[Rebecca’s challenge for today, the middle of April, was to write a poem around the idea of a middle. The background of this poem is a tragic bus accident that killed 16 young men who were all members of a Saskatchewan youth hockey club. The poem is about this video]

“For the boys in the west
And all their parents
And everybody hurt”
In the middle of an empty

Hockey rink
Beneath the
Canadian flag
High on the far wall

A man

Chunky in dark clothes
Plays Amazing Grace
On his harmonica
As 16 young men

Skate invisible circles
“For the boys in the west
And all their parents
And everybody hurt”

[The “official” NaPoWriMo prompt for today was “…to write entries for an imaginary dream dictionary…” using one or more of several words. I was having fun, so I used all of the words.]

Teacup:
Tempest cup, my world and worries
Spill over your brim, into my dreams
Brewing ground for nightmares

Hammer:
Thor’s hammer, you strike my fears
Nail them into my dreams
Tethering bolts for nightmares

Seagull:
High flying gull, you carry away my pain
Soar me through sleep’s ether
Gripping talons for sweet dreams

Ballet slipper:
Soft slipper, you firmly tie my longings
Bind them for my waking
Dancing shoe in night’s sonata

Shark:
Sharp-toothed shark, you pierce my failures
Chew up my efforts on razor edges
Blood-drawing carnivore of regrets

Wobbly table:
Uneven table, you hold my hopes
Balance them on too few feet
Shaking confidence in myself

Dentist:
Fearsome doctor, you excise my wisdom
Hold it up for me to mourn
Exacting physician of folly

Rowboat:
Oared boat, you challenge my love
Dare me to risk the deep
Offering room for one more

f

[Rebecca’s challenge to us today was to write a poem “answering” another poem. I chose to answer Dylan Thomas’ Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night]

I hope to come gentle into Your good light
Though now I burn and rave all my days
As I rage, rage against the rule of might

Though wise women know power is not right
Because their words drown in warriors’ brays
I hope to come gentle into Your good light

Good women, my last hope, shining so bright
Their bold tangos dance in rainbow bays
As I rage, rage against the rule of might

With wild women who sang the goshawk’s flight
But learned, too early, of jesses and hooded ways
I hope to come gentle into Your good light

Laughing women, wanting life, grab the radiant sight
Bound no more, our comets’ trailing fires blaze
As I rage, rage against the rule of might

And You, my Mother, there on Your glad height
Bless me now with your sweet smile and gaze
I hope to come gentle into Your good light
No more to rage, rage against the rule of might

[The prompt for today was “to write a poem in which the words or meaning of a familiar phrase get up-ended.”]

Do the words hurt
I wonder
When I twist and pull them
To cover the bones
Sticking out where
The stones flayed
The flesh?

[A haibun is a form that mixes prose and poetry, starting with prose and ending with a haiku that is a related extension, but not repetition, of the prose. The “official” challenge for today was to write a haibun “that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live” but that is not what happened for me, although maybe, in a sense, it did.]

She who writes, writes, and I read, names of God in long lists (even before adding the feminist sensibilities) like incipient poetry, on and on, from religions and nations, tribes and cultures: Creator, Father, Friend of the World, Mighty One, Searcher of Hearts, Lord of Consolations, Beloved, the One Who Dwells in Hidden Places, the Heart of Israel, the One Who Understands, the One Who Spoke, Justice of the World, Rock of the World, the Holy One, Peace of the World, Strong One, Merciful One, Fashioner, Designer, Carver, Molder, Hewer, Architect of the World, Alone the Great One, the Powerful One, Shining One, the One Who Sees All, Greatest of Friends, Protector of the Poor, Guardian of Orphans, Watcher of Everything, Savior of All, the One Who Loves, the One Who Does Not Die, Highest of the Highest and the Unknown. And then, and then, she rebirths the feminine: Great Mother, the One Who Gives Birth, Queen of Heaven, Mother Bird, Mother Hen, Mother Bear, Wisdom, Sophia, Sky Woman, Spirit Creatrix, Goddess.
I dream of God who dreams me
Then Now Forevermore
Silence calls my dream God forth

O

[Rebecca’s challenge today was to write a poem to something or someone. So I spent the day talking to rocks and trees, my car and my computer, my mind and my estranged daughter (none of which is unusual for me). But in the end inspiration failed and I opted for silliness, based on my tendency to over use alliteration.]

Alliteration, all I ask of you is an agreeable
beginning before becoming burdensome
can you convey my cleverness or
do I detect some duplicity
even as I evoke your energy
favoring form over focus
giving me garrulous grandiosity with
heaps of holesome humor
I intend no insight nor inherent interest
just juggling juicy words that
kindle kaleidoscope keyboarding
lines lingering long in
minds made messy by meaningless
noisy notes of nothing
only once off on this now onerous
path I persevere with peevish perverseness
Questioning my quietly queasy
Recently regretted
Sanity
too tedious too tender too
unconsciously unarmed
verily, verily, variously viewed
while whatever wellspring of wished for
x-poetry as extreme x-sport
yelds only yearnings for
zizzling, sizzling zeniths.

What
Bigger grander
Feeling than simply
Seeing
93 years old and 2 years old
Holding hands and laughing together?

[Rebecca’s writing prompt for today was to use something from social media as inspiration. In the poem you will read a line about America’s summary of Gaudate et Exsultate. America is the national Jesuit magazine; Gaudate et Exsultate is the title of a new advisory for Catholics that Pope Francis just released. The title is in Latin and means Rejoice and Be Happy.]

Not yet ready to get serious about my day
(Which definitely includes
Snow
In April
In Virginia
And may include
My so-called husband and I
Going to the courthouse
Showing acceptable ID
Paying $30
And getting a marriage license)
But not yet

I am retired
My kids are grown
The immediate demands on my time are few
So Facebook first
Always good for pretending to do something
And today I can pretend even more deeply
Thanks to Rebecca and her prompt

I happily read through the weird, wonderful and inevitably political
Posts of friends
Check out my favorite Catholic women’s site
Share the latest endorsements
For my so-called (soon to be real) step-daughter’s
Latest book (which is in a race with her baby to be born)
Email America’s summary of five points from Gaudate et Exsultate
To two friends

And so I virtually stroll along
If not exactly rejoicing and feeling glad
At least enjoying and feeling a little smug
Doing my pretend work

So it is really not nice of the FB god
To plant that big ugly root that trips me up
And sends me sprawling
Shattering my complacency
That suggested post
That appears too frequently
Asking me,
“How likely are you to run out of money during retirement?”