NaPoWriMo Days 9 and 10: Tough Love

It happened again:  While taking my time to write day nine's challenge -- a 'noir' poem of any kind (I resist the task), I glance at day ten's challenge -- an 'un-love' poem of any kind... I've  come up with one that (sort of) fits both the challenges. See what you think!

Tough Love

You spoil the boy, he said.
You're going to have
trouble letting go,
when he grows up.

How could I not 
let him go
                  where his young heart
                  and his hopes
want to go?
How not enjoy,
                  as much as his first
                  baby attempts to roll over,
watching him take flight,
endure loss, and to grow?

I say what we can't deny:
                  having undertaken
                  to have and to hold
is having-to-let-go.

                  -- Shirley Smith Franklin

NaPoWriMo Day 8: The Fan

Today's challenge was to write an ottava rima, a sort of neo-heroic poem, perhaps in jest or satire, with eight iambic pentameter lines, with end-rhymes in an a-b-a-b-a-b-c-c pattern.  I found it hard to get into the iambic pentameter mode, not to mention coming up with a theme and fitting it all into the form.  So here is my dogged, doggerel attempt at Ottava Rima:

The Fan

So hopeful, he began his sports career
with t-ball first, his father's hopes did raise.
Slept with his baseball glove, it was so dear,
yet little gain he made, and lesser praise.
To bat, his joy, to run, his ploy, no fear;
but rounding bases home seemed like a maze.
Though try he might to play aright, he flailed,
til once, despite his failings, he prevailed:

A hit! He ran, alas he ran to third.
So patiently the coach called for time out,
and took the child aside, gave him a word:
"The next time," coach declared, "I'll give a shout.
Run there, to first, to second, if you can, to third,
if you are lucky.  If you're not, you're out."
As summer passed, our 'slugger" had a slump,
a slump so long he lost the will to jump

at chances for a spot on next year's teams.
His parents said, "There's other recreation.
Not all of fun is based on baseball dreams."
Agreed, he was not destined for sensation.
Though next our chap tried other sports, it seems
his talent lay in music, its creation.
While pickup basketball at times he shoots,
it's mostly as a spectator, he roots.
   
                             --Shirley Smith Franklin

NaPoWriMo Day 7: Trail Mix for the Flight

NaPoWriMo Day 7: Today's challenge:  Write a poem that is a list of statements, followed by a question.

Trail Mix for the Flight

Put your hands up and stand very still.
This isn't going to hurt.
No, I don't have any liquids.
The tears are all spent.
Fasten your seatbelt, please.
There may be turbulence ahead.
Switch your cell phone off for the trip.
You won't be needing it where you're going.
There's a light for your convenience.
Memorize the magazine from cover to cover,
or as much of it as you can..
There's peanuts and pretzels, coffee and snack.
Anything you can get anywhere, not like here.
Put your seatbelt on again, sit up right.
Fill in the card with your personal details.
Hand it over upon arrival.

I have nothing to declare.
I've only been to Love's Field and back.
There's a whole new world out there.
May I put my shoes back on now?                
                                    ____ Shirley Smith Franklin

Cincqain and Valediction

Days five and Six:  NaPoWriMo's challenges were to write a Cincqain Ifive lines with two, four, six, eight, and two lines, respectively) and Valediction (a farewell).  Well, here you go:  the two rolled into one!


                              Cincqain and Valediction

                              You came
                              We argued, LOUD.
                              Then you went stomping out.
                              Perhaps you thought that THAT was THAT.
                              I cried..
                                          --by Shirley Smith Franklin

A Chanty and a Spaceship Title: NaPoWriMo 3 and 4, 2012

Day Three's challenge was to write a sort of sea-chanty.  Minnesota's pretty far inland, so I will write one closer to home, like a memory of our daughter as a child, shadowing me in the kitchen, to the tune of "What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor?":

How shall we make a tasty cookie,
how shall we make a tasty cookie,
how shall we make a tasty cookie,
oh how I love cook-ies!.

Flour, sugar, egg and butter,
flour, sugar, egg and butter,
flour, sugar egg and butter,
oh how I love cook-ies!

Don't forget the chocolate chips,
don't forget the chocolate chips,
don't forget the chocolate chips,
oh how I love cook-ies!.

