What feeling is best
now that you are laid to rest?
A door has closed
yet in me, your whole life is opening
Like a rose unfolding.

What feeling is best
now that you are laid to rest?
Seeing you that one last time
walking away,
you didn't look back.

What feeling is best?
The affairs of life
are put to rest.
You had a life, you had the best.

I see this is the same
for all of us.
We cling to our stories
We cling to failures, and glories
We wake every day to death
What feeling is best
When you are laid to rest?

A pang of guilt
A gush of confusion
A scattered recollection
A fragment of a song

What feeling is best?

We hold on to passion
We struggle for our breath
We mark our days
We chart our ways
We grow, we bloom, we die.

What feeling is best
when you are laid to rest?

You, or I
It's all the same
a sad refrain.
What once was grand is gone.
A star at dawn.
http://www.napowrimo.net/ 24 prompt write an elegy with hope. I seem to have written a sort of generic elegy, having lost many dear to me. The grief never lessens, but somehow, magically one comes to realize that life goes on, and we learn to celebrate it's fragile fleeting.
I listened to a song
to shut out Sunday sounds
My neighbor hammering
on fence six feet away
song played and played...
6 a.m. Monday now,
wishing retired neighbor
would have fixed the fence
today, while I'm away.
my peaceful Sunday
http://www.napowrimo.net/ 23 prompt: it reads like spoken language sounds.From the Na/GloPoWriMo Interview with Kate Greenstreet:
4. Is there a generative prompt, practice or ritual that you find particularly helpful, or that you would recommend to students, friends, or other poets?
One time I heard Stanley Kunitz say, “Poets listen for their poems.” For me, that’s the most obvious true thing about writing poetry: you listen for it, and when you hear it, you write it down.
I woke up on the twelfth of never,
I was missing the earth
Hadn't been home since we started
developing our little property
on the Moon.
When we cleaned the barn
today we had to take down
the gravitational field.
It was so much fun to watch
the pigs fly!

PS: I miss the earth so much, I miss my stuff...
http://www.napowrimo.net/ 22 prompt
take one of the following statements of something impossible, and then write a poem in which the impossible thing happens:
The sun can’t rise in the west.
A circle can’t have corners.
Pigs can’t fly.
The clock can’t strike thirteen.
The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.
A mouse can’t eat an elephant.
N a t u r a l l y           
A t t r a c t e d                                                                ­                          
R e s p l e n d e n t          
C o u n t e n a n c e
I d o l i z e d
S e d u c e d
S u r r e n d e r i n g
U l t i m a t e l y
S m i t t e n .
http://www.napowrimo.net/ day21 prompt the myth of narcissus.
As the story goes, the beautiful, arrogant, cursed youth Narkissos fell in love with his own reflection in a pool. Gazing endlessly at the image, he slowly pined away and was transformed into a narcissus flower.
*note this is my first acrostic poem ever
No! I say
I'm not writing today
http://www.napowrimo.net/  
day 20 rebellion
Left brain is bossy
right brain is dreaming
left brain is paying the rent
right brain is falling in love
left brain is analyzing everything
right brain is imagining
left brain is making plans
right brain is free as a bird.

Linear versus intuitive
It's an awkward dance.
Who leads?
http://www.napowrimo.net/ day 19 erasure
It was so exciting, the whole town was on the dock.
Bing Crosby's boat was in, a yacht!
It was tied up to the end of the wharf.
Everyone crowding down to see him.
He was flying up at eleven to see our little bit of heaven.
And maybe catch a fish.
Our Dad drove the limousine to pick him up at the airport.
Still have the photographs, wonder if they are worth anything?
I was at the front, peering over the edge.
And fell in. Which is where this story begins.
The whole town was watching, as they fished me out.
I was rather quiet, apparently didn't even shout.
They say the first mate hit the water even before I did.
A rope was thrown, a winch engaged, to retrieve me.
And I was wrapped up in a towel aboard the boat so dreamy.
Bing Crosby held me in his arms.
Whose child is this? he asked the crowd.
And I was quickly retrieved.
Years later it is still a joke, I was the only one to board the boat.
And I ruined the fishing trip too.
http://www.napowrimo.net/ Day 17 prompt: write a poem re-telling a family anecdote that has stuck with you over time.
It was him, and the net
a stick, and a puck
every day after school
in the gravel parking lot.
His Dad and Mom
chilling on the deck,
admiring...
Fast forward 10 years,
Son is an enforcer in the
highest tiers, of hockey.
http://www.napowrimo.net/ Day 16 Games people play
On day sixteen I'm in between giving it a spin or just tossing it in. The prompt is games. OK I'll give it a spin.
A troll was stalking, he had no pity
Under the bridge he'd wait
and suddenly attack anyone
walking home late, or out on a date.

A troll in denial that was clear,
something to fear, as he lurked near
with always a sneer
wrapped in a tear.

A troll never sharing, or caring
always daring to bring you down
adept at callousness
wanting you for breakfast.

One day the troll felt old
He caught an awful cold
could not be so bold,
needed a hand to hold.

He shouted help!
From beneath the bridge
and I ran to his rescue
put out my hand.

As the troll reached up
I saw his cup of evil
spill, flow down the hill
as more dreams he killed.

I dropped his hand
and ran and ran.
And heard a loud
achoo!

Bless you, I said
as I carried on home to write this poem.
http://www.napowrimo.net/ Day 15 suggested prompt a villain faces an unfortunate situation and is revealed to be human, but still a villain. Troll
I'm rowing.
Old Vivian is seated,
perched in the stern.
I watch him as I row.
He has a smile,
wide as the day is long.

"It's so good to be back on my boat,"
He whispers.

His eyes are on the horizon.
I see behind him in the mist.
An island full of dreams,
phantoms rising like smoke.

I hear them drumming,
singing, mourning.

Vivian is wearing a Sailor's cap,
his suit jacket lapel is covered in WW 1 Medals.
A warm wool button blanket covers
his ancient shoulders.

"You did a real nice job, fixing
her up
."

"This should get us to
Shushartie, maybe all the way
home if the tide is good
."

He laughs, his almond eyes shining
in the glorious sunrise.
http://www.napowrimo.net/ Day 14 prompt. Dream dictionary: Rowboat.
It's been a long journey to telling this story. I'm thankful for rowboats and dreams. Thanks for the rowboat dear Vivian.
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