I learned a lot during NaPoWriMo 2010. I learned I overused the word “fester”, for example, and I learned I could write poetry while traveling. I was across the country from my home, in Massachusetts in the beginning of the month. I spent April 1 at Emily Dickinson’s home in Amherst, Massachusetts. Two weeks later my daughters and I went on an overnight adventure to San Francisco: I wrote there, too.
Today’s grand
finale is an amalgam of each poem I wrote this month. It is longer than thirty
lines because I wrote more than thirty poems. The lines were chosen at random:
I only plugged one line into a different spot after it was pulled.
I edited in a few
words simply so the reader would not be distracted, too much, even though
Centos are not always the smoothest conglomerations of thought, I wanted this
to make sense if at all possible and I believe I accomplished that goal.
Infinite thanks to
my fellow poets. Especially to the readers from ReadWritePoem, and my tears and
sadness is surprising me, your presence in one spot will be missed. I plan to
be a part of the Big Tent Poetry website so I may continue growing alongside those of you
who show up there. Your presence has helped me to evolve as a poet.
I put a subscription link to my ezine below my poem - if you want to stay in touch with me, that is the best way to know my comings and goings in the world. It features an essay and a poem (almost) every weekday.
Keep moving your pencils, everyone. Love, Love, Love.
Free Within: A Memoir - Cento of
NaPoWriMo 2010
Free to write here
now in the
Juniper: the home
of the (or is it his?)
Body – a lust
emporium – which
In the midst of
blue, I reflect…
Lowest totem pole
playmates or simply
Remembering “You
are here!” YAY
An unexpected perk,
She heaved into
The veins on either
side
Wiping her mouth,
feeling
There – like that –
that’s much better
The page is my alarm
My call to write
From three
dimensional color to one
I hover at the end
of the question
Would your
specialness have been vacuumed?
Stow the memory of
the
Chickadee song from
the
Pink floral grove –
I can’t believe its
not Monday
Stare back from the
page
Stretch arms
Stigma, stirring
the air
Homage to what is
real
In the woman,
quietly opening
Her after vacation
email box
A mackinaw blanket
across
The rotten stench
of her departing
Fat cat pinot noir
Abundance taps her
shoulder
In the shadow of the
black mirado warrior
Adolescent’s grating
laughter waves farewell
It has met feng
shui with contours
And leaves me/her
alone
I snooze, I dream,
I hear – awaken – speak
Our babies who live
Boil over, effervescence within
