samuel? Sean?

Without you
no light
Days dark
see you
be together
Tessa? Tracey?
Trevor? Thomas?

The message remains unsolvable
though perfectly clear.
S and T are caught
anonymously -- in love.

Poem A Day: Day Two

The prompt for today was Voyages. I didn't really get to the voyage in the poem; it was more about the leaving than the journey. But I guess that is part of the voyage too.


The time came for departure
and one by one
goodbyes were said.
There were smiles and well wishes,
but also tears.

The sky was the kind of blue-gray
you only ever saw in watercolor paintings.
The streaky, uncertain color
blended almost out of existence;
signifying the dampness of the air
too light to be rain
too heavy to be mist.
Atmosphere muddled with emotion.

Finally the voyagers must away to their ship.
They can tarry no longer.
They must catch the tide, the wind,
the sea.
The lines are cast
and sails unfurled.
The waves beckon them west.
To new places and adventures;
to wonders unseen.
To quiet morns and moonlit nights
And hours of joy between.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

National Poetry Month: Day One

This year I'm participating in Writer's Digest's Poem A Day for National Poetry Month. That is exactly what it sounds like; writing a poem a day. I'm sharing them on the Writer's Digest Blog; Poetic Asides and here. So day one's poem is The Morning. The prompt for today was beginnings.

The Morning

Sunlight slants through half-closed blinds.
Pale light, barely there,
struggling past the clouds.
It creeps across the carpet;
an ugly green, she insisted
was jade.

The light climbs slowly
up her arm,
flickering over freckles.
And gaining intensity as it
reaches her shoulder.

Muffled protests precede
a great wave of motion.
Turning away from the window,
she pulls cast off covers
over tangled hair;
and hides from the cheery sun.

Her clock tic, tic, ticks
marking minutes until her alarm
will yank her from slumber.
But right now she hoards
every second of sleep.

The sun doesn't care
for her dreams.
It shines all the brighter
sending tendrils to the far corners
of her room.
Illuminating "robin egg blue"
and a white dress
waiting to be worn.