Bake 'em, cool 'em, then we'll eat them,
Bake 'em, cool 'em, then we'll eat them,
Bake 'em, cool'em, then wel'll eat them,
oh how I love cook-ies.

When can we bake some more, Mommy,
when can we bake some more, Mommy,
when can we back some more, Mommy,
oh, how I love cook-ies!
______________________________________________________________________________

Day Four's challenge is to choose and write something that goes along with a title chosen from the NaPoWriMo site's list of wacky names that have been given to spaceships (Who knew?!)  I just chose one at random, and I have a feeling that the result is going to be a prose poem, maybe even a rant. Here goes:  (p.s. Kind reader, help me out here, with a few fill-in-the-blanks...I know there are plenty of examples, but the memory refuses to go there today...).  My chosen spaceship title is 'Ambient Morality.'

Just Another Victim of the Ambient Morality

a rant in so many words

Amazed and  pleased as I am to watch our children grow into their own personhood, I'm perplexed at how awkward it has become to be present in the same world...a world where clingy pants which last year were only the lower, almost undergarment, part of an ethnic dress are now fashionable school clothing, parental codes for hours and viewing matter are blithely ignored, perfectly innocent words like gay, pussy, and finger acquire narrow, specific and loaded meanings, funny toss-off's like 'groupie' and 'sucker' become terms my kids are embarassed to hear me utter, and nobody's at the table for family dinner anyway.  Grade school children play games like "Kiss and Kill," most everybody watches glorified violence as entertainment, and communication is a drag unless it can be conveyed in a few letters or syllables. "You can't say that, Mom!" becomes as common as "I love you,"  talking while doing dishes is no longer a bonafide bonding activity, and I find myself expressing disappointment in terms that, a few years ago, I was horrified to hear from their mouths. Oh shit, I guess I'm just another victim of the ambient morality!

That Was All -- NaPoWriMo 2, 2013

Today's prompt is to write a poem of lies: a string of lies, an outrageous lie, etc.  Sorry, my efforts seem pretty sophomoric today...It's a counted-syllable poem, that might be why...


That was all

You looked at me, looked through me,
through those bottomless eyes,
eyes that said come, be with me,
I want you.
That was all.

I apologized; I knew
I was talking too much,
but you said that's no problem.
You listened.
That was all.

It seemed to me a promise,
I think you thought so too.
We promised for a lifetime,
That was that.
That was all.

So then we started living,
happily ever after,
like married partners do.
It was hard.
That was all.

Through sun and storm, high water
we came to understand
the price of happiness:
more than gold.
That was all.

If anybody tells you
it's a bed of roses
they may be lying, or
they don't know
that it was all

originally a lie.
                   -- by Shirley Smith Franklin

Oh Thou...My first fling for NaPoWriMo 2013

NaPoWriMo.net is an online challenge to write a poem a day during April, National Poetry Writing Month.  Their daily page will give optional prompts, which I'll try to use every day.  I will be writing 'off the cuff' with little or no editing, so it may end up as drivel, doggerel, or incomplete...but that's just like life, right?  It's all in fun, and for practice.  Today's task is to compose an original poem starting with the first line of an existing poem.

So, here goes...building on the first line and the form of one of my favorite hymns, written in 1791 by Joseph Swain, posted online in numerous video and text variations. My intention is not to make another variation,but just to use the first-line-starting-point.  With advance apologies to Mr. Swain.

Oh thou in whose presence my soul takes delight,
my pen and computer do call.
The solace of writing shines forth every night,
when fond thoughts of the past I recall.

So why when the time and the place are so right,
clear articulation doth flee?
Why silence of brain and shortness of sight
when the urge to compose comes to me?

Its not as though audiences wait on my word,
or publishers pay me with praise.
No expectation save desire to be heard
compels voice and pen to be raised.

Oh when will I learn discipline, have faith,
simply let the pen start, and begin
with whichever word doth appear, like a wraith,
let the flow of ideas come in?

Oh thou in whose presence my soul takes delight,
be my mentor, my light and my guide.
Give clarity, vocabulary, grace so to write
that the joys I recall may abide,       --by Shirley Smith Franklin
                                                             April 1, 2013