NaPoWriMo: Day ? Confessions of an inconsistent poet

So, this whole NaPoWriMo thing has gotten off to a bad start for me. With the start of the challenge coinciding with the Easter weekend, I have had little to no time to sit and really think about poetry or writing at all.

Both my husband and I are members of our church choir and Easter Weekend for us began last Wednesday with an all-or-nothing rehearsal. This was followed by singing at a mass on Thursday evening.

The weekend itself consisted of choral accompaniment to three services for the Triduum: Good Friday at 3:00 p.m., Easter Vigil on Saturday at 8:00 p.m. and Sunday morning at 11:00 a.m. Needless to say, we have sung more than our share of Alleluias.

All this is to tell that I may need some time to either catch up with the NaPoWriMo challenge, or jump in at this point. I’ll have to see.  I have not ruled out a graceful exit altogether, if the poetic muse has indeed left the building.

In the meantime, I have just about managed to keep things on an even keel over at “My Life In Runes”, so if you enjoy quirky haiku, high-tail it over there and check it out!

Thanks for reading, and a belated Happy Easter to all!



NaPoWriMo – Day 2

What You Are

As a child
the stars held little interest for me,
except to sing of their twinkling.
I didn’t care that they
lit up the sky at night;
(I was born under the sign
of a bright moon.)

As I grew,
I knew that Polaris
was the great North Star
(maybe that’s why I wore
those runners).

Like all around me
I was aware of the Bear—
the Majors and the Minors,
the two big pots
dipping into nocturnal ink.

Then, in my youth,
the myth collapsed—
I learned it was all just gas.

Now I’m older.
We live where the sky amasses itself
like a cloak, when the sun
drops out of sight.
We look up
and embrace the gift
of each gold star’s tiny light.


NaPoWriMo – Day 1 (Official)

Negative Space

A grave is not a place of rest,
despite what you may have read.
It’s not a bed in which to lie down,
and sleep peacefully.
You’re not really there
at all.

You see, a grave is not
a spot where it’s fun
to drop in for a visit;
there’s no rest for those
who tend the ground,
or lie bright flowers that will
only die.

A grave is not a site
of revelry; it’s no place
to get high,
yet somewhere I believe
the festivities go on, eternally.

I have to,
since you’re gone.