National Poetry Month Challenge — Poem # 3

Old man Shoes

I wrote this poem as a response to Intimately Intricate (on Medium)’s April Prompt: New Dawn. The poem was chosen for publication here:

Intimately Intricate April Prompt New Dawn

As is true of many poetry prompts, my poem will often take me into uncharted waters…in this poem I wrote from the perspective of a young boy, and used HUMOR in my poem. WHOA. That is pretty different for me! Tell me what you think…


https://www.pexels.com/photo/boy-wearing-black-hat-sitting-on-case-near-flowers-1049950/

Old Man Shoes

I am told the new dawn came
 while I slept fitfully 
 wrapped in the taco of a dream.
 Or a dream Of a taco
 though I’m not sure which.
 I am told it was quite spectacular
 but I slept way too shortly
 and woke up rather hungry
 and somehow wanting cheese.
 Was misty and spooky
 He said to me, while I chased
 colored hoops with a spoon
 Is that so, I said halfheartedly
 You bet! He said and hiked up
 his socks, slipping on his 
 old man shoes.
 I in my pj’s and you in your suit
 I sure don’t want to be you
 If that means the new dawn comes
 and I don’t get my usual snooze.
 Hey Dad, I said wiping milk 
 off my chin, Yeah son? You said
 with a scruff on my head…
 Can we have tacos soon?

National Poetry Month Challenge–Poem # 2 Lightning

Challenge: Write 10 poems this month to celebrate National Poetry Month.

https://www.pexels.com/photo/island-during-golden-hour-and-upcoming-storm-1118873/

Lightning

You were the cold air to my warm.
Every time I tried to rise
you crystalized
dropped me down
one terrifying electrical pulse
after another.
I charged and fell to the ground.

The air outside is electric.
I am drawn, mystified,
bursts of wind on my face
pulling me out, beyond
the trap of my front door.
Hands on the metal fence
eyes wide, heart bursting.
Exhilaration! That scent on the
air…my God! I can feel it!

The storm approaching, quickly,
violently, with flashes of white
and thunderous cracks
vibrating my spine,
lifting my tiny hairs
tingling, jolting, jarring,
awakening.

Leaves upturned, showing their whites,
vulnerable, submitting to ozone
and flash of terrifying release,
fingers of God pointing, choosing
ground to fire, fire to tree
tree to Thee.

I can smell the power,
feel it stirring within me.
Choose me! Choose me!
Please.
Lift me on fiery wing
to Thee, to Thee!

From the safety of the door
behind me, Get back in the house!
You barking at me.
Always barking at me
or growling your menacing growl.
You coward.
Back in the house?
You are the only one safe in there.


Come inside?
Through the kitchen where you
pressed my face to the floor?
Past the stairs where I slept
and wept upon the carpeted corners
reeking of dust and neglect?
Past the bathroom door where
the mirrors know my bruises
and the tear-swelled lids of my eyes
as well as it knows it’s purpose, hanging there.

Like it’s safer in there than out here?

I know my purpose too, you know.
I intend to rise.
I intend to rise.

I stand, gripping tight to chain-link
the ground yielding vibration with the
rolling roars, shock waves splintering
connecting, fury unbound
they revolt and celebrate the sky.

                                                                  (Duplicity is a real bitch.)

Flash!  Again…again!…stir me, shake me
beat me wise,
friction then repose

I lift, face to the sky
electricity in the air
lifting me higher, higher
leaving you
     down
        there.

National Poetry Month–Poem #1 “Safety Pin”

Join me in this challenge–write 10 poems this month to celebrate National Poetry Month

National Poetry Month Goal for myself–Write 10 Poems, Here is Poem #

Safety Pin

Cotton dress with floral print.
 I have chosen it carefully but
 I run out of gas! With
 Intent to impress
 folding under to shame,
 I begin my walking,
 My purse in tow, the shiny vehicle slows.
 No. Not the boss.
 I am thankful with verbiage
 Humiliated, I am
 Riding with a suit
 that costs more than my car
 discarded on the side of the road,
 to the office where gossip greets.
 He walks in, greeted with 
 enthusiastic handshakes
 and pompous attempts
 to garner his attention.
 I keep behind in my
 cotton dress with floral print,
 Invisible.
 I slink to my desk under
 Scrutinous stares, whispers.
 How did you come to work
 with the boss?
 I ran out of gas I say,
 Stretching out my arm to see
 the odd feeling, I probe
 a hole. A hole in my
 cotton dress with the floral print.
 In the absence of a safety pin
 I staple the fabric
 And set about my work.
 Invisible still.

Will you join me in this challenge? Post your poem or link to your poem in a comment below, so we can support each other and together celebrate our craft.